#would it fix him??? no. but it would be very hot and it might calm him down a little lmao.

[birchbow]

what's better than this, coupla dudes being bros, just bros bein dudes just dudes getting railed. Just bros with big ol tiddies. just dudes getting their backs absolutely blown out. just bros being dudes!!!

[revelboo]

Hey, Happy Halloween, would you consider writing for Rodimus/Hot Rod?

Yep, I absolutely did. It’s fixed now 😅

Attractive Today Pt 1

MTMTE Rodimus x Reader

• How can one very large mech just disappear when he wants to? Venting as he walks, Rodimus keeps searching for his missing co-captain. He’d assumed Megatron would be on the bridge, in his quarters, or in Rung’s office. Because all in all, the former warlord isn’t that exciting. He doesn’t hang out in Swerve’s or mingle with the crew unless made to. Having to hunt him down for a meeting is a novelty he doesn’t appreciate, because Megatron is hiding from him. And the former warlord calls him immature.

• The high pitched scream shocks him from his thoughts and he’s moving toward the sound, because that hasn’t been a Cybertronian and it had sounded terrified. Rung’s therapy human? Rounding a corner, he’s not startled to see Whirl, though Trailbreaker is a surprise. But it’s the human running from Whirl’s outstretched claws that snags his attention, because it’s the wrong human. He only has a moment of consternation before it spots him, shrieks at the top of its lungs, Whirl lunges, and it bolts. Face first into a wall and bounces right off. And then Whirl is doubled over laughing, reaching for it. “Oh, this one’s mine. It’s defective,” Whirl says, but Rodimus catches him by the wrist.

• “Absolutely not,” he says as he carefully lifts the limp form to cradle against his chassis. You’re out cold, head lolling against him as he glares at the other two. Trailbreaker’s already lost interest, heading in the direction of Swerve’s as Whirl straightens to his full height like he’s considering trying to just take you. “Where’d it come from?”

• “No idea. It just glitched into what sounded like very painful existence in the hall, saw us and ran screaming,” Whirl grumbles, claws opening and closing. “And I saw it first.”

• Primus, help him. “No,” he growls, looking around for Magnus or Megatron. Someone else to deal with this. All he does know is that he’s not just handing you over to Whirl, the mech is unpredictable at best and not exactly trustworthy. Ignoring that problem, he glances at your little form. Glitched into existence? Brainstorm. Groaning, he starts walking, aware of Whirl following. Somehow that maniac has to be responsible for this. They’d never figured out how Rung’s little human had gotten on the ship and it hadn’t been able to provide any answers, either. It had just came to on board and found Rung. “Go make sure there’s no more stowaways.”

• Whirl stares at him from his one optic, helm tipped disconcertingly. “If I find one, I’m keeping it and teaching it Cybertronian swears,” he mutters before walking away. “The good ones,” he calls over his shoulder and Rodimus isn’t sure if that’s a threat or a promise, but he doesn’t have time to figure it out, either. Heading to Brainstorm’s lab space shared with Perceptor, he lets himself in and the other mech looks up from where he’s bent over something. And immediately stiffens when he notices the human. “I have no idea where that came from,” he says just a bit too quickly. “And I can’t send it back.”

• “You knew this whole time where Rung’s human came from?” He demands, suddenly understanding why Ultra Magnus is always so exhausted. He can feel your little heart beating against his servos, the warmth of you, helping calm his frustration. “Why did you bring them here?”

• “It’s not like I was trying to. It wasn’t supposed to be able to move organic life. I was working on a sort of mini space bridge, a compact version, and things went a bit sideways through no fault of mine,” Brainstorm says in a tone that clearly implies that he’s also not dealing with the fallout from his mistake.

• “There’s just the two, right?” Rodimus growls, servos flexing before he remembers you and eases his grip.

• Brainstorm rolls his hand in a vague gesture. “That’s a bit unclear. There might be two on the Lost Light. There might be a few others. Maybe some not on the ship.” Brainstorm shrugs and Rodimus grits his denta. Reminds himself that as the co-captain, he shouldn’t punch his crew in the face. Even if he dearly wants to. Some not on the ship, what in Primus does that even mean?

Next

[mostlymihawk]

Can't Sleep?

Prompt: Mihawk, Sanji, Nami, Luffy, Zoro, and Kuro, and how they handle a gn reader who has insomnia.

CW: Strangulation.

Mihawk:

Oh no. He is not doing this again.

He kept his peace the last time you had a restless night because he believed you when you said there was nothing to be done.

What followed was two. hours. of torture.

Up and down, tossing and turning, it took you forever to get to sleep.

Tonight, he's taking action.

"Are you going to the washroom?" he asks when you start to rise from the bed after five minutes of tossing.

When you reply that you thought maybe something to eat might help, he grabs you around the waist and yanks you back to bed.

He whispers sweet nothings in your ear until you fall asleep.

"You are calm, the night is quiet, the moon hangs overhead to accentuate your glow..."

It takes considerably less time his way.

Sanji:

Name it, it's yours.

Lullaby? He's not a great singer, but he'll do it.

Hot chocolate? Warm milk? Midnight snack? Done.

"Of course, love. Anything for you."

Sanji also can't sleep because you toss and turn too much, but he'll never say that part out loud.

You're already miserable, and if he has to suffer a little for you then so be it.

Oddly enough, it's the cigarettes that eventually lull you to sleep.

He steps outside for a moment to smoke, and hearing his deep inhale and long, slow exhale, you start to copy him...

When he comes back from his smoke, you're sound asleep.

Nami:

Has a whole bag of tricks up her sleeve.

Warm cloth to make your eyes heavy, suggests blinking rapidly for the same reason, drops the temperature in the cabin to emulate sleep temperature, tells you to tense and relax...

Eventually just straight-up hypnotizes you.

"Just focus on your breath as it goes in...and out. In... and out."

Reassurances that you're safe, telling you to imagine a forest with a crystal clear stream, it's all very cliche.

Even though you don't think it'll work you do everything she tells you.

And then it's morning.

You ask her to do it again the next night.

Luffy:

Food solves all problems. Even this one.

Enter warm milk.

Luffy reads you a story and sings a song, and you eventually realize that his knowledge of sleep is limited to stories of nap time at daycare.

It does not work, but his care is touching.

You jokingly say that maybe one of those thick mats you sleep on in daycare would help.

The home apparently goes over his head because the next week two of the mats are there.

(You're a little too big for just one nowadays, seeing as you're not five anymore.)

Zoro:

Deceptively useless.

You'd think with all the sleep he gets he'd be able to help someone get to sleep.

Turns out he doesn't have a clue; insomnia is not in this man's dictionary.

"Just go to sleep. It's not hard, you're fighting your body's natural drive to sleep, so just stop fighting it."

Eventually gives up and makes a show of cuddling you.

It fixes nothing, and neither of you is happy about this.

Insists that his not kicking you out of the room so he can get some sleep displays incredible restraint on his part.

You disagree. Loudly.

Kuro:

Not to worry! Kuro has a quick fix to help you get to sleep right away.

Strangulation.

"Please do stop struggling, I'm not going to kill you, obviously."

Has no patience for your insomnia and wants to get his own sleep.

Will not be trying to entice you to sleep with the carrot, it's straight to the stick with him.

It works, sort of.

You wake a few minutes later with a headache, but Kuro's already asleep with you pulled against his chest and purring contentedly.

It's literal; his snores rumble deep in his chest when he sleeps, and it does in fact sound like purring.

Funnily enough, the purring is what does it for you.

Next time you can't sleep, you Lady very still and let his purring soothe you to sleep.

When Kuro catches on, he gets marginally nicer about how he treats you when you're struggling with a bout of insomnia.

[apomaro-mellow]

the govt gets kas!eddie 4

part 3

Steve typically found it so easy to get lost in Eddie. It wasn't always easy to steal moments alone. The walls of the trailer were thin and his house wasn't always an option. It got to the point where they had tried to use the Scoops Ahoy freezer but it hadn't been worth it. The point is, when they got hot and ready, they usually went right for it, knowing they might not get another chance alone for a while.

But this time, as Eddie was thrusting his hips against him, Steve did his very best to keep his head above water. Not only was his boyfriend's new breeding endeavor a lost cause, but Dustin was screaming in his ear.

"Steve! Steve! STEVE SAY SOMETHING DID HE EAT YOU!?"

Eddie growled at the noise and Steve quickly pushed the button. "I'm fine! I'm fine! I'm just-Eddie, Eddie stop-Jesus stop!" The annoyed tone in his voice turned to breathy laughter instead as Eddie started to lick his neck.

Getting Eddie to stop took just a bit more, but finally he was able to get him to pause. He didn't remove himself from Steve though. He remained on top of him, looking like a dog that was told not to eat a treat that was right in front of them.

Eddie could be patient. He could wait. Wait until his mate was ready. But then he started taking too long. Was talking for too long. Eddie rubbed his face against his belly, thinking of it growing, getting round, filled with babies.

Then Steve was getting up. Eddie whined, prompting Steve to touch his cheek while he continued to talk, although it sounded more like arguing the longer it went. Then Steve was on his feet, walking around, then he was walking to the door-

NO

Eddie was on him in seconds, pinning him to the door. "Need you. Need you here."

"Eddie. Eddie listen to me. I have to go."

"No."

"Eddie...I'm not leaving you." Steve cradled his face. "We're going to bring you home."

That made Eddie pause. And Steve's touches didn't hurt either. "Home...you and, you and Wayne?"

"Yes", Steve nodded.

Then he leaned in and kissed Eddie's nose. That pulled a new sound from him. Like a trill from the back of his throat. It was cute. And enough to let him release Steve. Mission in mind, Steve returned to the others. By the time he did, the cameras were back on Eddie.

"What did you do?", Dustin asked the moment he got back.

"Don't worry about it", Steve said. "We need to get Eddie out of here."

"I agree", Wayne said, arms crossed.

And then negotiations began. Because of course the government was absolutely against letting him free but they had to admit that the creature seemed much more calm after Steve had spent some time with it. And a few of the scientists already had their theories on what had happened with the cameras off. Steve could only fix his hair and clothes so much.

They didn't get what they wanted right away. It took a few days of Steve and Wayne coming back to argue their case before Eddie was finally transported to Steve's house under cover of night. Steve had told Wayne beforehand that he was more than welcome to stay too. Wayne declined, thanking him and saying he'd visit, but that he'd give the newlyweds at least one night alone.

Steve still couldn't believe that Wayne had known this whole time. But he never would have gotten this second chance with Eddie had his uncle not been aware.

And then they were alone.

Steve thought Eddie had been practicing patience but instead he'd just been very busy. It was another sign that his Eddie was still in there. His Eddie could never sit still for long. And this version of him remembered where some things were. That was the only explanation for how he'd begun to gather pillows and blankets and bring them to the living room.

Steve just watched him for a moment, wishing he had a camera in hand to capture this. Eddie spotted him and perked up then. Then, before Steve knew it, he was scooped up in his arms and carried over into the soft pile.

"Nest for mate. Nest for pups", he said. "Do you...like it?"

It was a pile of blankets in the middle of his living room. But it was soft. He nodded. "Yes, I like it Eddie."

Eddie cooed and hugged Steve tight. He nuzzled his neck. Steve allowed himself to relax. There weren't soldiers or monsters outside. He finally had Eddie all to himself. All of his feelings since the funeral began to wash over him like crashing waves. He sniffled a little and he held Eddie tight.

He didn't think he'd ever get to do this again. Eddie picked up on his mood change and touched his cheek.

"Steve?"

He looked up to meet Eddie's eyes. "Eddie, I love you. I never stopped loving you and I'm so-I'm so goddamn happy that you're alive."

Eddie made a sound from his chest. One that sounded like uncertainty. "Even...even like this?"

Steve's fingers brushed over his cheeks. There were sharp fangs now, and something feral in his eyes now. But he was still the one who had captured his heart.

"You haven't changed a bit."

He kissed Eddie then, fully on the mouth and suddenly his boyfriend's entire weight was on top of him. Eddie worked his legs apart. He purred against Steve's mouth and pulled back just enough to look into his eyes.

"Mate?"

And, well, call Steve weak because he was skeptical that anything would come of it, but he was intrigued by the prospect of it. He gave a slow nod and spread his legs even more. Right away, Eddie slid down his body and began to nose as his crotch. Steve whimpered. It didn't take much to turn him on but Eddie was working over time.

Steve appreciated it because he was sure when morning came he'd have a dozen people at his doorstep.

Part 5

Taglist

@estrellami-1 @gloomysoup @bxnghy @gutterflower77 @v3lv3tf0x

@tinyplanet95 @thedragonsaunt @stripey82 @ajeff855

[pascaloverx]

BABYBOY

PREVIEW: NICHOLAS CHAVEZ x READER

Author's Note: As a test to see if this fanfic might resonate with others besides myself, I’ve decided to share a preview with you all. If you enjoy it, please leave a comment! I haven’t yet decided whether I’ll continue writing it. This fanfic is for those who’d love to imagine themselves in a romance with Nicholas Chavez. I should warn you that there’s a possibility the reader might get involved with Nicholas while he’s still in a relationship with someone else, though nothing is set in stone yet.

AO3 link one

PREVIEW

You are utterly doomed—there is simply no other way to describe your situation. As most of your groceries tumble to the floor, you realize you've locked your boss's dog inside his luxurious apartment. What a splendid mess.

"Baby! Baby, don't get upset. I'll rescue you as soon as..." You shove your hands into your pants pockets but fail to find the cursed key. You now remember leaving the keys on the counter right after ushering Baby inside the apartment to fetch the groceries you'd left in the hallway.

"Damn it! I'm screwed, absolutely screwed," you exclaim loudly. Normally, in a posh building full of important people like this, you would temper your voice. But your boss is the sole tenant on this floor—or so you thought until you see a half-dressed man emerge from the apartment across the hall, visibly alarmed.

"My goodness, is everything all right?" he asks, stepping closer with genuine concern etched across his face.

"Not exactly. My boss's dog is locked inside the apartment," you reply, doing your best not to focus on the fact that he is nearly naked, wearing only a towel wrapped around his waist, and instead on the sound of the puppy barking. "Baby, I'll rescue you soon. No need to stress. Just listen to my voice and stay calm," you say to the dog, who seems to settle down.

"Excuse me, but did you leave a dog or an actual baby inside the apartment?" The man—who, you must admit, is very attractive—asks in a deep voice.

"There’s no time to clarify that. Baby has anxiety. He’ll get overly stressed, start chewing on himself, and lose his fur. When that happens, my job will be out the window. And poor thing, he’s so cute. Could you please help me?" you plead, trying to keep your nerves under control. Your boss devastatingly handsome neighbor flashes you a roguish smile, as if considering his options.

"Wouldn't it be better to call a locksmith?" he suggests, stepping closer to the door, testing how securely it’s locked.

"That would be ideal, but by the time a locksmith gets here, Baby will either be in a stress-induced coma or have eaten the few groceries left on the floor within reach. So, I’m begging you, emotional support hot guy, help me out here," you implore, your voice edging toward desperation. Your hand clings to his arm in a bid to either earn his sympathy—or steal a moment to enjoy the feel of him.

"That leaves us with only one option. Breaking down the door would certainly solve one problem, but it would undoubtedly create another, wouldn't it?" he asks, as though he already knows the answer—which, of course, he does. Yes, it would create a problem, but you're confident you can have the door fixed quickly, thanks to the connections you've gained as your boss's employee. However, your boss would never forgive you if anything happened to the dog.

"No offense, but I'm willing to take the risk. Please, break down the door and save my day," you reply, gazing into his bright, beautiful brown eyes. He hesitates, but as Baby's barking grows more insistent, he relents. Adjusting his stance to attempt the feat, you suddenly realize the absurdity of him doing this while nearly naked.

"Perhaps you might want to put on some clothes—" you begin, but before you can finish, he’s already forced the door open with the strength of Hercules. Baby bolts out of the apartment, tail wagging joyfully, heading straight into the arms of your boss's attractive neighbor.

"I think he’s grateful for the rescue," the neighbor says, remarkably still holding onto the towel around his waist.

"He's probably upset that I left him alone and is punishing me," you reply, pouting slightly to appeal to the dog’s sympathy. For a moment, Baby whimpers as you pet him, but he soon relents and accepts your affection. When the neighbor, now standing upright, lifts the dog to hand him back to you, his towel slips to the floor. Your eyes catch the sight of his completely bare physique before you instinctively cover them with your hands.

"I believe it’s best if you take the dog while I go put on some clothes," he says, his tone tinged with embarrassment. You stifle a laugh, the memory of the divine sight you just witnessed lingering in your mind.

"I mean, I’d love to, but I’d have to open my eyes, and that would mean seeing your body—practically carved by Greek sculptors—and I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable," you reply, keeping your eyes tightly shut. He chuckles softly, the sound deep and surprisingly pleasant. "Is that your way of saying I look like a Greek god?" he asks, clearly entertained.

You flush with embarrassment, realizing how disastrous your attempt at flirting must have sounded. "Horrible pickup line, right? I get flustered in situations like this," you confess, desperately trying to figure out how to grab the dog without accidentally disrespecting his modesty—or making things even more awkward.

"Here’s the plan," you suggest, "you pass Baby to me while I raise my arms, and I promise to keep my eyes closed the entire time." Determined to maintain your composure, you steel yourself, mentally repeating your goal: focus on the dog, nothing else.

He carefully places Baby into your hands, and you hold the little dog close. When you finally open your eyes, the neighbor is no longer there. With a sigh of relief, you decide to gather the scattered groceries and put everything in order. Once done, you prepare Baby’s special food and, to make up for the ordeal, give him a soothing massage.

When Baby finally drifts off to sleep, you remember the chocolate cake you had baked earlier. Grabbing a slice, you head to the handsome neighbor’s apartment.

"I know you might be feeling embarrassed, but I brought you a piece of chocolate cake as a thank-you," you say, holding out the dish between the two of you.

The man looks at you with a warm smile, taking the dish from your hands. His hands are surprisingly soft.

"I wasn’t embarrassed, just busy," he replies with an intriguing charm. "But I’ll enjoy your cake and let you know—you owe me a coffee."

"Am I interrupting you?" you ask, curious about what—or who—has been keeping him occupied. "Wait, how exactly do I owe you a coffee?"

Your curiosity seems to amuse the man before you, who leans casually against his open door, holding the dish with the chocolate cake in hand.

"The cake covers the rescue," he says with a teasing smirk. "But the coffee? That’s for the striptease I unintentionally performed for you earlier. Seems fair to me." His mischievous gaze lingers on you, playful yet bold.

You stifle a chuckle, tilting your head as you meet his eyes. "I suppose we’ll save the coffee for another time since you’re clearly occupied. But I’ll consider your case, emotional support hot guy," you quip, your tone light as you attempt to sneak a peek inside his apartment.

His home is as stylish as you might have imagined, the kind of space that exudes effortless charm. The soft strains of music playing in the background suggest he’s not alone, perhaps entertaining someone he hopes to impress. His lips curl into a knowing smile, as if catching your subtle glance inside. "You’ve got a sharp eye, don’t you? Careful, or I might think you’re more interested in my life than the coffee."

"Who wouldn’t be curious?" you reply, flashing a playful grin before stepping back toward your own door. "Enjoy the cake."

"Hey, I feel like we’ve skipped a few steps. If we’re going to keep running into each other, it’s probably important that we know more than the fact that you’re terrible with locks and I ended up naked in front of you," he says, stepping closer with a hint of interest in his eyes.

"My name is Nicholas," he continues, extending his hand toward you. You reach out to shake it, but instead, he lifts your hand to his lips and places a soft kiss on its back.

"Y/N," you reply, feeling a little flustered by the gesture. "But I doubt we’ll see each other that much. I’ll probably be fired soon after all of this."

"I hope you keep your job—and your spot across from my apartment. I think I’ve grown attached to Baby," Nicholas says with a grin, his voice laced with an undeniable charm. "And don’t forget, you still owe me that coffee."

You can’t ignore the spark of chemistry between you, though you tell yourself it’s probably just your imagination. "Wish me luck, nudist neighbor," you reply with a small smirk. "And if you ever need career advice, you might have a future as a professional striptease artist." The words escape your lips before you can fully process them, leaving you both embarrassed and bold. Without waiting to see his reaction, you step back into your boss’s apartment, closing the door behind you. As you wait for the locksmith to fix the damaged door, you can’t help but replay the encounter in your mind, a smile tugging at your lips.

[serawritesthings]

WHERE THE DEERS REST, first part

Pairing | LowHonor!Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader Summary | How can we do good when all we were raised to do is bad? A cruel fate, indeed. Yet when your past, and a certain outlaw, finds a way to set its claws in you once more, perhaps you'll soon find there is a way to change fate's design. Tags | sexual content 18+ minors dni, smut, heavy description of violence and wounds, angsty Word Count | 22k A/N | Oh god, I'm so nervous about posting this. First of all, thank you SO much for the love you showed to Our Dear, Green Little Friend. It has completely warmed my heart that so many of you like it, and even though it's taken me very long to post my next fic, it was one of the key motivations for me to continue writing on it. So thank you very, very much! <3 Also, like I said earlier, I'm very nervous about posting this fic since it's very long and perhaps quite different than what I've written before, but I hope to god you like it! I haven't been in the best mindset when writing it since I've dealt with some stress both privately and at work. I will let you know that I will soon go through it once more and edit it slightly, but I felt like I had to get it out to you guys since I feel bad that I haven't posted in a while, and I'm honestly quite sick of rereading the story time and time again. Please let me know if there are any serious misspellings, and I'll fix it directly! Anyway, sorry for the long text, and I hope you like it!<3

For some, it might’ve seemed cowardly, yet you couldn’t bear to unravel some memories, for they hurt too deeply–wounded too far. However, the thought of letting them fade was somehow worse, and while you feared the pain they would surely bring when confronted, you hadn’t been forced to face them until now. So, it turned out to be quite the coincidence they would come to haunt you now that time seemed to be at a standstill; the world around you had never been this calm before.  

“Miss, would you mind taking these back?” A hearty voice broke your thoughts, speaking in a mumbling fashion as the loud sound of books hit the wooden table. Wading through the dust that floated around you that stirred from Eustace’s sudden motion, you found his ageing eyes gazing at you amusedly, chuckling at the sour expression that formed on your otherwise soft features. 

“I don’t mind,” you said, giving him a small smile that turned vicious once the heavy pile of books was cradled in your arms. “If you don’t mind taking a round with the whisk.” You didn’t get the chance to see the irked look on his face, disappearing quickly into the towering bookshelves. 

“Don’t forget to dust the higher places as well!” Chuckling warmly at the man’s miffed mumbling, you walked on carefully, making sure not to stumble on the ratty carpet as his grumbling grew distant.

The bickering that seemed constant when you conversed with the older man was by all means with no ill intent, more so done in jest. And, while your friendship might seem rather unusual, there was no doubt that his presence brought you an undeniable comfort in a world that had done you more wrong than right. Sure, it might sound dreary, but you recently concluded that you grew more and more content with the thought of staying here.

You loved how a sense of calm always seemed to rest over the building, the smell of old books filling your senses, although an ever-so-poignant whiff of hot steel and grease found its way in from the open window as the train chugged to a stop and steam billowed through the surrounding air. Sighing, you took the liberty of closing the window, the sharp whistle making you cringe as it brought you out of your solitude.

Eustace had taken you under his wing when the bearings of your life had become too heavy, giving you a roof over your head and warm food in your stomach. It made you wonder how sparse kind souls like his were in this world, never having met one quite like him. While your compromised situation originally had been the reason for his kindness, he had found your fascination and vast knowledge of books intriguing and, therefore, refused to take no for an answer when he asked you to start helping him around his bookstore. Yet, despite how much you appreciated it, you couldn’t flee from the unease that still hooked its claws in you when you pondered the reason you had ended up here in the first place, the tendrils of it creeping into the sanctuary of the bookshop like ivy upon ancient stone. Despite your dislike of it, you bore the weight of it every second, and although well hidden, you had become tethered to the memories that followed your past. 

Like shattered glass, memories pierced your heart with sharp edges at every twist and turn. Distant echoes of laughter that had long since faded into silence, the faces blurred by time yet etched into your very being passing before you as your pace slowed down, the wooden panels creaking something so terribly under your weight.

With a heavy sigh, you moved among the hundreds of books, fingers deftly tracing the spines as you sought their rightful place amongst their brethren. Arranging them on the shelves, you tried to distract yourself from your thoughts by humming quietly in the otherwise quiet room. The shop had been empty for quite some time now; the townsfolk’s interest in the subtle words on the pages dimmed in their struggle to survive their daily life—only pretentious men stepped inside at times who, by crook or hook, imagined they would leave a mark on this world with their clever words and supposed hierarchy in society. It lessened, though, as they went for bigger–more extraordinary–things than this muck of a town, wherever that might be.

Amidst the quiet rustle of pages and the soft creak of wood–and your less than favourable words, the air suddenly turned congeal, thick with a sudden tension that tickled your senses with its uncertainty. A chill coursed down your spine as you felt an ominous presence looming behind you, casting you in its shadow as the weight of something cold and unyielding pressed against the tender flesh of your temple. With a tremble, you froze, the books once held tightly against your chest cascading to the ground in a tumble.

Your heart was hammering against your chest, beating against your ribs like a caged bird as its frantic beat drowned out the world around you. You grew too fearful to move, the clicking sound of a gun daring you to resist. 

“Easy there, miss,” a gravelly voice spoke, vibrating dangerously in your ear as warm breaths turned cold on the bare skin of your neck. “No sudden moves, and I won’t have to hurt you.”

You remembered that voice, feeling it dance just beyond the reaches of your consciousness, its familiarity almost touchable. How could you not voice it when the name lingered on your tongue, teasing and beckoning you? There had to be a mistake; there was no other conclusion to be made, for if it happened to be someone you had known, they might be less agreeable than the common bypasser.

“What do you want?” you managed to whisper, voice barely above a breath.

“Money, jewels. Whatever you got,” the voice replied, words heavy with a certain kind of roughness only a man holding a gun to a woman’s head could possess. “Just keep quiet and do as you’re told, and we’ll be on our way.”

Your mind raced in a jumbled mess of fear and uncertainty at the sudden intrusion you should have known was a high possibility in such a city as Blackwater. Yet, the thought only made your heart heavier against your chest, knowing all too well what kind of men hid in the darker corners of the alleyways. For one to threaten a woman in broad daylight, though, seemed very daring yet not an ounce less terrifying.

Summoning every bit of courage you possessed, you tilted your head to glimpse at the man pushing his head against the side of your face, opposite where the cold metal touched your temple dauntingly. As you did, you met the eyes of the man who held your fate in his hands–and in that fleeting moment, as your gazes met, you saw something flicker behind the hardened exterior of the outlaw.

Recognition dawned like a bolt of lightning. What stared back at you was not the face of a stranger but the familiar features of a man you had once known—a man whose presence had once held the promise of escape amidst the terrible deeds that clouded your life. Arthur Morgan, that’s who was standing behind you. His name echoed in your mind like from a long-forgotten dream, memories hidden so well you could barely remember them. 

Two broken souls, trying to find what others seemed to have handed to them on a silver platter: warmth and solace, the comforting thought of finding a home–somewhere to belong. Yet, the relationship wasn’t made to be perfect, and in your despair, nothing good could’ve come from it. As many things go, it became too fragile. It couldn’t—didn’t—last, and what you once saw as a light beyond the heavy curtains of darkness was quickly swallowed up.

Instead of the kind ones you remember, dark, dangerous eyes stared into yours, the swirls of blue coated in a rich black that ran like coal through his acidic gaze. So harsh and cold were they, burning through yours as thick brows fell like a shield over the dark pools, hiding behind his squint and hostile snarl. Almost unrecognizable, he was seemingly both older and larger as the lines on his face were more defined and wrinkles on his nose nearly etched onto his face. 

As your fearful eyes stared into his stoic yet calculating ones, you felt your body shiver in fright, every bell of alarm that once sounded so clearly in your mind turning quiet, now only the clock ticking discernible as blood rushed in your ears like a flood. The gun cocked dangerously, dread creeping through you at the wordless threat when you stayed quiet for longer than he had the patience for.

 “You deaf?” His growling voice burned deep in his throat. A warm breath brushed against your cheek as he kept your gaze wholly, completely disregarding the unmistakable fear in your expression. 

“I-”

You stumbled over your words, voice thick before a gasp left you. Between the disbelief of seeing Arthur’s face once again, although more weathered than you remember, and the thought of having a gun pressed to your temple, there was not a single word you could utter that would seem sensible.

Suddenly, you were turned around, hands pushing you against the bookshelves in a hasty motion, never minding their grip on you. Your head craned as the gun now found your neck, trying desperately to get away from it but instead having it digging harder into your skin. 

“Now, are you going to do as I say?” You could feel the tendrils of disgust burn through you, face contorting as you twisted in his arms, proving futile against his leverage. 

“Nah, none of that. You hear me?” His grumbling could be heard from deep within his chest while his face soured, the sharp lines of his frown growing darker under the shadow of his hat. Tightening the grip he had on you, his arms wound themselves like vices around you, daring you to make another move. 

He was close now, his hot breath chilling the skin on your face as the smell of sweat and leather filled your senses–tears almost welled up in your eyes from the stinging feel of smoke emitted from his clothing. Every calm yet strained breath that left him was audible, contrasting heavily with your hectic breathing that filled the now-empty room. 

It was daunting yet all too familiar as memories clouded your mind of the same man who was now threatening your life. Did he even recognize you? Or was he too far gone? Had the devil set its claws so deep inside him that he couldn’t longer differentiate friend from foe? It would seem so, you concluded, gazing again at his hardened face, which only recognized a stranger before him–a puppet to get what he desired the most.

“We ain’t got much.” Your voice strained against your throat, thick with unshed tears that lingered in the corners of your eyes. All you got in return was a faint squint of his eyes, gazing at you cautiously as he looked behind him calmly before returning his eyes to you. 

“Do as I say.” Not a word left you, and whether it was from stubbornness or fear, you couldn’t be sure, but the look you were given made sure to convey that crossing him would not end well for you. 

That was until it changed. Arthur’s features softened after he observed your face, running his eyes over your eyes and the slope of your nose until they reached your lips, quickly averting his gaze as he turned his head away momentarily. Did he remember you, you wondered, finding no other explanation to make sense.

It was a long time ago, too long for you to consider the shadow of a man standing before you a friend, yet you had never remembered him to be quite so harsh. So, brutal, perhaps? You had undoubtedly missed a few chapters, but the years were far apart, and time had a funny way of doing its worst to those who deserved it the least. Like wet paint, it spreads, leaching onto good people like a virus–just like bad fosters bad, and good fosters good. 

“Please…” You pleaded with him, fright seeping like syrup into your shaking voice, pathetic and childish. “I-”

There was no time to finish your sentence. The loud thundering of hooves broke through the room’s tension, audible even through the closed window. Loud calls could be heard, as well as swear words further into the building that you did not recognize as Eustace. Worry filled you when you realized Arthur hadn’t come alone in his business to rob you blind, and now you were fearful that your companion might be in an even worse predicament.

The frown on his face deepened, the hold on his gun softening just enough as he pushed you hastily back towards the bookshelf, your legs weakening underneath you as you fell towards the ground. In long strides, he marched towards the window, hiding behind the wall as he peered out, almost blending into the shadows as the light from outside shone brightly. You could see people running past it, in too much of a hurry to peer inside as the shouts grew louder.

“Arthur!” A voice called out, recognizable as the rich timbre echoed through the corridor, gravelly yet smooth. “We have to leave!” As the last syllable left his mouth, you jerked as the first sound of a gun going off could be heard, hands quick to cover your ears as the noise punched a hole in your gut. “Now, Arthur!” 

Everything after that became a blur, your whole body growing rigid as the world turned into chaos. Bullets could be heard going off left and right, rather like a thunderstorm than a gunfight echoing outside the room that now held you in prison. Your body stiffened, muscles tensing as you were brought back to the sounds that filled you with dread, memories flooding you, both unbidden and unwelcome. 

Faces twisted in fear, the acrid smell of burning flesh, rising smoke, and gunpowder–sounds of screams echoing in your ears. You wished for it to cease, for the images to disappear, searching every corner of the room for an escape, somewhere you could go to to rid yourself of the horrid thoughts.

Momentarily, amidst your glancing around in stress, you found a pair of calculating eyes boring into yours, seemingly undecided as they stayed planted beside the window. Your breath came out in ragged gasps, the staccato rhythm of gunfire echoing through the building, mingling with shouts of panic and the sound of breaking glass.

Arthur’s gaze was fixated intensely on you, and a sense of uneasiness settled when you realized. It was heavy, and your heart raced as your eyes stayed plastered to the others–the urgent shouts from outside pierced through the silence as danger lurked outside the room’s walls. Yet, you couldn’t help but feel as if he was searching for something in the depths of your soul, piercing you with a scrutiny that left you barer than if he were to strip you of all your clothes and examine you naked. You found yourself unable to look away, moved by the indescribable way he didn’t seem to be either.

“Arthur!” 

Barreling through the door in a flash of binges breaking loose and dust clouding your vision, a pair of men fell roughly onto the ground a few meters before you, blood seeping through their clothes like a rich, red paint. Splattering on the ground, it almost reached your clothes as bullets rained after them, shooting holes in the walls the few times it missed their targets. 

Frantic eyes searched the now corpses in front of you, expecting to see Eustace's body among them. Yet, you found none–and hadn’t you been too preoccupied with the currants of relief coursing through you, you would have seen the young faces of the poor boys who had found their doom that day only because their perpetrators wanted to fill their pockets.

It didn’t seem that Arthur paid any mind to the mess that transpired in front of your very eyes, more so, still focusing on you like you were the only one in the room. Visibly distressed, it didn’t seem to deter him, his fingers flexing as his gaze burned dangerously under the shadow of his hat. 

That was until he suddenly tore his attention from you in annoyance, seemingly finding the dead bodies in front of you a menace, a simple block in the road. That was until a faint grunt seemed to leave one of them, a grunt filled with pain as frantic eyes flickered around while the rest of his limbs appeared paralyzed, only able to stare at the roof.

Rounding him immediately, Arthur stepped around the man, walking with his dirty boots and rattling spurs into the blood that loitered the floor as the sound of the thick, wet fluid reverberated in your ears. Without a single word, he gave you one last glance. You stayed on the floor, clutching your shoulders with your hands as he bent over the man and stared him unapologetically in the eyes–the only sound after being the loud bang of his gun. 

The sight was gruesome, and to think a man could do something like that without a blink of an eye, you considered even more cruel. You had seen your fair share of malice and anger, anger that turned even the kindest of men into herds of both sheep and wolves, meaning you couldn’t possibly be surprised. Yet, it reminded you too terribly of a time you thought you now would get the chance to lay behind you, never more having to stare these horrible men in the eyes any longer but instead keep them closed.

And you did keep your eyes closed this time, waiting for the moment pain would fill your chest. Yet, it didn’t come since only silence followed, and when you opened them again, the room was devoid of any life except your own; Arthur now only seemed to have been a figment of your imagination if it weren't for the poor victim, his blue eyes staring lifelessly into yous, wide open and terrified, seemingly having turned to you in the last second, hoping you would save him from his terrible fate.

—

Some would say you were of the quiet sort, choosing the words that fell from your lips carefully, both pondering and cautious. It came from a life where those assets were vital, a simple way to keep your tongue in check and do what you had to survive –which you would like to say wasn’t easy when it felt like your mind ran a thousand miles a second, never resting and finding it troublesome to make sense of the world that unveiled itself before you. 

With your mother gone, you found yourself thrust into a world of uncertainty, your father's callousness only serving to worsen the fate you seemed to have been handed as he appeared indifferent to your loss, attention consumed by the demands of those around him. But alas, he was affected too, and you had come to learn that different people react differently to whatever hardships they come by–and those who don’t respond at all seem to be the ones that eventually act the harshest.

That was at least how your father had acted; you perceived his anger as something only a daughter could experience from a father. It was brutal and sudden, only appearing after a silence that rang like sirens in your ears–then grappling and choking. What could possess a man to harbor such anger, you couldn’t say, and while you knew he had it worse when he was little, you wondered if the thought of you only being a child ever crossed his mind.

You should be filled with anger and resentment, so much it could consume your life, fuel every action, and affect every choice you make. You should’ve been immersed in sadness, crying until your voice gave out and tears dried up, yet you couldn’t. They were inside of you; you could feel them leaking into your chest, and as you stared into your own dry eyes, you could only see the malice of your father reflected in them–the malice that seemed to be reflected in most eyes these days.

 It didn’t matter if it was the ladies who sometimes passed by the dusty town of Blackwater or the lone man begging for coins in the corner of some run-down store. Deep-seated anger was in them all, rooted so gravely it felt like the air blackened when you stepped outside. Like a curse, it seeped into the very bones and festered there. 

Why? Perhaps that’s just how humans work, always needing something to prove that the inhabited anger they felt had a cause, always searching to direct it to someone else less deserving of it. So, perhaps there wasn’t anyone to blame for the whole thing—maybe it was just the nature of humans–just like happiness or sadness is a natural way of expressing oneself. It seemed more manageable for you to grapple with it when thought of that way, for it became more of a fact than somewhere to cast your blame. 

That’s why, when the bodies being dragged out the door left their track of dark, red blood, you could only gaze at Eustace, who spoke to one of the officers, refusing to look at the bloodshed around you. It turned out that your old man had been fine, answering in irritation while he told the sheriff that the outlaws probably hadn’t found him big enough of a threat as they searched every cabinet and shelf, taking no care to be careful of the things around them as it tumbled in heaps to the floor.

You couldn’t be sure if you felt relieved or not to have been further away from Eustace than you had been, wondering how your fate would have been decided if the lot of them had found you instead. Perhaps it had been your saving grace to see that the man from your past reached you first, but you couldn’t possibly say. Or maybe your saving grace was the officers who reached you just in time, for there was no telling what Arthur would have done with you had they not arrived when they did.

When you thought about it,  he’d always been unpredictable. While his face was familiar to you, he was unrecognizable in many ways. His movements had been calculating and menacing, and his eyes looked right through you as if it didn’t matter who was standing before him. The only thought reflected in his eyes was the hope of shiny gold and glittering diamonds. But there was also greed–greed and hunger.

You could tell, for you had seen it before. There was a time when that was all you saw, and for a long while, you wondered how far a man could go to satiate his needs–if greed only could grow, worsen like a drug. The more you got, the more you needed, the high never enough, and the thought of gaining more pleasurable to the point of doing anything to receive it.

 However, it was never a look you had seen coming from Arthur when you’d known him, as he’d been more prone to emit a childish want for justice and righteousness, pride, and a strong sense of doing what was right though the act was considered wrong. But it was a long time ago, and you realized that your vision might be clouded by a young girl's naivety that the world was a good place–that people could be wholeheartedly good.

“Dear girl.” Your thoughts were broken by Eustace’s low, seemingly now more careful voice, walking over to where you stood amidst the rushing forms of lawmen. “Are you alright?”

Were you? It was hard to tell, so you had no straight answer to give him. It was too crowded, and since you had nowhere to gather yourself, you weren’t in the right mind to devise a sensible response. So, instead, you answered in a way that would get you the least amount of questions–even though it might have been considered lying.

“Oh, I’m alright, Eustace; they never got the chance to find me.” Giving him a tight-knit smile, you touched his arm, grateful for his concern. “They didn’t hurt you, did they?” 

You glanced up at him, finding his sharp eyes doubtful. You should have known. He never took kindly to lying and had an incredible knack for noticing when someone did. It would indeed be your doom one day–and many others, no doubt. 

“No, I suspect they didn’t find the old man much of a threat.” 

“Well, I’m glad they didn’t.” His eyes softened, and he heard your words despite your mumbling. Your gaze stayed stuck on his shoulder, deep in thought. 

Even though the danger had passed for some time, it still felt like your heart resided somewhere deep in your stomach. Your thoughts and the looming dread–the slightly metallic smell of blood filling your nose—were heavy. It didn’t help that Arthur’s face became more prone to showing up after that incident, his grim expression wearing a sharp nose and piercing eyes cutting through the yellowed paper plastered on the city walls, surrounded by his unlawful friends that didn’t look any less menacingly. 

5000§. That was the price for a man taking what he deemed his own, countless murders and robberies on his hands, blood heavy on his mind, and dollars flooding his pockets. It didn’t help your case that the poor boy selling newspapers in the corner outside the bookstore had pipes to last for days, reminding both you and the townspeople of their latest misfortune of having a gang hiding in the shadows. 

Since trouble always seemed to find you, there wasn’t much for you to chastise yourself with, all too familiar with the thought of being at the deep end of one conflict or another. It was laughable, really, that one person could be doomed with such a case of bad luck and an increasing magnetism towards people who fought with bloodied knuckles for power and status. But, in the end, maybe the weak belonged to the strong—just like flies sought feed from the skin of rotting corpses to consume the waste left by those who always strived forward, no matter their intentions or values. Perhaps it was an unspoken law of nature, an inevitable dance between vulnerability and dominance, where the fragile were snared in its horrid embrace. 

What could you possibly do against nature’s firm grip on the world? It wasn’t as if it was an imagined force you could call upon when needed—it was just how it was, and no amount of will or strength could make that fact undeniable. You came to terms with that realization long ago, but the gnawing feeling in your chest was more stomach-twisting than anything you had felt before. What you were scared of, you possibly couldn’t say. Perhaps it was the leftover tremors that still coursed through you or the dampening feeling of nausea that persisted, yet somehow, it was something else, a faint sense that the danger wasn’t over yet.

Could Arthur be the one causing the cold sweat to run down your back even though the room was boiling from the heat outside, making you twist and turn in your bed as you prayed that the wind that sometimes passed through the slightly open window would carry an ounce of coldness so you could feel anything but the enclosing heat that now seemed to warm you to the bone? Your eyes closed tight as if you pressed them hard enough; you would fool your mind that you were asleep, the gnawing voices in your head ceasing so you could, perhaps, finally rest.

There was no doubt about it—you were frightened. It was unusual, this feeling, since while you’ve had many instances in your life where fear was the key factor, after some time, your body—or mind perhaps— grows familiar with it, so familiar that it washes away with the wind. Some fare well when scared, responding automatically as if their minds grow clearer when faced with the means to survive. In others, which is the category where you fit in, grow blank, like a heavy fog settles, keeping you from sensing left and right. A perfect prey, indeed.

And a perfect prey you were, the open window inviting anyone who happened to pass by, and in excellent condition for someone to climb the two stories to reach the wooden frames and then slink into the room with their grubby fingers and glinting eyes—stupid girl, to think so carelessly as if the streets were safe and people were kind. 

Clothes rustling into the quiet night could be heard if you focused your ears hard enough, the floorboards creaking under the soles of muddy boots and clinking metal. Whoever could it be, one might wonder—and you grew paralyzed as the thought hit you, only able to stare at the tapestry that covered the wall in intricate patterns. The room’s darkness lets you hear every slight sound that would otherwise blend into the background, your senses heightened.

Perhaps the perpetrator thought you were asleep, your dreams already taking you to a land where you were dancing among clouds, not a single thought of the fright that would soon take over and turn the clouds so dark you couldn’t differentiate them from reality. Then, you thought, maybe you had been asleep as the sounds disappeared, all too familiar with waking up along the frantic beating of your heart, wide awake as horrible nightmares chased you till morning.

Your laboured breaths were the only thing that could be heard now, only a fool mistaking them for sleeping as you tried to steady your erratic heart. But you would soon find that the cold chill that ran up your clothed arm wasn’t the wind from the window caressing you but the hand of something more foul, riddled with scars that seemed insignificant in contrast to its owner’s sin.

Creaking under you, the bed groaned from the sudden weight, bedsheets rustling slightly as you closed your eyes tightly shut. The figure loomed over you, its large hand carefully moving further down your arm. You wondered, perhaps, if you stayed still long enough, you would be left alone or maybe dismissed as dead if you held your breath long enough. The thought seemed more appealing when you felt the cold skin burn through the garment, the smell of smoke so strong it felt as if you took a drag of the tobacco and let it scald its way to your lungs. It was vile, and in the presence of the sweat that bit its way through your nose, your eyes watered, your body begging to escape the horrid stench.

That was until the pressure lessened, and the room stayed quiet for a while, your heart beating so heavily it felt like someone held it right up to your ear, breath shaking with every small intake. But then, as the silence continued, you felt a warmth spread slowly down your arms, the substance thick like syrup as it made its way through the cotton of your shirt, spreading til the white fabric darkened to a deep, unsettling red. The scent of iron filled the air, subtle yet unmistakable as the shirt clung tighter to the skin beneath. 

You shot your squinting eyes wide open just in time to feel a heavy weight falling over you, unmoving and grim as what you now saw was a man gasping for air. Your first instinct was to scream, but you didn’t get the chance as a hand roughly placed its palm against your mouth, leaving the terrified noise that escaped you muted while your eyes flickered around wildly, trying to make sense of what was going on.

“Quiet now,” a rough voice spoke, removing its hand from your mouth when you became quiet, too shocked when recognizing who it was that spoke. It only grew heavier when your eyes got more familiar with your surroundings, the heaviness that lingered over you being in the form of a man, the warmth you had felt turning out to be from the deep cut across his neck, blood seeping like a waterfall from the paling flesh.

Another scream left you as you struggled to get the limbs away, squirming and trashing as you pushed the hand off you in the process as you begged for the suffocating smell of iron and sweat to disappear. When it did, you crawled backward, body bathing in the slick, blood-soaked sheets. Pushed to the floor, the man was left in a lifeless heap, eyes staring vacantly into the distance.

Those eyes–the sharp nose and squinting eyes—seemed familiar, reminding you of someone you couldn’t quite put your finger on, not while the room remained dark. However, you didn’t have the chance to ponder any longer as more harshly than before, a hand covered your mouth as you remained pushed up against the bedframe, coddling your hands to your chest.

Wet eyes stared into a pair of dark pools, once blue eyes now appearing black in the obscurity of the night as its facial features bathed in the light from the moon. Even still, it was hard to make out who it was, but his voice alone was enough for the realization to set in, now undoubtedly aware of who held your mouth with one hand and the shining blade of a knife in the other. 

“Keep screaming, and you’ll damn us both.” A familiar, grumbling voice spoke out, hushed, yet the warning of danger lay smoldering underneath the surface. 

“Arthur?” Your voice was hoarse when you spoke, riddled with shock when you realized that the man you had feared was in your bedroom, unwelcomed and unwished for. 

“Wh-” You didn’t get to finish your question before he ripped his hand from you, casting you a dark look as he stepped off the bed, the floorboards groaning awfully at the sudden weight.

“Quiet.” There was no need for him to say anything else as you complied, the rattling anger in his voice only fueling his hasty, rigid movements as he bent down, checking the pulse of the man bleeding out on the floor. 

The sight was gruesome, blank eyes shining in the moonlight as if they were somewhere far away, lost in a dream. A dream, you pondered amidst your shock. Yes, this could all very well be a dream—a bad dream, perhaps, yet the thought of it maybe not being real brought you a sense of comfort. But how could it be? It felt too real, and you could vividly recall every moment as it played out in front of you, feel every touch, and smell every scent.

Lost in a haze, you stared down at your body, the thick, red blood more visible as your eyes got used to your surroundings. Closing your eyes, you cast away the faint memories that grew bolder as the smell of iron crawled up your nose, almost gagged by the sight and the imposing smell that grew stuffier, fuller somehow.

Your eyes shot open, watching the dead body heaved on Arthur’s shoulder being thrown over the window sill, the impact noticeable with a loud thud. You could only stare at him as he leaned over, looking around quickly before turning towards you again, nodding his head towards the window. 

If you had been in the right mindset and not scared witless, you would have laughed at his blatant naivety for thinking you would dive head-first into the darkness of the night, with him no less. There might have been a time when you knew him, but that wasn’t the case anymore—the dark eyes cowering behind his hat were unrecognizable, and the unkind tone of his voice was entirely someone else’s. 

“Shit,” you heard him mumble when you made no motion to move from your spot, only cradling your arms tighter around you. Rubbing his eyes in stress, he glanced at you again, almost scoffing at you when you gave him a blank stare.

“Come on then, I ain’t got all day.” As you made no further movement that would give him the impression you were complying, he sighed and, with heavy steps, stalked towards you as the bed rattled slightly from his movements. You only held out your hands when he grabbed your waist roughly, fingers betraying you as they trembled wildly against his chest.

“What are you doing, Arthur?” His movements halted, his leatherbound hands stopped around your middle, and his eyes twitched when he heard his name being spoken. Along the ridges of harshness, you could see a faint confusion lingering in his stare, blatantly staring deep into your eyes unabashedly as he lifted you from the bed. 

“Wha—” You pushed against his chest, and while it didn’t succeed in making him back off, it only made his brows furrow deeper.

“Listen here,” he said darkly, grabbing your upper arms and shaking you slightly. “Do as I say—follow my every word, and you won’t die.” 

You stopped for a moment, bewildered by his words. You couldn’t make sense of it—none of it. Questions were brewing in your mind, but you couldn’t find the words to speak them, couldn’t find the words to scream for help. It might seem funny to be scared of a man you once knew to have a good heart, but you have known men your whole life, and it never takes much for them to see right from wrong and still do the wrong thing.

“What’s going on, Arthur?” you breathed shakily, glancing at his hands, which gripped your arms when they tightened. It was hard to imagine that they had once been so gentle, the thought seemingly miles away as you returned your gaze to his squinting eyes, so close now that you could feel his breath against your skin. “Why are you here?”

Your voice had grown quiet as the question hung loose in the air. Shuddering, the wind flowed wildly into the room, banging the windows against the wall.

“Come on,” Arthur curtly said as he pushed you in front of him. You quickly realized you could hear footsteps from the stairs behind the shut door—Eustace, you thought, a cold chill running up your back as you gasped. 

When you stopped before Arthur in protest, he only gave you a mean glance when you gazed back in concern, telling you all you needed to know. Disbelief was written on your face when you realized his cruelty, feeling it reverberating in your head a few moments before you could make sense of it. 

“Don’t-” 

“Then do as I say.” He whispered harshly, pushing you forward to make you move, and this time, your feet strode hastily toward the window. Two stories high, the room was, and before you could glance back in protest, Arthur pushed past you quickly, landing with a heavy thud against the dusty ground, clouds of it forming as it danced in the falling glow from the lamppost. 

The street below was bathing in darkness, the sullied street more daunting from this high up and saddening when Eustace’s voice could be heard echoing through the hallway, his worried tone reverberating through the walls. It was hard to leave and listen to him calling out for you, yet you realized there wasn’t a choice for you now, and a big part of you refused to see him come to harm. If Arthur would’ve stayed true to his threat, that is.

You couldn’t say why you were so scared, having faced dangers more bone-chilling than this. But perhaps you feared to once more fall into the wrong arms, the arms of a man who reminded you of a past you’d rather lay behind you. But that might’ve always been the case for people who lived a hard life, feeling it better to put it to rest than reawaken it.

Without casting a glance behind you to see the shadow in the hallway flicker wildly as a stressed cane could be heard audibly hitting the wooden floor; you climbed over the window frame, the chipping paint sticking to your tightly gripping hands. It wasn’t until the trashing of air surrounded you that you fell into a pair of arms that immediately embraced you, hands gripping under your waist to ease your landing. 

Quickly, before his hand could linger, you backed away, relieved when you no longer felt the tight hold he had managed to capture you in. His gaze remained heavy on you, and you did your utmost to avoid him, letting your eyes falter, not daring to meet him. How he could act so carelessly, you couldn’t possibly justify, yet his presence alone made you take a few steps back.

His movements were harsh as he adverted his eyes, and you could see how his body was rigid and tense, as if he’d been bathing in ice-cold water. He glanced towards the window, walking towards you as he motioned you to turn around and walk through the streets until the building disappeared behind tons of others, his grip on your arm tight like he worried you would slip out his grasp—or attempt to. Most likely, you thought, knowing exactly what he would do if you tried when considering his earlier threat.

“Where are you taking me?” You applauded yourself for dampening the tremble in your voice when you spoke, somehow finding the simple thought mildly embarrassing while aware it would be entirely valid if you did. This time, you found yourself getting an answer to your question, and although harsh and hasty, it gave you reason to question its meaning. 

“Somewhere safe,” Arthur grumbled under his breath before pushing your back against the local general’s store wall, your figure hidden behind his large frame in the deserted alley. You made another attempt to question him further, only managing to open your mouth before the leather of his gloves covered it, hushing you as his eyes found yours, a threat lying deep within them. 

A few moments passed in silence, the brick wall against your back cold as the small stones pressed uncomfortably against your shoulder blades. Moving slightly, you turned your head to gaze out towards the street, finding Arthur’s hand turning your face back instantly, shaking his head.

It wasn’t long before loud footsteps could be heard through the streets, metal clanking and murmurs echoing as their shadows grew taller from the orange light of the lamppost.

“Be still,” Arthur whispered under his breath, the sound of his gun cocking slowly as if to make as little noise as possible. Stepping away from you, he motioned you to step further into the alley, where the darkness would almost swallow you whole. “Stay there until l come back, and keep quiet.”

You didn’t get the chance to follow his command, though; the sharp sound of a gun went off, the noise so bone-rattling in the quiet, sleeping town it likened to the sound of thunder—a thunder turning into a full-blown storm as it didn’t even take a millisecond before bullets rained through the air, shooting holes into walls and shattering surrounding windows. 

Your back found the brick wall again, Arthur’s back meeting your front as he shielded you with his body. Peeking from behind the building, the sound of his gun went off booming in your ear, his face growing even more grim, cursing under his breath as a bullet flew right past him. His weight pushed against yours when he once more took cover, taking the chance to reload as you gazed at the small cut on his neck where the bullet had grazed him—happy that it hadn’t been you.

Your hands turned pale as they gripped Arthur’s jacket, eyes screwing shut as the noise around you only grew nearer, each intake of breath shallow and rapid, as if the air in and of itself had turned hostile. Desperation clawed at your mind, begging you to slip away from the man holding you back and make a run for it, but you found that you couldn’t, damning yourself for staying still when all you wanted to do was get away.

Although warmth suddenly enveloped your hand, the rough leather and warm fingers wrapped around your sweaty ones. You opened your eyes, breathing erratically as you were once more met with the familiarity of Arthur’s jacket. As you glanced down, you caught a glimpse of his hand encasing you before the sight disappeared just as the feeling passed. You wondered if the hard, cold man in front of you had been the one to do it or if you’d imagined it.

With no more time to ponder, Arthur hastily stepped out on the streets, wildly looking around him with his gun raised as he turned his body in all directions. All dead, you presumed, as no more shots were being fired, yet you could hear more footsteps coming your way, alarmed voices shouting as doors slammed open in the distance. 

“Shit,” Arthur muttered, a loud whistle cutting through the air before he returned to you, casting a glance your way as you gazed worryingly towards the direction of the loud calls, stumbling towards Arthur, feeling like the ground was tilting beneath your feet. 

“What’s happening?”

“Law,” he stated, grasping your waist and hoisting you up what you discovered was his horse. The strong muscles flexed under your weight as you sat behind the saddle, and the chestnut coat softened under your fingers as you tried to find stability.

“Hold on,” Arthur said after heaving himself onto the saddle, casting a look backward when you took too long to follow his words, only setting off when your hands crawled tentatively around his waist, gripping the material under your hands firmly.

You wanted to ask him where he was taking you, but fear choked up your words and rattled your brain as you tried to comprehend your current predicament. So, instead, you held onto his jacket til your fingers turned a paler shade, closing your eyes as you wished that with it, you could disappear—perhaps wake up in your bed once more and feel the morning sun shine brightly upon you as it had done now for quite some time, instead of the cold, harsh air blowing against you, seeping through every garment you were wearing.

You had happily laid the unknown fate behind you when you found Eustace, not knowing the past from the present—not knowing what lay before you. As a child, it had been everything you’d known. And, being brought up always moving, you’d grown used to a stable home, a far-off dream, if even that, since you had never known that stability existed. Food on the table, clean clothes that didn’t reek of sweat and were stained with dirt, and clean water that would surely do you better than the burning alcohol you often got as a substitute for liquid. 

All in all, finding a home with Eustace had been a blessing, no matter how absurd your situation may have looked to others. Therefore, suddenly, having to leave made everything ten times worse—you didn’t want to go, and you cursed the man in front of you, cursing him for disrupting your peace, for taking you away for—well, you weren’t quite so sure yet. 

Although it itched inside you to ask him, you hadn’t missed the part where Arthur seemingly wasn’t the man you had once known. Therefore, you kept your mouth shut, not daring to speak a word while you gazed behind you as the city lights dimmed with time, buildings replaced with trees, and people with animals that scourged away into the woods surrounding the path when the clacking of hooves grew near. 

You rode for a long while in silence, and with every chance you got, you glanced behind you, expecting to see the sheriff’s men closing in on you despite Arthur’s brutal pace—to see the pistols aimed at you in a way you’d thought you’d laid behind you after all those years on the run. But no, no galloping horses followed you, only darkness engulfing your sight as you looked back, the only noise the huffing of the horse beneath you.

Night turned to day, and you never stopped to regain your breath, to make sense of your surroundings. It was consuming, yet you took the chance to feel the now brisk air of the morning caress your cheeks softly, smell the bracing dew and the carrying of fresh air before the heat would set in a few hours. For a long while, you’d forgotten how good it felt to be outside of the city map with no walls confining you, no bustling crowds jostling for space. Nature’s gentle, soothing sounds replaced the constant hum of urban life—machinery and voices. The rustling leaves, the chirping of birds, and the distant call of wildlife may have once done their best to soothe your rattled nerves, yet it didn’t ease now, and you found yourself only growing more nervous.

—

“We ain’t got no other choice but to stay here tonight,” Arthur said as the horse slowed to a trot, examining the area as he squinted against the sharp evening sun. “Reckon, we’ll be safe enough out here. If they ain’t following us, of course.”

A small sigh left you, almost letting a groan escape you as you moved slightly behind the saddle. Feeling the muscles ache deep within, you were unwilling to face a second longer seated atop the horse. You didn’t even register his last words and their hidden threat, trying to remind you what heap of danger you were in—as if you weren’t aware, as if he didn’t already make you more at edge.

As the horse finally stopped at a place Arthur found agreeable, you didn’t wait a second to glide down towards the ground, feeling your feet planted on firm ground, the grass underneath them heavenly as you stretched with your newly-found freedom. 

“Don’t run away,” Arthur muttered as his gaze stayed on you, warning laying deep in his voice.

“And where would I go?” Raising your arms, you gave him a frustrated look, not understanding how he would even make the assumption that you could, the landscape stretching on for miles with only vegetation and no roads as far as the eye could see, only lurking animals awaiting you with open mouths and greedy arms.

“I don’t know, just don’t do it,” he grumbled, sliding off the saddle before throwing you a blanket. As he crouched down, making you believe he was setting up a fire, you walked closer to him, carefully watching the guns on his back, like devil horns sprouting like bone from his shoulders.

“Arthur,” you began, hugging the blanket to your chest. “Will you tell me who those men were?” His mood was terrible, yet somehow, the words left you before you could stop them. There was, of course, still lingering anger at him inside of you, the underlying tones of sorrow that stung its way through you. Yet, you had to know—had to understand why he had turned his visit into a raging bloodbath and who that man was whose blood had dried up your clothes as the fabric had now grown thick and pasty.

“The law, I already told ya,” 

“I know that,” you sighed, trying again, finding it easier to look at him when his back was turned. “But the men before that, and the man in my bedroom….” you trailed off, recalling the horrid moment and the consuming smell of blood, the lifeless eyes once again staring straight through you, brows still furrowed while the eyes stayed wide open.

He halted slightly in his motions, casting a glance sideways yet not entirely looking at you as he rubbed his eyes. Sweat ran down his face as he lowered his hat to rid himself of the still-blazing sun, cursing under his breath at the damned warmth that almost felt torturous when the wind laid to rest.

“Jesse’s men,” he said, continuing his earlier action. Your stomach plunged, shock traveling through your body as you froze, wishing sincerely he’d said any name but that. 

“And the man in my be-”

“Jesse.”

“Oh.”

Backing slightly, you could feel your throat constricting when the familiar name left Arthur’s mouth. It had been a long time ago, yet now it seemed so near, almost too near, being able to grasp the memories that made your heart lurch and stomach turn, something waxy and cold lining your insides at the thought.

Although, with it being given more thought, wasn’t this just your luck? Had it not always been your luck? To find yourself amid everything terrible, of all that was rancid and chaotic—entangled in the embrace of men who, above all else, desired more, strove towards gaining what they deemed necessary. Because of this, there had been many instances where you had felt greed, the familiarity with currents so strong there was no other explanation than rendering yourself no better than others when it came to it. And, unfortunately, it was consistent, for it appeared in everyone—everywhere—whether consciously or not, there had been no way for you to unsee it. 

“But I don’t understand,” you said, your voice quiet as you spoke to yourself, gaze far off as you absentmindedly stared into thin air. “Jesse already killed Charlie. Why would he go after me, and now of all times? He couldn’t possibly be that greedy?” Silence followed, Arthur’s eyes finally meeting yours with reluctance, as if your question bothered him more than he wanted to let on. “Could he?”

“It ain’t—” he trailed off, eyes flickering as if pondering how best to form the words soon to be said. “Well,” he said more directly this time. “Death ain’t enough for some, I guess.”

As his words sunk in, Arthur avoided your gaze, the silence from you enough to tell him that he’d struck a chord in you with his admittance. Horrifying, yet how could it surprise you when you had faced the inner turmoil of men many times, knowing the ways of honor and respect they so desperately clung to? Although there was an underlying dread to his words—like someone had wrapped a bag over your lungs when you thought of what could’ve been—where you could’ve been if Arthur hadn’t been there that night.

When you were both smaller and much more naive than today, you’d seen the bullet that flew right through your father’s skull with both eyes by the hand of Jesse, wide open and undoubtedly too young to stand witness to such a thing—no less it being a parent. You’d been too little; you simply didn’t understand it, and while you can honestly say it didn’t impact you then, being too used to seeing things like that firsthand and not particularly close to your father, it plastered itself onto you like a stamp whether you liked it or not.

Charlie, your father, had grown too careless and brave to think himself above others, particularly Jesse. All in all, that didn’t sit right with him, and as your father went through the grief of losing your mother, growing both colder and meaner with time—an image of his former self—he didn’t have much to care for except the gluttony that grew more consistent as the years passed. Sometimes, you’d ponder if any man could be blamed for it, for it seemingly was engraved in our bones, perhaps a fundamental part of the human mind. 

You’d concluded you couldn’t cast that blame at your father when he tried to usurp Jesse, for then greed battled greed, and you had to choose which one was more deserving of understanding. Yet, you soon came to realize it didn’t matter who was more deserving, for power played a bigger part, and it didn’t care for either justice or discernment—only in which hands it could grow stronger, in which mind it could spread its dark tendrils until it grew satisfied. The only problem was that it never did, and you deemed it the downfall of many, both great and horrible men, those who deserved it and those who didn’t.

After that, you didn’t have much more to say, continuing the late evening in silence as your mind raced terribly after your conversation. You couldn’t help but stay unsurprised by Arthur’s theory, somewhere deep down knowing they probably did have much more in the plan for their leader’s revenge. Death, all in all, might not be so horrible after all when you’d imagine all the other vile and stomach-wrenching things one could do to deem their revenge agreeable—righteous. 

It was impossible to imagine yourself being the one to endure it. You almost felt lighthearted at the thought of men’s grabby hands and hungry eyes, conjuring up bone-chilling scenarios that would make any sane person’s face pale and skin gray. The slap of a harsh backside of someone’s palm was, of course, humiliating enough for you. Still, with time, it somehow felt less personal, as if the memory healed with the bruise, while someone infringed on the fleshier part of yourself, not quite humiliation, for it stretched farther than that—scarred deeper. Pure rot and filth would surely spread through your body and mind, growing until it became a part of you, your past, and your future. 

Your fright for Arthur did lessen as you pondered, growing thankful when you deemed his company much more preferable than the men who sought after you. It reminded you of a time he’d been the safest point in your life—perhaps the first since you laid in your mother’s arms, the warmth only a child could feel from a parent. Safe and undoubtedly free, his arms around you not encasing you—caging you in—but pushing you forward so you could feel the air of the wild blow through your hair, showing you there was more to life than death and violence, that there could be more to a man than his demons.

Of course, you had known what he was capable of—the brutality he wielded with his hands, the blood that tainted them, tainted him. In some deranged way, that thought had always made him even more comforting than he would be without it. It was what you’d known your whole life, and there was no hiding it. It drew you in, but never once had he made the slightest incantation of hurting you, and that’s what made you stay. 

God, you’d been so alike, you and Arthur, and your childhood likewise. It felt like he’d been explaining your life when he told you of his. It didn’t help, for it glued you together, and you wondered if it could even be undone, knowing the rip of the glue, if you ever did, would strip away both skin and bones—take so much from you you were unsure if it could ever heal again. To think it would be horrifying indeed, and in the end, it was; the bruising went so deep you’d wanted to dry-heave when you left, almost ripping your heart out with everything else as you pushed him away.

You wondered, the saddest smile almost showing on your lips, if he had realized how carefully he had handled you since you first laid eyes on him, thinking not of his threats and harsh demeanor but the thoughts behind his actions. Ever so thoughtful and very unbecoming of him, yet somehow entirely expected of his character. You lowered your head, letting your hair fall around you as you tried hiding how the corners of your lips suddenly turned into a frowning smile like you were in on a sad secret only you knew about. 

As you tried forcing your lips to maintain their straight appearance, you raised your eyes carefully after some time, observing Arthur through your lashes as he gazed into the fire. Leaning against an oak, he sought shade from the sun after providing you with something to eat. He seemed deep in thought as the flames caressed his face in the darkening evening, highlighting his sharp, harsh features. A heavy shadow cast over his eyes, hiding what thoughts lay behind them. 

He looked no doubt like a man to fear, with features just as deadly as he was, like the guns resting on his hips and the twitching of his fingers ready for even the slightest inclination of danger. It looked like he was sleeping, yet he was vibrating with tension, like his mind was resting without his body, as if it ran on auto, already aware of every danger that could occur upon you as if it was plastered in the back of his eyelids. 

You conclude that living the life he did would surely do that to a person. You’re not sure what he’s been through since you last saw him but deem it nothing good. Your eyes wandered over his face, gazing over the slightly suntanned skin, watching how the evening breeze made his roughly cut hair tickle his face. The trail of beard started to form, littering down to his neck, where a cluster of chest hair took over, disappearing invitingly into the unbuttoned part of his shirt.

Lingering over the bare skin that glistened with an inclination of sweat from the still humid air and fading sun, they followed over the expanse of his chest that stretched the fabric of his shirt, rising steadily in harmony with his breathing. The faint feeling of his skin under your fingertips ran through your mind, the slight memory so far away that only the feeling persisted. The sharp, musky smell of smoke was almost burning under your nostrils as the feeling persisted, coupled with a smoldering scent that was hard to word; you could nearly feel the warm skin underneath you—the faint sense of hair tickling your cheek. 

It calmed you to watch him, the slow breaths that left him making your eyes grow heavy as time ticked on, the chilling fog of night settling in, accompanied by the warmth of the fire you so desperately relied on. It wasn’t until you were at the brink of sleep a pair of darkened eyes met yours, bathing in the glow from the fire, that your eyes faltered, a scorching blush fighting its way up the skin of your chest till it covered your cheeks wholly—shit. It grew hotter, the air suddenly turning stuffed as embarrassment from your delirious, wandering eyes had been caught red-handed.

You could only stare at the ground in shame, the small pebbles suddenly turning interesting as your eyes stared in false interest. You blamed it on your worn-out mind, the fatigue that had overtaken your body, trying to justify it to yourself. You felt the brutality of another pair planted on you, unwavering, hoping to higher powers they would dissipate so you could pity yourself without an audience. 

“Cold?” Arthur’s gruff voice broke the silence, the words still quiet, making it sound more like a statement than a question.

Did he mistake your blushing cheeks for you being cold? Or, had your distracted mind kept you from realizing that the cold air had done so when the darkening sky fell upon you, too? Crossing your arms over your chest, you felt a shudder run through you, hairs raising as if on cue. 

“I suppose so,” you mumbled, inching closer to the fire that had begun to falter. The embers around it were glowing red as they crackled loudly into the night, the sudden noise making you jump slightly. 

“Mmh.” 

You stared into the flames as silence followed, refusing to meet his eyes. Your pulse was still pounding quickly, and your mind was caught in the horrible moment. Hell, you’d say it bordered on humiliating, throwing off your facade of irritation directed at Arthur and his actions that you were so dead-set on keeping up as well as your walls—so high he couldn’t peer over them the way you couldn’t look over his.

“Come here.”

Your eyes fitted to his, in an instance, baffled by the words that left his mouth, if even that was what he said and not something your sleep-deprived mind made up.

You could only stare at him for a while, trying to decipher the hidden meaning behind his words. Your face was straight as Arthur stared back at you with an expression that could rival yours, arms crossed over his chest, and he leaned against the tall oak. You damned his ability to keep his face so unreadable, eyes still as sharp as they always seemed. His voice was calmer, perhaps slightly warmer, heating like embers glowing in the hearth.

“What?” you mumbled tiredly, voice laced with a sleepy confusion.

“You’ll die of hypothermia before I even get the chance to get you out of here.” His tone was laced with annoyance, grumbling irritably as if the mere thought of the conversation you had bothered him immensely—as if the words leaving him were reluctant and bothersome. 

He didn’t continue, staring at the flames flickering wildly when the wind suddenly picked up—if it was a means to avoid your now wakened eyes or the nonchalance in his spoken words, you couldn’t tell.

The irritation that had been simmering in your mind grew at his words. Your throat constricted with words you wanted to speak, wanting to tell him that there wasn’t a single fiber of your being wishing to be close to him, to give him such a privilege. Had the world turned his head that daft, or had he simply stopped caring what effect his words and actions had on others, no less you?

A few moments passed, and you stared at him, eyes growing hard and sharp like glass, where confusion and fear were replenished. So, to rid both of you from the onslaught of feelings coursing through you, you turned around on the hard ground, bringing your arms tighter against you for warmth as a shudder ran through you.

“When did you grow so cruel?” you asked quietly into the night, watching the warm air leaving your mouth become clouds when you breathed a shaking breath. You weren’t sure if you were speaking about his sudden audacity or the change in his character that so starkly contrasted the one you had known. Nonetheless, you didn’t expect an answer, but you did get one, and a humorless laugh accompanied it as if the truth was some masochistic joke.

“If you only knew.”

—

The night continued in silence, and you woke between the hours from the cold, staring heedlessly into the darkness, ears taut as every noise made your breath hitch, almost expecting to find prying eyes staring back at you when you got the guts to open them. But, as sunlight found its way to you behind the trees, rising warmly over the cliffs, you could finally feel yourself relaxing against the hard ground, bringing the jacket that lay over you closer as you breathed in the scent of smoke and something warmer, muskier.

Blue orbs, hidden beneath the surface of anger and hatred, gazed at you through squinted eyes as the orange tendrils hit the skin of your cheeks just above ĥis jacket. They followed along the strands of hair that ran down your face, tickling your skin slightly as you shook them away from your face in deep sleep.

For far too long, they had only seen gruesome sights—things that would make even the strongest men empty their stomachs. So they stayed a while longer, feasting their eyes on something lovelier—a forbidden fruit laid out before them. The steady breathing lulled them closer as if calling for them, begging them to stray nearer until skin touched skin.

The skin he had once known so well, so well the mere thought of it had become less of a luxury and more of a second nature, a constant need. You might’ve let time do its part in receding the memories, but not him—not when every thought of you had become his way of finding something good in this world—his world. Whatever was left of it gnawed at him, clawed at the inside of his flesh, the scars with age growing visible, larger to only himself; only the aftermath of anger and resentment was what was shown to the world. 

Embedded in the darkest corners of his mind, you laid like a hidden haven, formless yet shaped by recollection. He rarely touched it, for every time he did, he found the flesh of you that was once so bright, so warm, turned colder and grayer, rot spreading its way up your delicate skin, his disease only managing to span through your body. The eyes had grown too lifeless to be associated with yours, the sunken eyes dull and almost bordering on hateful. He couldn’t stand it, so he let it be after some time, outmost refusing to taint your memory with his cruelty and violence, refusing to cover you any longer with his filthy hands. 

It was a part of his life he’d had to lay behind him, a chapter that he had looked upon so fondly laid to rest, only for the next to take form. Oh, how it was riddled with filth and violence, the edge of the papers burnt and soiled. It was simply how it was, he’d concluded at the time, all too aware that it was what lay before him, what had always been destined to be his life. 

What once was a heroic attempt, a means to do good, had been overtaken by gluttony, the constant want for more. A bare and raw sin was what he had turned into, a hungry wolf, led by his brutality and fear—a fear of realizing what he was, what he had always been.

So, he couldn’t help but just for once take you in now that your watchful eyes weren’t gazing at him in fright—a fright he had grown all too used to when others looked at him, whether it was by the end of his gun or in the final short few breaths of their life. You had turned in your sleep, chin resting against the hard ground, when his eyes fitted over you, resting in the soft curves of your face and lashes that lay delicately on your skin. 

The gentle rise and fall of your chest was a lullaby of sorts, a contrast to the storm inside of him. He wondered what dreams might be drifting through your mind, hoping they were far removed from the darkness that often clouded his own, hoping he wasn’t turning them vile.

Arthur gazed over the plump cheeks that seemed fuller, akin to his memories, a soft glow over them as the morning sun washed over you. You had always looked prettier in the sunlight; it was something he had always thought, for it was like two twins meeting each other again, laden with the same light and warmth. The ghost of a wistful smile begged to tug at the corners of his mouth as he indulged in this rare moment of stillness—the rough edges of his hardened soul seemed to soften, if only for a heartbeat.

He wanted to reach out a hand, rough and scarred, and try to let it hesitate above your cheek as he thought it would break the spell of sleep that enveloped you. He could feel his breath caught in his throat, a mixture of awe and sorrow, for deep down, he was aware that the world he lived in had no place for such beauty and peace. He was a ghost in your serene world, an intruder with no right to stay. Still, he would linger, savoring the moment like a condemned man savoring his last meal. 

A dream was all it was, to imagine a different life where you could bask in the sun’s glow without fear and violence. But, as the sun climbed higher, reality would begin to seep back in, and he would reluctantly pull his hand away, the humid air now filling the spaces between you. The weight of his choices and the path he’s walked pressed down on him, so for now,  he’d indulge in the simple act of watching over you as you rested—not sure where to go where the men now seeking your death couldn’t find you yet promising to himself he would keep you far, far away from them.

—

When the sun’s warmth began to cover your skin in a faint layer of sweat, you awoke, being met with the smoking of a dying fire and a soreness in your body that only laying on hard ground could create. You had almost expected to awake in the comfort of your old bed, feeling the soft wind caress your face as it blew through the open window, curtains fluttering in the air as the far-away sound of people chattering could be heard, and the constant chugging of the train.

Homesickness, you thought. It was strange; never before had that feeling grappled you so intensely; never had the thought of being back with Eustace seemed so wishful, so desperate. It pulled something inside of you, and as you sat up, you could only find yourself wishing the feeling away, rubbing your eyes as you set your gaze forward, refusing to ponder over it any longer. 

“No sight of Jesse’s men yet, so I think we’re good,” a voice called out nearby. Looking behind you, you found Arthur going through the saddlebag, his back facing you as you slowly stood up.

“Do you-” You cleared your throat, still riddled with sleep, both rough and quiet. “Do you think they’re still after us?”

“Sure,” he drawled, fastening the bag before patting his horse encouragingly. “We just killed their leader; I don’t think we’re off the hook that easily.”

“You,” you stated, dragging your fingers through your hair as you felt the various knots get stuck in your hand. You tried to sort them out but found your effort unsuccessful. 

“What?” he said.

“You killed their leader, you mean.”

“Yeah, I guess, but they’re still coming for you nonetheless.”

“And the law?”

“If we keep away from Blackwater, we’ll be fine,” he said, turning towards you.

“Then where do we go now?” you asked, staring at the ground as you grieved at the thought of not being able to head back to Blackwater, back to Eustace. He only glanced at you, the slight movement of his shoulders indicating he wasn’t so sure either. 

You walked tentatively towards him, meeting his gaze as he leaned towards the tree where his horse was stabled. He watched you cautiously as if he had any reason to be careful around you.

“How did you know Jesse’s men were after me?”

Arthur shifted uncomfortably, his eyes narrowing as he considered his response. “I have my ways,” he muttered, eyes darting to the horizon. “Words travel fast in these parts, and I keep my ears open.”

You only gazed at him for a while, hearing him sigh when you didn’t let your eyes waver, his eyes narrowing as he studied you, measuring how much truth to reveal. He adjusted his hat, the shadow casting a veil over his expression. “We heard things. Rumors in the towns. Jesse’s men have a way of making themselves known.” You nodded, absorbing the information. It made sense in a twisted way; your past seemed to chase you no matter where you ran or how far you went.

Arthur shifted his weight, his voice dropping lower, more serious. “And when we ran into some of his boys a few days back, well,” He stared at you hard. “They mentioned you.”

“Me?” Your breath got caught in your throat, your voice barely above a whisper.

He nodded.

“How did you know I was in Blackwater?”

Arthur’s eyes darkened slightly, a shadow crossing his face. He took a moment before answering, his voice low and steady. “I’ve been keeping tabs on you,” he admitted tersely.

You blinked in surprise, the revelation catching you off guard. “Why?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper, your tone betraying none of the turmoil. 

He only sighed, glancing away briefly before meeting your questioning eyes again. “Because I had to make sure you weren’t getting yourself killed,” he retorted sharply, his words tinged with frustration. “Especially after everything that happened all those years ago.”

Many emotions flooded through you—confusion riddled with anger, a strange sense of relief you wanted to cast far away. Anger at his presumption, a deep ache for the man he once was when he mentioned the past. “So you’ve been watching me all these years?” you countered, your voice carrying a cutting edge.

Arthur’s jaw clenched, his temper flaring. “I’ve been trying to keep you safe,” he mumbled, his voice growing snappier. 

The reality of his words sank in, and you struggled to process the implications. You met his gaze, trying to keep your composure, refusing to let his anger shake you. “Protecting me by keeping me under surveillance?” you shot back.

“Call it what you want, but I had to make sure you wouldn’t end up lying dead somewhere,” he said gruffly, staring stubbornly at you. “Jesse’s men aren’t exactly known for sending love letters.” 

“And did it ever occur to you that I might’ve been wanting to be left alone?”

“You don’t get it, do you? They’ve been after you this whole time; they still are. You think you can just walk away and be fine?” 

The air hung tense between you and Arthur, his words cutting through the warm air like a sharp blade. “You had no right,” you hissed, your voice low but filled with simmering anger. You knew you were right, and you were sure Arthur knew as he quieted down, grumbling as he strode past you, stepping on the fire’s dying embers to put it out, his movements stiff and rigid.

“We’ll keep moving, get you out of the wild for a bit.” You stayed facing away from him when he spoke, only moving when he extended his hand, motioning you towards the horse. 

“Listen,” he murmured, turning you around before you could sit behind the saddle. “I didn’t—” he turned his head away from you for a moment as if thinking about his following words, hands gripping your shoulders carefully, flexing slightly. “I know how these types of men work, and you would thank me for keeping an eye on you if I told you what they would’ve done to you.”

“And how are you so different from these men you talk of, Arthur?” Your voice was accusing and bitter, and only silence followed from his side. “I used to know a different man,” you murmured. One who was understanding,” you finally said, your voice barely a whisper as your walls crashed, a somber look glazing over your eyes. “Kind.”

You felt him stiffen before you, and he didn’t respond immediately, as if surprised by your words. “Things change,” he replied curtly, his voice devoid of sentiment.

“I can see that,” you said, lifting your hand as if to move his hat out of the way but faltering at the last second. “ I barely recognize you.”

You hadn’t failed to realize it, and it had consumed your thoughts fully since you first discovered it was him when he held that gun toward your head. Never did you imagine he would be the type of man to wield such a dangerous weapon towards a woman—towards you—yet that’s precisely what he’d done.

“You don’t understand the world we live in now,” he said, his tone hardening. “Things aren’t as simple as they used to be.”

“Maybe not,” you replied, feeling the weight of your disappointment settle in your chest. “But I didn’t think you’d let it change like this; I didn’t think you’d become-”

“What? Like them?” he interrupted, his eyes narrowing. “You think I had a choice?

“There’s always a choice,” you shot back. “You used to be a different man.”

“And what good did that ever do me?” he snapped, stepping closer. His breath was warm against your cheek when you lowered your face, staring at the fabric of his shirt. 

“The world is cruel, whether you want to acknowledge it or not, and I had to make sure to keep the gang safe, and I still do.” The last part, he muttered to himself. “And since you decided to leave me-”

“Leave you?!” you gasped, appalled at his choice of words. The familiar stabbing pain gripped your heart when he accused you, and you stepped backward slightly only to find his hands rooting you in place. “I had no choice!”

“No choice, huh?” He said, his lips curling into a bitter smile as if your words were ridiculous and filled with lies.

“I asked-, no begged, you to come with me, but you refused! Talking all sorts of rubbish about loyalty and Dutch this and Dutch that!” It felt like a stone the size of your fist was plunged down your throat while the muscle could only constrict around it, twisting your body slightly so he would let go of you. 

“I realized there wasn’t a place for me there, with you, any longer, so I had to leave before I went insane!” you said. “I couldn’t bear it, living that life anymore. My whole life had been filled with cruelty and violence, and I needed to feel as if I was the one living it instead of watching myself from the sidelines!” Flashes of faces, both grim and cruel, passed your vision, the image of a younger you looking for somewhere to hide but only finding broken souls wandering around you.

Like lost in a maze, you had tried left and right, but with no guidance, it proved useless as you kept wandering, trying to make sense of the world that you grew up in, parentless and abandoned in a gang whose hearts had been ripped out of their chests and feasted on by the devil. His pupils were all that was left, and you, a lost child, were made to endure a world that had been stripped of both kindness and care.

“But you-” your voice was choked up, trembling as your frenzied eyes flickered around you. “You didn’t care enough to see that, and now I can see why.”

“You’re just like them.” As your words ended, the onslaught of feeling simmered underneath your hectic breathing, and you finally felt the pressure loosen on your shoulders. Taking a few steps back, you passed the back of your hands over your eyes, feeling the warm liquid rub into your skin.

Those years felt distant now that they were brought up, and you had done your utmost to keep them far away until one day, you woke up feeling like that life hadn’t been your own; the person you were hadn’t been you and the memories entirely someone else’s. It had become too much, the air around you thick and nauseating when it felt like none of it would stop, like you were in a loop that never ended, only bringing you back to where you first started but with different people this time.

You soon realized that since you managed to remove yourself from Jesse and his men, you’d only wound up sleeping on a hard ground once more, the twigs and sticks poking you through your back like they’d always done. However, the people around you were new, but they were still the same lost souls as you, and the thought terrified you. You couldn’t handle the idea of that being your life, of always following someone who strived towards a goal that, when reached, would only be replaced by another one.

You didn’t dare glance at Arthur, yet you felt his eyes on you. As you tried to calm your breathing, you wondered why he didn’t say anything, defend himself, or retort and fight back like you thought he would. Yet, his lack of words made you second guess your revelations, shame soon filling your body when you realized how much of yourself you’d given a man who no longer cared to understand, who was so far gone your words meant nothing, just like the men he killed in cold-blood—a menace and an obstacle.

“Let’s go,” was all that he replied with after some time, avoiding glancing at you before grabbing your waist carefully to sit you behind the saddle, stomping one last time at the dying fire before sitting before you, no doubt noticing how your hands ghosted around his waist as if touching him alone was a vile and horrid thought.

—

You couldn’t help but ponder over what transpired this morning, all too aware it had to be spoken about sooner or later, but you wished he’d tell you more, explain why he’d acted the way he did and why he’d changed so much even though the words might’ve been said in anger. Yet, perhaps, that is a ridiculous exception, for who can say why they’d change if they even stopped enough to notice they did?  Still, you realized what he had to say might not be what you wanted to hear, and the thought didn’t fail to make your heart sink.

It’s terrible what time can do to one person, but you could not understand how it could wound its way into Arthur so firmly, as if not considering his past self that had been so different from who was before you now. Perhaps being young and in love had made you fail to realize that maybe the man he was now is only an older version of who he’d been then and that he’d only shown the sides he felt deemed to you. Why, you wondered. Had it been shame or fear, knowing very well the cruel place you came from, not wanting to admit that he was a criminal—that he did exactly what every other man would do when following another blindly?

Bringing yourself out of your thoughts, you observed that day had once more turned into night, the familiar setting sun casting its warm gaze over the landscape as the horse huffed underneath you in exhaustion from running all day—tired from the lack of rest and the growing tension that was heavy between its riders. 

Rising your gaze to look at his back for the first time since you set off, you let the follow along the chestnut tone of his hair, trailing over his tense back, eyes focusing on the various scratches and stains on his clothing, the blood that had been rubbed so many times it had turned into a lighter shade, yet the slight pinkness still resided, marking him unknowingly, as if his clothing represented his being. 

It was so unfair, you concluded, yet you felt angry at him, furious at yourself and the world for being unpredictable, for never making anything easy, and more so for laying trouble over minds that from the start were pure, a blank canvas now to be trifled with. But there was also a tinge of sadness over the people you had turned out to be and grieving over the man you seemed to have lost behind smokes of black and anguish.

The pit of darkness that now filled you turned into thunder, and as the rain began to pour, the cold drops doing nothing to wash away the hollowness you felt, you failed to hear the hooves that could be heard from a distance. Arthur, though, had sensed them for some time now, trying to make his abrupt, faster pace less noticeable, hoping to gain some distance before you could see their dark figures form behind you.

Unfortunately, they only gained on you with every minute that passed, reaching out for you with their slinky arms and wild gazes, bullets vibrating in the metal, begging to be released so they could bury themselves into your flesh. Yet, it was hard for them to see, the heavy downpour blurring their vision of you, the fading sun offering them no help, and the galloping of their horses dizzied their sight.

A gasp left you as the horse suddenly stopped abruptly, the reigns held tightly as it skidded across the slippery ground. You didn’t get the chance to be surprised, hastily brought down to the ground, Arthur’s hands almost lifting you with the way he pushed you as you clumsily glided across the ground, grasping onto his arms to find stability as you walked up the small stairs that appeared on front of you.

A small porch, desolated and lonely, spread out around you; from the hasty look you could get, the windows seemed dark and lifeless—not a single light shining through them. The two-story structure seemed to stand on the outskirts of a forgotten, overgrown field, its once-white paint nor a peeling, weather-beaten gray where ivy and wild vines clung to the sides, creeping through the cracks in the wooden boards. The roof sagged precariously, shingles missing in place, revealing patches of rotting wood underneath.

“Shit!” You could hear Arthur shout as the loud weather dampened his voice, grasping the handle as it refused to open. 

“What’s going on, Arthur?!” you said loudly so he could hear you, but you got no answer to your question. He pushed you to the side with one motion, trashing his shoulder into the door, and rusty hinges groaned in protest; the flimsy wood bent slightly before he bolted against it again. With this attempt, he opened it, and it smashed against the wall; the smell of something musty reached your nose as it escaped the house, contrasting heavily with the freshness of the rain. 

“Get inside!” he shouted, and as you hurried inside, you heard the door slam shut. Your back pressed against the wall beside it, and Arthur stood before you, peeking out carefully from the window beside it.

It grew quiet the minute you stepped inside, the rain reduced to a slight humming as it splattered against the one-story house that seemed long abandoned, the faint smell of mold and neglect traveling through the air–the stale, dry air left a metallic tang in your mouth, the taste of dust was ever-present, gritty and unpleasant, seemingly coating your tongue and throat with each short, terrified breath you took.

“Arthur,” you whispered, craning your neck so you could gaze up at him where he leaned against the window, his eyes scanning the storm outside as his hands squeezed your arms gently but firmly.

“I gotta hide you,” he said, his voice low, his throat straining around the words when he finally looked into your eyes.

He pulled you from the wall, leading you deeper into the cabin. The floorboards creaked underfoot, threatening to give away with each step you took. Moving through the tiny parlor, past the broken chairs and sagging sofa, you moved into the kitchen where the cabinets hung open, their contents long since scavenged or rotted away. 

As you gazed back, you found Arthurs’s eyes darting around the place, searching for a place where you would be hidden from the gruesome and horrible event that would soon take place in this already damned building. A small pantry, its doors hanging loosely on its hinges, seemed to be the only hiding place he deemed approvable.

“In here,” he said, guiding you towards it. 

“Why?” you asked, hesitating to enter the small space.

“They caught up to us,” he murmured, watching your hand grasp his shirt. “Jesse’s men.”

“What about you?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

“I’ll be fine,” Arthur replied, momentarily passing his hand over yours. “I’ll handle them, just please-” he trailed off, grasping your cheeks between your hands so you would focus entirely on his and his words. “Please don’t come out until I tell you.”

A few moments passed before you tentatively nodded, feeling his hands leave you so you could squeeze into the pantry. The small space was barely big enough to hold you as the doors were closed gently, slightly ajar so you could breathe through the thick, consuming air.

A few moments passed, your eyes wide in the darkness as you took in his words. It surprised you there were still so many, remembering the night in Blackwater where it seemed like bodies littered every corner of the streets when you passed them, lifeless and now soulless. How many, you wondered, were outside now, and how had you not managed to feel their presence before, to catch sight of them behind you, yet Arthur could without a glance?

As the first sign could be heard, you held your breath, the beating of your heart almost audible in the small space as it fought against your chest, your hands covering it as if it would give away your position. That was when the door burst open, and you could only clamp a hand over your mouth to stifle a gasp that escaped against your will, listening tentatively at every noise that could reach you.

You could only make out Arthur’s voice, low and steady, even though you couldn’t make out the words that left him, almost wanting to cover your ears as if it would help against the terror you knew would soon erupt, praying-no begging Arthur would be alright, that you wouldn’t have to be dragged away from there a weeping mess as Arthur lifeless eyes stared into your own, bullets imbedded in his flesh as you awaited your fate.

The sound of struggle filtered through the storm—the clatter of boots, shouts of men that boomed through the cabin, and the crackle of gunfire. Each noise made you cringe, squeezing your eyes shut as you tried to block out the terrifying reality, hands shooting up to cover your ears as the loud sounds lessened; instead, the more vile noise of flesh hitting flesh ensued, the noise bones made when broked and the bloodily smack of skin against skin. 

It ensued for a while, the disgusting sound of grunting and groaning making you remember the many times you had to hide your smaller self and only listen. Listen till the danger was over, examining every sound that could be heard to tell if you’d be alright stepping out or whether it would lead to your death—which had most of the time been the biggest possibility. You felt like you had traveled back in time, with not an ounce more courage than you had lacked back then, quivering like a fool while others fought like madmen around you, wishing you could be somewhere else—for someone to swoop down and save you like in some sad fairytale.

Minutes felt like hours as you waited, heart pounding in your ears as you didn’t dare to peek out from the cracks. Then, amidst the chaos, you heard a voice—Arthur’s voice, calling your name as you heard him breathing heavily, your name strained as he spoke. A sense of relief coursed through you, now knowing he was alright, yet you still lingered for a second, hand hesitating at the door as you feared what sight you’d be presented with. Yet, as you pushed it open, you stepped into the cabin again, taking small steps leading further into the house, trailing over the dark red liquid as you closed your eyes at the bodies it came from.

“They won’t hurt you no more,” Arthur murmured. 

He stood there, hands at his side, his eyes as blood-filled as his hands, the red liquid dripping onto the wooden planks, staining them til they flowed beneath the cracks. Fitting to yours, you could only gasp, taking a step back as you were filled with dread over what he just did, the brutality of his actions, and the lives that now lay devoid of it around you. There had been too much death over the last few days, and although it was either their life or yours, you couldn’t help but detest the constant smell of the deceased resting just under the tip of your nose. 

You gazed over the chaos; the broken glass shattered on the floor, blinding you when the sun was reflected on their surface. The white porcelain was stained red, and the walls had been painted the same color. You felt his eyes stay on you, unmoving and seemingly not bothered by the brutality he just possessed—always had possessed—but not making any attempt to move, as if he was waiting for you to make the first move, speak the first word. 

He looked tense where he stood, and despite his horrible deeds, he looked at you as if he searched for your acceptance, as if trying to convey that he did this for you, that he dirtied his hands only to keep you safe, just like he’d always done. And, as you stared at him, you could almost see his hand flex slightly, as if it wanted to reach out to you, yet was held back, rooting him to the spot.

It might surprise him what you would do next, as the first tentative step towards him—although riddled with a faint fright and shaking hands—never wavered, carefully stepping over the bodies in your way until you stood in front of Arthur, ignoring their deathly, vengeful eyes that almost followed you, rolling into the back of their heads when you went out of sight. 

His hands were still shut tight, knuckles white against the suntanned skin that flexed slightly when your fingers ran over them, bringing them higher as you felt the callousness that bruised his hands. They contrasted so heavily with your own, soft against hard, the veins beneath his skin protruding til the blue shades created valleys, irritated and angry. The warmth of your touch contrasted starkly with the cold reality of his actions, a shiver running down your spine when the blood on his hands painted your untouched skin. Arthur didn’t attempt to push away from your touch but stood like a statue, eyes cautious when you brought his knuckles to your lips, closing your eyes as you ghosted over them.

Every breath you took was heavy; each inhale difficult to make as his gaze remained locked onto yours. The bluish shade grew molten on the edges, warming up the coldness of the otherwise sharp hues, staring into yours like he was waiting for something or perhaps fearing something. It made the ache in your heart settle daftly, staring into the eyes you could now recognize from the ones you had known many years ago, see the man you hadn’t been able to remember till now rightfully.

You pulled away slightly when you realized that man wasn’t standing before you but a figment of him, perhaps a vivid remembrance yet not reality. Your fingers lingered on his skin, though, as if afraid to let go, afraid you might’ve lost him as you’d done before even though he wasn’t whole—the pieces of him scattered wherever he went, falling away like fragments with every step.

Brutally and cold, the devil resided in his eyes, each glance laden with sin and searing pain that engulfed like wildfire, encircling and trapping in its flickering, scorching embrace. It was a warmth that turned cold, caressing with its chilling touch, raising the hairs on your skin in protest—an unwelcome sensation that one dared not wish for. Yet, amidst this, your heart beats heavily–not in fear, but in yearning for his touch to linger.

How could your heart betray you so? How could it stray so far from reason, captivated by a man who made you unable to tell between reason and desire? Traitorously, it thudded heavily within, not out of fear but wishfully. It created an ache that settled so deep in your bones it hurt, a pain born of longing—a desire that scorched like a fever. Every instinct screamed for you to flee, to turn away against your now abandonment of all sense and sensibility—to run far away from the life he reminded you of, a life you’d so desperately feared.

You were caught between shame and confusion as if he could sense your pulse racing against the barriers of cotton and leather. Did he notice your heart’s betrayal and the quivering of your lips as your shaking breath rose like wisps of smoke in the cold air? Maybe he did, for as you closed your eyes, unable to handle the downpour of emotions coursing through you, you suddenly felt his breath against your lips as his presence enveloped you, casting a shadow over the world when he drew closer. Your breath caught in your throat as your eyes opened in protest; the space between you dwindled, narrowing to nothingness until you could feel the heat of his breath mingling with your own. 

His eyes burned like smoldering coal, holding you captive as every voice in your head told you to run, hit, scream–anything to get away from him—only to silence when his lips brushed against yours in a feather-light caress. It was far away and fleeting, the small touch of skin almost ghostly as they moved over your trembling lips. His breath was warm, so warm it made heat crawl up your neck, spreading slowly throughout your body.

His careful touch made you wonder when the world turned him so cold. To carry the burns of his soul, hideous and bare, with not a single kindness seemingly left inside him. Was he ashamed of his skin, which wrapped so harshly around his bones, scarred yet strong–cold but fond? Was it right for you to fear the hands that once fell so delicately on your skin, porcelain never having been touched as carefully as he had touched you? There were days you now could remember so clearly, the warm look in his eyes as they caressed over your skin, the naivety and desperation that shone so bright within them—a want so fundamental it made you wonder if it was even possible. 

The years had passed now, and you were both older and saner, but through the shades of blue in his eyes that were covered with darkness that rested like a veil over them, you thought you could still see the same man you had once known, and as his lips met yours firmer if felt like the past washed over you again. And it was good, so good you felt your knees almost give out, stumbling backward slightly but finding yourself not falling heedlessly towards the ground. Instead, the pressure of standing on the ground disappeared as your felt fingers worm their way under your thigh, lifting you in the air. 

Softly, your back met the planks that creaked audibly when Arthur pushed you against them, the material groaning and protesting when he leaned more of his weight against you as if the pressure was too much to bear. You were trapped in his embrace that spoke only of desperation—desperation so raw you wondered if it spread from his skin to yours like a disease, if it traveled through your body, infecting everything it passed in its way.

A certain rigidness could be felt in the hands that held you, their grip tight yet unmoving as if he battled against letting them touch any other part of you. They were there, yet somehow unwilling, like he needed to touch you but couldn’t bring himself to go any further. Perhaps, you thought, he shouldn’t. Maybe it would be best to end it here, not to get any more pain that would surely hurt more than do good. Yet you missed him, missed Arthur so much it felt like a part of you had returned when he was this close as if you could imagine him being who he once was. 

You chastised yourself for it when his lips caressed you softly, letting them push further against yours. The distant sound of chattering and calls beckoned you from afar, the clanking of pots loud in your ears as he had you pushed up against a tree, far and hidden from curious eyes, all your senses focused on him. It had been so simple then, such a warm, inviting touch, the feeling differing strongly against the violence and pain that had followed you until you met Arthur. It was the only reason you’d stayed with him for as long as you had, for never had hands handled you so carefully, so tender; never before had you stared into a pair of eyes that, without a blink, promised to keep you safe and sane.

It felt different yet the same; for now, those feelings mingled together, the brutality shining so strongly within him. Yet, his hands were so gentle, his means to keep you and cradle you in his arms til no one else could touch you so palpable it made every fear you had for him dissipate with the wind that flew through the cracks in the wall. It felt like you held a giant in your grasp, a lost soul seeking the goodness of his past, wishing to erase the bad and expel the vile, monstrous thoughts that he’d been forced upon—expectations he grew up with. How could you possibly blame him? How unfair was it for you to tell him he was wrong, that he acted wrongfully?

Your hands shook as you brought them up to his cheeks, claiming< them in your grasp, feeling him sigh when your fingertips ghosted over him as if the feeling alone chilled his blazing—scorching—skin. Following that means of human nature, his hands that kept you lifted from the ground raised one, caressed its way over the swell of your hips, letting it feel the warm flesh emitting from under your clothes until it followed the path of your sides til it found the valley which where your waist sunk in, letting fingers grip under the harsh bones of your ribs.

A gasp left you, lips parting as if to speak but only inhaling his warm breath, pushing your head away, yet your grasp on his cheeks making him follow you—ordering him to chase the pink, swollen skin that begged for the sensation of more—demanded it. You realized soon that you didn’t have to, his imposing frame pressing you further into the wall, no longer needing to hold you by the tight to keep you from the ground as his lips sensually now found yours again, a deep, dark rumbling—like thunder brewing—could be heard deep into his chest.

It was sickening, the air thick and pasty, like breathing into sourdough bread, the swelling yeast filling all spaces around you, making it difficult to breathe. When you needed air too much, begged for the oxygen yet displeased with the thought of parting with Arthur, he pulled his head away slightly, eyes opening to gaze at your closed eyes, the warm tint of red rising from your chest to your cheeks.

 Opening them, you’d only be given a moment to stare upon his face until he leaned in again, his lips finding their way to the dip of your collarbone, rising to cover the space where your shoulders dipped up to the slope of your neck. Inhaling, exhaling, he breathed in the dizzying warmth of your neck, groaning when he let his tongue taste the humid skin that was scorching under his wet, slippery touch. 

So divine, yet so dangerous to touch what wasn’t his anymore, what couldn’t be his—but he couldn’t deny he longed for you, couldn’t deny that your smell alone awakened the man he had been, your hands reaching out to him like the gates of heaven shining with its door wide open. A cruel joke was what it was, but he had no want to dispel it, to turn it away. It taunted him, laughed at him, giving him a fair bit of pleasure so the rest of his living days would turn to torture, a small taste of what he could’ve had before dooming him to an eternal defeat—dooming him to live the rest of his days a hollow shell.

Your hands found the back of his head, fingers threading through the strips of hair that felt like velvet under your skin. You couldn’t help but push on the back of his scalp to bring him even closer, dismayed when you realized he was as close as he could be, fingers gripping his hair so tight you feared you would leave tufts of it when you released your grip. You only got a hum of satisfaction in return, the feeling of a wet muscle traveling down your collarbones til they ghosted over the swell of your breasts carefully, like waiting on a signal before they could devour, let their touch consume you.

“Arthur,” you mumbled, lost in what was wholly him, the very fibre of your being begging for him never to stop, wishing he’d never done all those years ago.

You only got a low, appreciating groan in return, only gained the feeling of cold air hitting your legs as he snaked his hands under your skirt, hitching it up as he let them run over the bare skin like a starved man, not even an inch of you left untouched. The wind’s chill lessened when his rough, warm hands caressed you, soothing your aching, quivering legs. Almost, it seemed, he mended every bruise and hurt, internally or externally, replacing them with something that felt so divine you were nearly sure you were dreaming when he returned to your lips, his once guarded eyes bare before you.

He took a few steps back, letting your feet hit the floor as you followed him. You did not let him back away further as you walked with him, rising on your toes and writhing your arms around his neck. You were now the one to cage him in—cage him with your want and desire, your love and hope. It would be a terrible defeat if he stepped away from you, and your stomach twisted at the thought, the familiar pang of sadness only love could create.

“Don’t go,” you whispered, feeling his arms wound around your waist as he stumbled backward, his tall frame big and clumsy in the tiny house. He frantically ran his hands over you before hoisting you up again, seating you on the dark wooden table in the kitchen’s front of the sink. Your mind had grown clouded, his whole being morphing into the man that had once caressed you so gently—and when he did now, it made you dizzy, wondering if they were so unlike as you thought.

“I won’t,” he mumbled against your lips, the words hasty and muted when he didn’t want to waste a second of feeling you against him.

“I won’t,” he spoke once more, this time the words only coming out in nonsensical grumbling as he pushed you softly towards the poorly sawed planks after pushing the various knickknacks of it, plates falling audibly to the floor to join the rest of the mess, burying his face into the nape of your neck to once more take a final breath before standing up.

The mess around you turned vile and filthy compared to the wondrous look on your face as you watched him, the familiar pang of pleasure beating so heavily in his stomach he thought he might puke—coupled with the still warm, wet blood now lining the skin of your legs from his hands. A few moments passed where he stared at you, ignoring your hands that reached out to him as the horrid monster clad in black garments and poisonous fingers got to him first, digging its claws into his back, wrapping its fabric over his mouth till he felt himself suffocating. 

It wasn’t until he felt nimble fingers ghosting over his hands, running along the inside of his wrist until they intertwined with his, that the small, supple kisses on his cheeks became his saving grace. Diminished the cruel and twisted devil that rested on his back, all he could think about was the gentleness of your hands, gazing to watch your furrowed eyes filled with understanding—yet a gracious knowledge at that.

“I know you, Arthur,” you whispered, laying your head on his chest. Listening to his wildly beating heart, you found comfort in his erratic breathing.

“No,” he mumbled, resting his head on top of yours. His arms were slack on his sides as your hands passed over the broadness of his back. You gripped the dark leather of his haunches as you slid them down his arms, letting them hang in the stuffy, thick air. “Not anymore, you don’t.”

“Well, you’re still as stubborn as you used to be,” you said softly, the corners of your mouth rising slightly when a grumble left him, acting like you couldn’t feel his slight smile against your head. “Still as warm as you were then,” you mumbled, hands slowly running over his arms that flexed slightly at your touch, mouth opening slightly as they came to rest on the table, trapping you beneath them. “Still as strong,” you gasped when he leaned over you, pressing his weight into you.

He closed his eyes as you spoke, basking in your quiet, warm tone, which he missed hearing. “That don’t matter anymore,” he said, feeling you snake your arms around his neck, arching your body against his, as one of his hands naturally found sanction on your waist. “What I’ve done—” he trailed off. “What I am, it’s not something I can run from.”

You felt your brows furrow, grief finding you at his words that rang so melancholy into the quiet air, the heaviness of his voice alone ripping the tapestry and breaking the windows. As you were about to tell him he was wrong—that although his actions had been so blood-filled and vile, you knew who he was deep down, for you had seen it, seen it in his eyes when he looked at you, seen it in the way he still cared about you—he instead laid you back down on the table carefully, covering you with his body as he hitched your legs around his waist.

Your breath hitched when you felt the rigidness rest against your warmth, feeling it lay heavily under the fabric of his pants. “Yes, you can,” you gasped, hands finding his shirt as you searched for something to hold onto, wishing it away so you could see the skin underneath it and feel it against your own. 

You didn’t gain an answer, only the tugging of your undergarments, the chill from being bare cold against your skin, yet Arthur’s hands warming them straight back up when he tenderly caressed your inner thighs, stabilizing their trembling although never letting his palms stray too far, ignoring the way your legs tightened around him, trying to chase his touch as they attempted to chase his touch but finding his hips pressing into yours further, leaving you no place to go but stay in place.

The motion made a groan, quiet and unprepared, leave him, yet you had heard him. As your hands wound their way beneath his shirt to palm over the broadness of his chest, hips moving against him with the bit of space you had in protest, you looked up to find his gaze planted on you, head raised. Yet, eyes looking down at you, like he was trying to hold himself away, failing to escape from the softness of your touch. 

He was too deep into it now. He felt the restraints that once were so tight around him lessen as he kept staring into your eyes, those deep and fascinating eyes that he didn’t deserve—that no one would ever get the chance to deserve. It was selfish for him to continue, but he wished to feel you one more time so he could restore his memory of you until he turned viler, meaner, the black poison coiling around his heart til he faced its death wrapped up in its grasp.

So, he found himself leaning into you once more, focusing on your hands that now had seen the planes of his back, his muscles flexing involuntarily as you did, his hand hitching your dress up further, letting it go past the delicious curve of your waist, groaning internally when he realized he couldn’t rise it further. So, he let his head rest between your breasts, pulled out from the tightness of the fabric, letting his tongue run over the warm skin. 

You felt the arms of your dress hastily go over your shoulders down your arms, breath hitching when you felt his mouth able to travel lower until it caressed the inside of your breast, his rough stubble like sandpaper against the sensitive flesh. It was addictive, his whole persona making you desperately cling to every bit of him you could manage, grasping wildly as if he was made from thin air, trying to find something that would turn him back into a solid form, something you could touch. 

The slight feeling of him grinding into you made you clasp harder. Your hands found his biceps as the back of your head hit harshly against the table, and your hips wound tighter against his waist. The roof above you blended, the colors of brown and ashen blond mingling as the morning sun shone through the windows, the tendrils of the light casting the room in a way that almost looked ethereal—too good to be true.

And it was, the whole moment was, and you memorized the touch of his hands and traveling mouth, imprinting it in your mind so you could remember it forever. It still, despite his words, felt like he would somehow dissipate, and it turned into your worst nightmare, like the last pages of a book that would send you reeling, biting at the corners in despair and slamming yourself against the wall in anger. It was pitiful, the way you were brought to your knees in front of the man you had not nearly long ago feared—more so wondering if you feared his actuality or feared how long a time had passed, how time changed and ruled people's character, how you didn’t know him anymore.

Or perhaps you feared the way you knew it had been doomed from the start, always known, the very first day he had planted his brisk, blue eyes on you, full of life yet the underlying promise of something that could only be transcribed into pain—of hurt and blame. Perhaps you were afraid of knowing that it didn’t matter how often you’d come upon one another; it would always end the same way, for you were both too broken by the life you laid upon you. The chance of redemption was maybe possible once when you were younger, but you feared that it was lost. And, while Arthur reminded you of a past you’d rather lay behind you, prayed and prayed through years of peril and hurt, wished you could run from it, you perhaps had reminded him of what he’d once had and what he could never deserve to have again.

As Arthur lifted his head, you could see in his eyes that he knew, knew there might not be a time when you could live out your life together, for he too was aware that it might be too late, that the world's grip on the both of you was too firm. Yet you both ignored it, entangled with one another as your limbs melted into the others, your motions becoming erratic and desperate, wishing—no, seeking desperately to bring the other back to life, back to what you once had been. 

“Please, Arthur.” Clawing and almost beating his chest in desperation, the tension so ripe it felt like you might combust, you begged him to let his skin lay upon yours, bare and exposed, as close to each other as was humanly possible. It felt like a border, keeping you apart in a pitiful, almost laughable way. 

“I know, honey,” he murmured, his voice steady, yet the beating of his heart speaking more than his tone ever could. “I know.”

Rising from you for the slightest of seconds, he hoisted his pants down his hips and over his thighs, dark, desirous eyes never taking their gaze off you where you lay breathless on the table that, compared to you, looked like rotting wood. He damned himself for letting you lay upon such misery, to unveil you in such an appalling space that now reeked of death and foulness.

When your hands reached out to him, he let them bring him back down, watching the way your eyes fluttered when he graced upon your pulsating warmth, his own eyes closing for a second before opening again, looking away so he could regain his senses, regain his clouded vision that only flashed with pictures of you beneath him, as if you had surrounded him. That is, only for a short while, not taking long before he had to—needed to— return to you once more, to slip through the warmth of your walls that wrapped around him, the palm of his hands slamming down the table as you clenched around him, the sheer bliss that left your throat burning like embers inside of him.

There was no outlet for him, nowhere to go, so he hitched you further up the table, pressing into you so he could feel you closer. The feeling of your hands in his hair was nauseating, the taste of your skin intoxicating as he kissed the corner of your neck, burying his head into it as he felt your strands tickle his cheek. Slowly pushing out to then enter you once more, he grew greedy, not wanting to spend even the slightest of time away from you.

It was tender the way he moved—careful—and you could only follow his movements as he stayed on top of you, the strokes desperate and short. The small moans that left you rose into the quiet house, your breathing hitching with every thrust of his, almost feeling like the air was being punched out from your chest as you slid further up the table. Arms wound themselves under your shoulders, one hand grasping the back of your head to keep you in place—to avoid letting your head hit the hard surface.

It wasn’t enough; how could it ever be enough? Wrapping your arms around his neck, you gasped audibly when his hips moved faster, now almost grinding into you, his breath shallow and erratic, white knuckles grasping on the end of the table, as if he was controlling himself, unsure what to do with the pleasure that was riding through his body, bleeding into his very bones.

“Come here,” he murmured, gently lifting you so you were seated upon the edge of the table, looking up to meet his eyes. Continuing his tender thrusts, your lips sought him, finding his eyes not closing but planted on you, eyes lidded and chest red from exhaust. A sheen of sweat dripped slowly down his neck to his chest, disappearing through the unbuttoned shirt, the material sticking to his skin like glue. 

Pushing your hips further against his, he groaned, resting his head atop of yours when you placed mindless kisses on his exposed skin, mumbling nonsense as he hugged you closer, his breath hot and ragged. Every movement sent a jolt of pleasure through you, sharply white and burning red, coiling tighter and increasingly tighter within you. The sound of your mingled breaths filled the room, and you could feel his muscles tensing beneath your touch, almost seeming to tremble.

You whispered his name, a plea and a promise all at once, and he responded with a low rumble that resonated deep within his chest—a guttural groan escaping his lips as he pushed deeper, the table beneath you creaking with the force of his movements. The room seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you, just like you were before, just like you once had been—Arthur guiding your movements as if he was determined to merge his body with yours. 

His arms tightened around you when you straighten your back to reach his lips, capturing them in a kiss that left you more breathless than you had already been as his pace quickened. The friction, heat, and sheer desperation were too much to bear, yet you craved more. His eyes were wild, almost desperate, as he responded to your plea, every thrust, every gasp, every whisper filling up inside you as you begged to god it would never end, hoping and demanding that nothing would take it away from you.

Yet, you knew it wouldn’t last, and therefore, you felt the tears burn at your eyelids, the hot liquid falling slowly down your cheeks as you found your back pushed against the surface of the table once more, Arthur’s hand softly wiping away the tear that fell from your eyes as despair filled his own.

“Don’t cry,” he mumbled, a low groan leaving him when you tightened around him, unable to ignore the way you sucked him back in. “I can’t-” He ground his teeth when the familiar coil spread through his stomach, wrapping itself around every organ and bone. “Please, honey, I don’t want you to cry.”

“I miss you,” you gasped under your breath, words choked up as you focused on the way he dragged himself in and out of you, feeling like someone was twisting your guts inside your stomach when you thought once more about him disappearing from you hold like ash, only leaving faint memories before blowing away with the wind. “God, I missed you, Arthur.”

He struggled to catch his breath, his hand finding your thigh as he pushed it further up the table, the new angle making your breath hitch. “I know,” he groaned. “God, I know-”

Was it all a dream, he wondered, would fade away from him as his evil deeds caught up to him, for once letting karma do its part? Would you vanish right before him, leaving him to face the consequences of his actions alone? He only held you closer as the thoughts passed, keeping you tight in his embrace as his elbows encased your head. Capturing your lips on his own, his eyes shut tightly as he tried to memorize the feel of you—the warmth of your breath, the softness of your lips, the way your body moulded against his. 

The time seemed to stand still, yet it passed too fast, the coil wrung so tight it felt like your stomach would combust, pleasure so raw filling you it felt more like torture than anything else, and as you felt his hips ground themselves into you, one hand stroking so tenderly over your brest it felt like shots of electricity zapped its way through your body, you thought yourself tightening around him, gasping for air.

“You’re alright,” he murmured against your lips, consoling you as your moans left you without your allowance, desperate and bordering on pitiful as your whole body felt like it was burning up—like the very flesh was set afire with gasoline. 

“Please, Arthur,” you gasped, not knowing what you were pleading with him for, yet the words left you involuntarily. Perhaps you wished for him to remove the hollow feeling that resided deep within you, to soothe the pain that never seemed to go. Or, possibly, it was deeper than that as you pleaded for him to return to you, to show that he was the man you’d remembered.

“That’s it,” he cooed at you, kissing your forehead softly as you clenched around him. Your hands found his shoulder as they gripped tightly, head knocked back against the table as a long, drawn-out moan left you. Staring up at the ceiling as the world grew dizzy around you, the bliss that traveled through your body was like no other. 

His movements didn’t slow as you relaxed slightly on the table, now running your hands over his skin soothingly, gazing into his eyes as he groaned audibly, chest heaving heavily as he frowningly stared into yours, observing you like you held something he couldn’t have that he strived for, pushing and pulling you closer to him.

Lost in pleasure, it felt like he was gasping for air, the sound of his skin slapping against yours echoing through the now quiet house, only the splatter of rain still audible from outside, yet his ears were focused on something else entirely as you whispered his name, beckoning him to your as your eyes were tired yet warm in the afterglow, looking like something not quite real—more or less surreal—or perhaps ethereal.

With one final thrust, he buried his head in the nape of your neck, hands grasping the edges of the bale as he grimaced, taking a few seconds before letting a guttural groan leave his chest and travel through his throat, muted into your skin as he gritted his teeth. Pulses of pleasure wound themselves through him in intervals, the warm, wet feeling of your walls encasing him, wrapping around him wholly as he, with one last movement, buried himself deep, so deep there was no way out—and god, he thought as his breathing stayed hectic, god how he wished there wasn’t.

Especially when he rested against you, trying to catch his breath, revelling in how you hugged his head closer to you, pressing small, quiet kisses against his jaw as if you tried not to disturb him, letting him regain his senses. Letting a hand travel down your sides, he caressed your skin, feeling the softness underneath it as it went further down to then rise back up again, finding pleasure in the way your breath hitched from the sensitivity as he passed a thumb over your breast. 

You didn’t speak much, for there was so much you wanted to say that it became overwhelming, leading to you saying nothing. How could you, when you weren’t even sure how to describe your emotions, which seemed still but then everywhere at the same time, running through your mind endlessly with no sense of direction or heading? Where could you go from here that would satisfy you both and let you stay with one another despite your differences? 

You wished you could drag answers out of Arthur, torture his mind and soul until he had no choice but to respond, yet you doubted he could even know what to tell you, for he wasn’t sure, and you could see it in his eyes, feel it in his touch that contradicted his mind starkly. Every motion and caress was soft yet reluctant, and you could hear the slight sway in his voice when he spoke to you as if he battled against his will and obligations. It tore you apart to realize he struggled against himself, struggled against his beliefs and wants.

You realized that whichever hands managed to strangle your relationship before would surely do it again. To be quite honest, it did scare you, more than you dared to admit, for you knew you were two different people now, and when your bond wasn’t strong enough all those years back, how could it be now that you both had your inner anguish that clawed itself inside your walls, thrashing and screaming. More so, changing for someone else is a terrifying thought per se, and there was no mistake in thinking that would be the case for both of you. A cruel, horrendous fate, indeed.

[sashi-ya]

YES, RENO-SAMA soft dom! ichikawa reno x f! reader. dom/sub

⋆ requested by: anon. Could I ask for Reno or Kalfa from Kaiju no 8 for dom/sub whichever you feel motivated to do. f!reader please and thank you. ⋆tw: mdni. explicit smut. soft! dom! ichikawa, he is very kind but dominant as well. oral (given). spanking. vag. ⋆wc: 2.2K // event masterlist

You would naturally think of Reno as a calm man, perhaps an even soft vanilla lover. But tonight, you are about to discover you were completely wrong.

Captain Mina has given you all a free day after a very rough battle; everybody left the base as fast as they can, nobody wanted to lose a single minute of freedom. Plus, nobody were sure when a new Kaiju might be attacking, therefore you all needed to make the most of that day.

“Uh… (Name), wanna… maybe- have a date tonight?” Reno asks, placing a soft hand on your shoulder.

Your relationship has been growing slowly since you both joined squad 3; only kisses and not much more were shared. Both were definitely too focused in learning and getting stronger. However, the click in which both have fallen for the other had been instant.

“Of course!” you chime happily, soon turning in a kinda embarrassed expression when his hand grazes your to grab it. Even if probably every member of the squad already know about you, it’s still all very new.

He gives you a delicate smile and grips rather strongly to your hand. Reno guides you outside, as if he had taken the lead the moment you said yes to his invitation.

You follow him, of course, as his steps are firm and steady. Something about Reno’s vibes tonight have you amazed; a dominant aura that you kinda want to submit to.

Both agreed not to attend any restaurant tonight; and despite the word “date” had been used, you were happy to have some hot instant ramen by a seven eleven on a random street of Tachikawa.

“You sure you don’t want to go to a fancy place, (Name)?” he asks, a little confused.

“Not really; I always wanted to eat ramen on a conbini with you” you smile as you slurp one single noodle with grace.

He scoffs sweetly, and taking a poor-quality napkin, Reno cleans the commissure of your mouth coming very closer to it.

You smile, allowing him to kiss your lips. First a peck, then a more passionate one. And then, another.

The tension built; the need implanted. The kisses given started to become mingy for the both of you. Your flesh and body have now started to ask for more ~

“Where are you sleeping tonight, Reno?” you ask, in between those breathtaking kisses.

“Uh… I think I’m coming back to the base. There aren’t really any trains at this time that will take me home” he honestly communicates.

“Oh, I see. Maybe you could come home if you prefer not to go back to the base” you murmur, fixing your eyes on the floating naruto on your soup.

Reno smirks, and it is probably the first time you get to see such evil tinted smile coming from him. He stands up, walking right behind you, passing his hand from your waist up to your belly bottom.

His chin rests on your shoulder, his arms squeeze you harder. The tall chair against the counter on the convenience store windows, only separates your back from hitting his abs.

“You want me tonight, (Name)?” he susurrates, surprising you big time. You didn’t know Reno was capable of speaking in such way.

You swallow with eyes opened big. That’s not a lie, in fact, you want him tonight and the following nights as well.

“Yep ~” you whisper, feeling your cheeks burning -and your core, even more-

You aren’t sure whether you finished or not your 200円 soup, but you are indeed sure there is something more delicious awaiting for you the closer you get to your apartment.

And here you are; right in the front of a 3-story building, typical suburban construction, with a teru bōzu still hanging from the side of your balcony. Reno hasn't said much during the walk there, so you are not sure what will happen next…

Well, the moment you open the door for the both of you to come inside, he snatches you from your waist to finally plaster his lips against yours.

His hands reach for the small of your back, pulling you against him. It is not surprising that you can feel his hardness through his dark grey jeans, and in fact is all you wanted deep inside you.

Despite knowing the hallway shouldn’t be used for this, there is nothing you could do to stop that silver haired man that’s willing to devour you.

“Re-Reno… I live on the second floor…” you manage to inform, as he bites your neck.

“The moment you cross that door you have to promise you will obey me, ok?” he whispers right in your ear.

What did he- why- is this… should I say no? should I say yes?

“Yes, I will Reno”

On its own, your lips spoke confirmation. Your body in charge, your brain shut down.

He softly pushes you inside, and him follows. Closing the door right behind him, he doesn’t care of any of the excuses you could probably mumble about the state of your living room. He simply aches for your body, for you submission.

“Please, (Name). Kneel down” he commands, dominantly and yet soft and calmed.

You nod and slowly let your knees reach the ground. You are not innocent; you know exactly the way your hands should be resting on your thighs; you know exactly he will make you wait enough for the next order.

He takes his bomber jacket off, letting it fall to the ground, and walks slowly towards you. His hips are now closer to your face, and you are dying to crawl on his leg like a kitty in need.

And in fact, that’s exactly what he wants you to do. His index travels down your chin, pulling your face up, making you come closer to his sex.

“Come here” Reno commands, patting his thigh.

You comply, grazing your palm from his knee to his hip bone. While your cheek already lays on his lap. The warmth of your breathing reaches his crotch, making that silver haired man squirm just a little.

His hand falls upon your face, soft, gentle but dominant.

“I didn’t know you were that submissive, (Name)” he comments, while a single look tells you to lower the zipper of his jeans.

“We seem to be a perfect match, Reno… I mean, Master Reno” you murmur, giving him puppy eyes. Your lashes casting shadows on your heated cheeks, as the light inside your apartment only comes from the big windows of your balcony.

Reno swallows; he might be a secret dom but is difficult to resist to your lulling enchants. His cheeks get a slight pinch of pink, his hand gets a little sweaty.

You proceed to kiss right on top of his boxer shorts, as he pushes you ever so softly against his hard rock sex.

Your eyes never leave his lilac tinted grey ones, as the tip of your tongue taste the precum dampening fabric of his underwear.

“Can I pull it down, Reno-sama?” you purr. “You may, (Name)”  Reno mutters, with difficulty.

You proceed, eager to see what he is hiding underneath, eager to taste his flavour right from the source...

The elastic hem slides down, getting stuck in his prominent hipbones. Delicious anatomy, muscle, bones, skin getting bumpier as the tip of your nails scratch softly his flesh.

Freed his sex, you take a little time to enjoy the beauty of it. Hard, of course. Pale, but with a blushed tip. The right size, even if it might be too long for your mouth and throat.

Sticking your tongue out, sexily showing the reddish wet tip of it, reaching so close to his very own tip. A drop of precum connecting both surfaces, forming a string of transparent deliciousness.

Unable to resist a single second more, Reno needs relief. Even the toughest can flaunter… “Suck it ~” he orders, with a raspier voice than before, with a serious -yet desperate- tone.

You nod and immediately after you surround his sex with your hand, pumping slowly as you take it to your mouth.

Deep, deep until you gag. His hands tangled on your hair, moving your head up and down, making it bob violently. Reno can’t go slow no more; and your teary eyes looking straight into his, can only fan the flames.

Your knees, still on the ground, have stopped feeling the pain of your body weight against the cold floor. Everything is focused on the way Reno grunts. Your arms, surrounding his hips. Your nails, carving tiny marks on the small of his back.

But Reno is not a man whose only purpose is to receive pleasure, and in fact, he is quite more interested in making you moan his very own name. And thus, he stops your oral delight -even if his body ached the moment your lips abandoned his hardness-

“Stand up, stand up” he orders, with a broken voice and trying his best to keep himself together.

You do as he asks and wait for the following instructions. However, he is barely able to think of anything besides pushing you softly to your couch.

Like a victim, waiting for a beast to attack, you wait for him to finally pounce on you. But him, being how gentle Reno can be, still is able to contain himself to undress you in the most sexiest way possible.

Only his long grey shirt covers his body now, as he has freed himself from the trousers trap around his ankles. Kneeled on the sofa, right next to you, he gets rid of your shirt.

Exposed your breasts, his smirk turns more visibly. Reno is pleased with the view, probably happy that he is able to see them for the first time.

Then, and without still touching you -leaving your expectant body desperate and hot- he proceeds to lower your dampened panties. Reno leaves your skirt on; he knows exactly what he is doing.

“Come here, sit on my lap” he commands, sitting comfortably on your couch.

You smile, and definitely jump on him. Your warm folds land on his throbbing shaft. There is still no penetration, but it is enough to feel flesh against flesh. And it is absolutely wonderful and intimate.

He proceeds to run his fingers through your ass cheeks, while his lips first land on your collar bones and then down your breasts.

You can feel his sex trying to reach your entrance, on itself, so desperate to finally bury so deep inside your walls.

With still a hand on your ass, moving you up and down, and the other one reaching for your clit, Reno traps one of your nipples into his mouth. He pulls and sucks, and traces circles on your very sensitive feminine spot.

Your head thrown back, whimpers leaving your mouth, nails carved on his shoulders, the wetness of your core slipping back and forth on the surface of his sex.

“You are making a mess on me, you know that (Name)?” he asks, devilishly and forcefully increasing the speed of his masturbating fingers.

“I- I’m sorry- I’m-“ you stutter with your own words, knowing you are probably unable to follow any orders from here.

Reno scoffs, sexily, knowing you are probably on the verge of climax; ready to burst.

He gives you a soft spank, making you whine. He gives you yet another one, it doesn’t really hurt. It feels exactly like a delicious spicy sensation on your skin.

“Don’t be sorry, you’ve been doing just right. Your wetness will be very useful…” he whispers, with his lips pressed against yours and pinning your arms right in the small of your back.

“Now, stand up just a little…”

You give thanks to your training on the JKDF, as you are able to lift your hips up even with your arms being held. Your sex, dripping with your own juices and his mixed up, awaits for that tempting hardness to be finally inside.

And it does, with Reno’s free hand guiding just enough for his tip to align with your entrance.

“Sit” “Yes, Reno-sama”

Little to no words were needed, as you flop down, allowing his sex to impale you to the point of feeling it as deep as possible.

His hips finally start moving up and down, you don’t even need to do it yourself. However, your body locks in, and synchronizes with his thrusts. Being the motions that intense, that your old sofa makes noises you’d never listen to.

His chin pressed against the middle of your chest, allowing your breasts to surround his innocent -only on the outside- façade. He is in heaven, and you are probably brought to the very pit of hell for such an impure lust.

Climax is right there for the both of you; you contort on top of him, you have lost track of your movements. Reno, however, who knows he is about to burst is ready to let you come first.

And so, never forgetting his role in this dominant submissive play, he just unpins your arms allowing them to be finally resting on top of his shoulders.

“You may come for me, (Name)” he commands, -as if it was necessary-. “Ye- yes, thank you, Reno-sama…” you moan. A moan that gets stollen by Reno’s lips. He inhales your whines, like sacred air to be breathe.

Bodies so close, about to melt into each other. Kissing so passionately, reaching to the max so deliciously.

Thank you for this night off, captain Mina…

[milkb0nny]

Ivar, your sanctuary

Pairing: Ivar x infertile!reader

Summary: You have been with this man for some time and you loved him. Yet you found out you were not as blessed as other women through a horrible incident. Though, you weren’t sure how to confront Ivar, not only with the pain you had to endure, but also that he would never have a son with you.

Note: I thought this scenario might be very intruiging, yet sensitive. Please do not read this when you feel uncomfortable or anxious about the topics in this fix. With that, take great care of yourself.

Content: established relationship, s/a, r@p3, trauma, mental breakdown, good ending but at what cost, infertility

Your feet trembled violently, the chill reaching through your bones. Your hands felt like ice, numb, dead, while your eyes, swollen with unshed tears, refused you sight. Another ungodly night, another night full of panic and unheard pain. It was deep into the night when you woke, the echoes of screams and cries from your dream fading into the silence of the room.

The only sound grounding you was the soft, even breathing of the man lying beside you, Ivar. Your beloved husband, your anchor, your protector. You loved him deeply, admired him endlessly, yet gazing at him now in his slumber only deepened the aching pain in your heart. His calm body reminded you of the peace that had been stolen from you. Tonight, once again, the night dragged you back to that day. A day not merely painful, but one that shattered the core of your dignity, left your sense of hope in ruins, and carved a wound so deep it bled into every moment of your existence.

That day - that man - that pain.

Unable to bear it, you slipped from the bed, careful not to disturb him. The idea of walking, of moving, perhaps would set you somewhat lose and relieve your mind of that horrible hands. Yet you didn’t get far. You were haunted. Tainted.

The coldness of the wooden floor beneath your bare feet sent a jolt of memory surging through you, dragging you back to that place. That room. The terror, the helplessness, the violation; it all came rushing in, pulling you under. You broke down, leaning against the wall as your breath quickened. For weeks now - perhaps longer - you had been tortured by flashes of the past, haunted by touches that made your skin crawl.

Ivar had noticed. Of course, he had. His sharp eyes missed nothing. He had seen the way you flinched from his touch when you thought he wasn’t looking. He asked, gently at first, then with a rising concern, what burden you carried. Each time, you avoided him, brushed off his questions, acted in strength you didn’t have.

It wasn’t that you didn’t trust him. It wasn’t that you doubted his love. It was that you didn’t know how to put your experience into words. How could you explain something so unspeakably raw and vile? How could you bare the darkest, most broken parts of yourself to him, when you barely had the strength to face them yourself?

You slid to the floor, wrapping your arms around your knees as the tears finally spilled over, hot and unrelenting. You didn’t sob loudly, as you didn’t want to wake him. Instead, you shook silently, trembling under grief and shame.

„My love, why are you crying so terribly?“

The usual stern voice was now so soft, gentle and endearing. Ivar laid behind you, looking at your shaking statue from behind, careful not to touch you. In this moment, he feared he’d crush you.

“I-Ivar, I...” you stammered, your voice cracking as you tried to force the words out. Slowly, you turned to face him. His blue eyes met yours, and the weight of his gaze crushed you.. He looked at you as though you were a fragile vase on the verge of shattering. “I... I don’t know how to say it.”

„You went to the seer today, didn’t you? Hvitserk saw you.“ Ivar’s hand reached for you, his movements slow and deliberate. He brushed the damp strands of hair away from your tear-streaked cheeks. A total mess like you shouldn’t feel pressured by his eyes, so he avoided yours - he knew better than to push you into a little corner. As it seemed, you were already trapped in it.

You nodded slightly, the memory of the Seer’s whispers replaying in your mind. You had wanted the truth, desperate for answers, but the truth you received had been devastating - but expected.

“What did he tell you?” Ivar’s voice broke through your thoughts, steady but cautious.

You turned back around, locking your eyes with the dark wall in front of you. For all the pain you carried, there was one thing you knew for certain - Ivar deserved the truth. For the first time since it, you allowed yourself to consider the possibility of telling him. If there was anyone in the world who could understand, who could carry your pain with you instead of for you, it was him.

Forcing yourself to speak, you began hesitantly, your trembling fingers fidgeting with the loose thread of your nightgown. “Do… you remember when you met with your brothers about a month ago? You wanted to move us into a bigger house, i-incase we might… become mother a-and father...” Your voice faltered, the knot in your chest tightening. “I-I went for a walk… and then it...“

You started crying uncrontrollably, your breath shortening with every intake of air, your nails curling into the cold skin of your arms. No, not again - those memories, these hands, that disgusting smell of alcohol.

...

Ivar didn’t move. He remained still, watching you with a pain in his eyes that mirrored your own. He knew. He had pieced it together, yet he waited. He wouldn’t force the words out of you, wouldn’t touch you without your permission, wouldn’t risk deepening your wounds. He just felt so broken seeing you at your wits end.

So, Ivar waited for you to continue speaking, even though it could take hours. He was still there, he was still lying in your shared bed - and he had no intention of leaving you there.

„He…,“ you muttered, and it wasn’t enough for Ivar to understand the full picture. He wasn’t stupid, he knew the horrible sides of men, he was aware of the power play they loved, he just didn’t think it would’ve happened to you. Ivar’s jaw clenched, his anger boiling up and the desire to kill that man flashed up, burned up, screamed up. It was for the man who had hurt you, for the gods who had allowed such a thing to happen.

“There’s more,” you said shakily, your voice trembling. “The Seer told me… He said... It was too much. I can’t... I can’t bear children, Ivar.”

There it was. The truth.

You and Ivar have tried months for children, effort and sweat, tears and frustration which you had wasted for the sole wish of kids. Ivar thought he was simply unable to be a father due to his own loss. His body wasn’t meant to reproduce, not another cripple should have been born - so he thought. But now, he had realized you were a woman who had been cursed, just like he was cursed.

The words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, terrified of what you might see. Would it be disappointment? Resentment? Pity? The silence stretched on, and your heart sank further. He was going to leave, wasn’t he?

“I-… I‘m not a … worthy woman. I cannot conceive and then - this… terrible day,” you choked out, tears blurring your vision. “I know how much you want a family… a little baby, how much you want-”

“Stop.”

His voice was firm but not harsh. You froze, your breath catching as he moved closer. Carefully, he reached for your face, tilting your chin up so you had no choice but to meet his eyes. He leaned over your head, his warm chest meeting the back of your head, and his hair softly draping over your forehead, as he looked at you.

“Don’t you dare think I would leave you,” he said, his voice trembling with emotion. “You are my wife. I did not fall in love for children. I don’t care what that Seer said, and I don’t care what the gods think they’ve taken from us. You are still mine, and that is all I need.”

Tears welled in your eyes again, but this time, they weren’t of fear. Ivar pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly but tenderly, as though shielding you from the pain that threatened to consume you.

“We’ll make our own fate,” he whispered into your hair, his voice fierce. “We don’t need anyone else - not the gods, not children, no one. As long as I have you, I have everything. My sweet little flower, I apologize I wasn’t there earlier.”

For the first time in weeks, the heavy weight on your chest began to lift. Ivar’s embrace was a shield, his words a balm to your wounds. The pain didn’t disappear, but in his arms, you found a piece of hope.

And in that moment, you realized something: Ivar wasn’t just your husband. He was your sanctuary. And in that moment, Ivar knew to heal your wounds together. You were his ethereal woman.

[marchofmistria]

Hey I saw your requests were open and wanted to ask you if you could a do how would the bachelor's react to reader's/farmer's fuck ass haircut? I just cut my own bangs and it's all crooked and need some comfort 🥺

Hey I'm so sorry this has been in my inbox for so long!! Thank you very much for sending, this was so funny to think about. Hope your bangs have grown out since :') 

March

You already know March would be brutal. He's not good at expressing himself and, especially before you're an actual couple and he starts to put effort into not hurting your feelings, he wouldn't think twice about insulting your haircut.

If you came up to him after ruining your hair, he wouldn't be able to hide his confused scowl and ask "what did you do to your hair?" 

If you find it funny and laugh, he'll probably laugh as well and continue teasing you. He'd probably say something like, you shouldn't be allowed to smelt hot metal if you can't even cut your bangs correctly. 

He would laugh if you met him where he was and teased him back, especially about how he can't dye his own hair so he shouldn't be talking. 

If you had a different reaction, however, and got upset or embarrassed and walked away, he'd probably reflect on how you were likely feeling pretty self-conscious and realize that was a low blow.

He'd apologize next time he saw you, rolling his eyes and attempting to fix his comment a bit by saying "at least hair grows back." 

Ryis

Ryis would probably notice it right away. He pays close attention to you, and he can likely tell you're feeling self-conscious. 

He'd try to preserve your feelings the best he could. He'd ask about it lightly and casually. "Hey Y/N, did you get a new haircut? I like it."

You'd definitely blush and get super embarrassed, saying that you know the haircut sucks. Even though Ryis might secretly agree that it's not exactly the best look, he definitely would not agree to you putting yourself down like that. 

"What are you talking about, it's fine! You always look nice, so your haircut doesn't really matter, anyways."

If you're truly upset about it, he'd continue to reassure you and tell you that you look beautiful regardless. But thankfully hair does grow back if you truly don't like it!

He'll continue to compliment you as it grows back so you don't doubt whether he still finds you attractive. 

Eiland

Eiland is a sweetheart and would try to calm you down if you were upset about the haircut you gave yourself. A lot of reassurance about your beauty and his love for you regardless. 

He'd probably start telling you some interesting facts about historical hairstyles of Aldaria or something, as a way to distract you. You may or may not find it annoying in the moment. 

If you're still feeling unhappy, he'd offer to pay to get your hair fixed by Vera or some other expensive hairstylist in the Capital. 

He'd continue to attempt to reassure you that you look very pretty regardless and this sort of thing happened to everyone! In fact, he read on an Alda-period stone tablet that a woman once cut her own hair and....

Balor

It's rare that Balor loses his cool charm, but you see it waver in his face for a moment when you first see each other after the haircut. 

He'd try to deny it and turn the charm all the way up to compensate, telling you that you look absolutely radiant today (even though you look beautiful every day!). You'd see through it right away and call him out on it. 

He may try to deny it at first, but eventually agrees that it's not the best haircut. He does emphasize, however, that even something like a bad haircut couldn't detract from your beauty at all and you do still look lovely.

He'd hold back a bit of a laugh when you give him a blank stare from behind your crooked bangs, though. 

He just happens to generously gift you a set of beautiful gold hairpins from the Capital. Perfect timing. He'll tell you the hairpins compliment your eyes very well once he's no longer distracted by the funny-looking fringe. 

Hayden

Hayden wouldn't even notice honestly. He always thinks you look beautiful and wouldn't sweat small details like that. 

If you came to him and showed him how you messed up your hair, he'd probably laugh and tell you not to think anything of it!

"I cut my own hair all the time, Y/N. It's probably a mess but that's just fine by me!" He likes you however you are, with whatever you decide to do with your appearance.

If you were to tell him that you thought you looked unattractive or that you were embarrassed and didn't want anyone to look at you, he'd get genuinely upset. He truly doesn't understand how you don't see yourself as beautiful, and especially over such a small thing!

He'd continue to tell you not to pay it any mind, that hair grows back, and that no one would even notice. He genuinely thinks the latter because he wouldn't have noticed it had you not pointed it out. 

He'd lend you one of his big hats to cover your hair with while you wait for it to grow out, if you wanted. 

[syndrossi]

went to check your tumblr to see if there was new content or to reread my favorite au content and saw the post of one follower being sick… and it made me laugh because i too am sick

this made me realize that it is Syn’s utmost duty to provide us (pretty please with cherries on top) with bullet points and or a paragraph as to how Daemon would take care of the boys when/if they get sick with like the common cold. and interestingly enough, how the boys will respond to it (pretty please and thank you)

Bullet points? A measly paragraph! Pah! So many people suffering through being sick merits 4.1K words of sick!fic. Also, for those of us in the US it sure was, uh, a day.

So warm up some soup or a hot beverage of your choice and settle in! This ficlet is set in a hand-wavy time period 2 months or so from present-day Resonant. We'll call this sickness a particularly nasty cold...

Sick Days

It was not often that Daemon was summoned by his sons, though he vastly preferred such summons to any other, and yet that was how he found himself following Ser Arryk to the training yard.

“Nothing is amiss?” he asked, because all the Kingsguard had uttered was that Rhaegar had requested his presence at the yard. Though if either had been injured, he was certain that Arryk would have stated such immediately.

“The princes were in disagreement,” the knight said after a moment, “and Prince Rhaegar decided that your intervention was necessary.”

Daemon frowned, further mystified. His sons rarely found themselves at odds, though it warmed him that Rhaegar trusted him to settle the matter. It did occur to him that his younger son might simply believe that Daemon was easier to convince than Jon, but he decided that the reason did not matter.

Both were at the edge of the yard, Jon with his arms crossed and mouth drawn into a scowl that was all the more ferocious beside his brother’s calm poise. Daemon gave Ser Perkins a curt nod of acknowledgement and ignored Cole entirely. His nephews were locked in some contest, but clearly distracted by both his arrival and whatever was troubling his sons.

Jon’s shoulders slumped when he caught sight of Daemon, as though his very presence signalled defeat, and he turned back to his brother with clear outrage. “You sent for our father?”

“You were being unreasonable,” Rhaegar said.

Daemon leaned to drop a kiss on the crown of each head, regretting as always the waning years he would have to do so before his sons grew too tall. “Am I so unwelcome?”

“It is unnecessary,” Jon insisted.

The words were not intended to sting, yet they did so nonetheless. So much of their days were spent apart: his sons at their lessons, and Daemon attending to the upcoming Stepstones campaign. He should be teaching them the sword, rather than relying on others to do so.

Rhaegar fixed him with a plaintive look. “Jon is ill. He needs rest, but he insists on training.”

“Ill?” Daemon turned to his other son, alarmed. He had not seemed out of sorts at breakfast, but as he studied him now, the flush to his face was not one of anger or exertion, and there was a glassiness to his eyes. He reached for both of his sons’ foreheads, and Jon’s was notably warmer.

“I feel fine,” Jon protested, ducking out of his hand.

“I bested you in all five of our bouts,” Rhaegar said. “And you had to lean against the fence after each!”

“Bed,” Daemon said firmly, moving behind his son to undo the straps of his practice armor. “What else ails you?”

“It is only a fever.” Jon sounded sullen at even admitting that much, which likely meant there was more to it.

Daemon slung Jon’s armor over the fence, then turned to his other son. Whenever Viserys had fallen ill as a child, Daemon had usually followed soon after. “You as well.” Rhaegar glanced at his brother, his concern plain, and let Daemon remove his armor without complaint.

Back at their apartments, Daemon had them bathe and change, though he did not force Rhaegar to rest. Instead, his son set Rolen to the task of securing cloths and ice water for a cold compress while Daemon settled anxiously beside Jon’s bed, noting his shivers beneath the blankets.

He tested his forehead again, not certain if it was worse, and wondered whether to fetch the maester. It hardly seemed worth it, given that Mellos would likely prescribe a leeching. My brother has not once improved under his care.

Daemon stared at Jon for a time, until Rhaegar appeared to drape a cool cloth over his forehead, which heightened his son’s shivering. He could not recall if that was better or worse, so he absently sent Rhaegar for another blanket just in case.

A book was placed into his lap instead, the Valyrian children’s tales that he had read to his sons before. Jon’s gaze was fixed upon the ceiling, stoic in his misery, and Daemon read until his son’s eyelids drooped, stopping only once to change his compress, and the shivering slowly abated as sleep took him.

Then Daemon watched him, book open on his lap. The sight of his son resting should have set him at ease, but each stab of fear grew sharper still. Everything that had threatened his children thus far had come from without, enemies that could be cut and bled and held at bay with enough swords.

They could die. Somehow that had never occurred to him before. His sons could be stolen, yes, and hurt by people like Allard Royce and Marten Crayne. But he had stolen them back before, and could do it again.

He could not steal them back from the clutches of death.

The evening hours crept by without him noticing until Rhaegar gently prodded him to eat supper, and he realized he had been ignoring his other son, who would be equally in need of reassurance. They ate together, and Daemon asked him about his lessons, letting his son’s voice wash over him without comprehending, then resumed his vigil.

The next day, he barely moved from Jon’s bedside, overseeing his meals with growing anxiety at his decreased appetite. His son’s fierceness from the day before had been stolen by exhaustion and fever, dulled to listlessness. Even so, rest seemed to elude him, as coughing joined the parade of misery.

Rhaegar must have made excuses for his absence to king and court, for no one came knocking at the door in summons. He did not realize that his son had taken up the task of parenting him until late in the day, which was the same time that he noticed a telltale flush in Rhaegar’s cheeks as well.

“You did not tell me you were feverish,” Daemon said, unable to keep the sharpness from his voice and regretting it when his son’s expression blanked. He kissed his cheek in apology, finding it warm to the touch, and then his forehead, which was hotter still. “To bed.”

I should have noticed sooner. His son had barely eaten at breakfast, and been much quieter today.

Rhaegar’s fever worsened with the onset of night, accompanied by the same violent shivering that had plagued Jon the day before, and Jon could barely go more than a minute without coughing or telling Daemon that he should tend to Rhaegar instead, both of which were equally upsetting. He could feel their misery like it was his own, worsened by his helplessness.

Once they had both finally drifted into sleep, Daemon left their room, ignoring the tray of supper that Rolen had set out at the table, or the steaming bath meant to tempt him into washing, and instead stumbled into the hallway, feet taking him nearly all the way to Rhaenyra’s apartments before he remembered himself and continued slightly past, to Laenor’s.

His cousin had started his evening with some drinking, judging by his befuddled expression upon seeing him. “Daemon?”

“I must speak with Rhaenyra,” he said.

Laenor’s mouth opened, then closed, as though he had meant to say something then thought better of it. “And you require a chaperone.” His cousin sighed. “Very well. A moment.”

The moment took forever by Daemon’s reckoning, the time spent away from his sick children weighing heavier by the minute, but at last he emerged. “What is it? You look terrible.”

Daemon did not answer, turning back toward Rhaenyra’s apartments and lengthening his stride, hearing Laenor mutter under his breath before trotting to keep pace. The Kingsguard guarding her door, Ser Steffon, stepped aside after announcing them, and the door opened barely a second later.

Rhaenyra had not yet retired for the night, though she had exchanged court dress for something more suitable for lounging within the privacy of her apartments. Her stare at him was not unlike Laenor’s and he wondered just how terrible he looked. He could not recall if he had even changed out of his clothing for bed the previous night.

“Daemon,” she said, her polite nod one of perfect propriety, followed by a smile at her husband. “Laenor. Come in.” Once the door had shut, she ushered them to the hearth, then stepped over to the boys’ room, opening its door to reveal Jace. She kissed his cheek, then shooed him. “Back to bed, dragonling.”

She then settled on the couch beside Laenor, regarding Daemon with a concern so sweet that his heart clenched. “You look frightful, what’s wrong?”

“What if they die?”

It was not what he had meant to say, and even saying it aloud felt like speaking the possibility into being. His hands ached for a weapon to wield against the unbearable uncertainty, but he could only clasp them in his lap and feel his blood thrum.

Laenor’s brow remained furrowed in confusion, while Rhaenyra’s softened in understanding. “Your boys?”

“They are sick with fever, and I—” Had never considered the possibility. Had not prepared for it. “I do not know what to do, or how to know what help they need, or if—”

He was gently shushed and then peppered with questions. Could they speak sensibly. Could they move. Were they eating. Did they need help to the chamberpot. How were their hatchlings.

“I did not think to check,” Daemon said to the last, lurching to his feet. It seemed so obvious in hindsight. At the very least, their hatchlings’ presence should be a comfort.

“If they are eating and sleeping and speaking, then it is not necessary to fetch their hatchlings at this very moment, Daemon,” Rhaenyra said, with an authority that kept him from moving to the door. “Children sicken. They will be sick again, and you will be brought low by their illness more often than not. That is the nature of being a parent.”

“My aunt Daenerys died of sickness,” Daemon said, remembering how even decades later, his grandmother could not speak of her first daughter without pain. He had not understood why at the time when it had been so long ago, but after knowing his sons for a mere three moons, it seemed impossible that he might survive losing either. “How can you be certain that any illness might not take your child?”

“The Shivers were deadly to nearly all who were afflicted, but they have not been seen within the realm since. Such illnesses tend to reach the smallfolk first, so we will have warning should it ever return.” He must not have looked reassured, because she added, “She did not have a dragon, I recall my father saying. The king sent for a hatchling, but it was too late. Your sons and mine are dragonriders.”

“My father was a dragonrider,” Daemon said, gripping the back of the chair he had vacated. “And yet sickness took him in his prime.”

Rhaenyra rose with a soft sigh and met him on the other side of the chair to set her hands atop his. “There are grave illnesses and mild. Some claim the young and frail, and others the hale and hearty. The maesters are trained to know the signs of those that can be deadly. Has Mellos tended to them?”

“No,” Daemon said. His jaw clenched. “I will not trust their health to a bloodsucker.”

The corner of her mouth twitched downward briefly, her stare growing distant. They had both spoken before about the man’s treatments for Viserys, and he knew that she shared some of his opinion. “Would you like me to see them? My own sons have weathered over a dozen illnesses apiece.”

Daemon’s grip loosened, relief filling him. “Yes.”

“And if I find cause for worry, either Laenor or myself can fetch Maester Gerardys from Dragonstone. He is most capable and does not rely upon leeching.”

Daemon remembered the maester from his own youth, from various scrapes earned when visiting his uncle’s family. The maester had been much younger then, but with gentle hands and a patience for questions, even from a child.

“Why don’t I fetch him right now?” Laenor offered. “I have been itching for a good ride while the weather is still warm.”

“I would be most grateful,” Daemon said, feeling his nerves begin to settle with the outline of a plan.

Rhaenyra lifted his hands from the chair and squeezed. “Then let us go.”

Ser Steffon remained behind to guard Rhaenyra’s sons within, and Daemon counted himself lucky that he had negotiated with his brother to only require the company of Sers Arryk or Erryk when outside of the holdfast. Even so, he invited the knight outside of the door to his apartments within. Hightower was more eager than ever to find suggestions of impropriety between him and his niece.

His sons were both asleep, and Rolen informed him that he had changed their compresses ten minutes before. Neither were shivering, though their cheeks were still warm to the touch. Rhaenyra repeated his test with a kiss to their cheeks, and Rhaegar stirred to sleepily mumble, “Muña?”

Daemon tried not to look as though he had been punched in the gut, but Rhaenyra’s glance toward him was one of knowing. It hurt to think that he alone might not be enough for his children, or that he could not give them a mother who would love them as Rhaenyra would.

And even then, would she ever love them as much as sons of her own blood?

It was an unkind thought, but that did not make it untrue. Were Daemon ever forced to choose between the lives of her sons or his, he knew his heart. He was not ashamed of it; he could no more be ashamed of the need to breathe.

They are mine and I hold no life above theirs.

Rhaegar seemed to recognize Rhaenyra at last, and his face fell as he uttered a stricken apology that she shushed, stroking the hair from his forehead. The noise woke Jon, who sat up with an urgency that Daemon did not understand until the front of his tunic was splattered with sick that dripped down to the floor.

The smell was awful. Daemon reminded himself that he had endured far worse on the battlefield, and Jon looked so horrified, blurting apologies of his own, that he could not be annoyed for more than half a second.

“It is not the worst fluid I have been sprayed with,” Daemon assured him, and despite Rhaenyra’s dubious reaction on the other side of the bed, a ghost of a smile appeared on Jon’s face.

Rolen appeared to help him out of his soiled clothing, and then to tend to the mess on the floor. Once finished, his servant brought a clean chamberpot and set it upon the small bedside table for future spells of nausea.

Jon accepted a cup of water, and when Daemon mentioned that he would bring their hatchlings for company, Rhaegar offered to summon them himself from the Red Keep’s enclosure, an ability that he still found perplexing. Caraxes often seemed to know to find him, especially in dire moments, but Daemon had never tried calling his dragon with the expectation of him heeding.

Within minutes, however, the hatchlings were shrieking at the door to be let in, and Daemon caught Shadow mid-inhale of a gout of dragonflame. “Kelītīs!” he hastily commanded, and the hatchling coughed, only a tiny flicker escaping his mouth.

Daemon offered his shoulder, which Qelebrys took gladly while Shadow zipped past him. It was only a matter of time, he mused, until the hatchlings were forbidden from the holdfast if they could not learn to restrain their enthusiasm with their newfound dragonflame. A matter to discuss with his sons when they were feeling better. Scholarly and martial lessons had their place, but dragonriders needed lessons of their own. For all his duties, he could not neglect that aspect.

His sons seemed cheered by their dragons’ company, which granted them what seemed an extra vitality, and Daemon felt a fresh impatience with himself for not thinking of it before.

He watched them play with their hatchlings, showing off their impressive command to Rhaenyra at her prompting. As ever, Jon seemed to hold himself at a distance from her, demonstrating a deference that still puzzled Daemon, because his son had a natural command that he did not hesitate to apply even to the king.

Rhaegar, who possessed a similar command, albeit one that tended to rankle fewer men with excessive pride, was the opposite. Though he afforded Rhaenyra the respect she was due as the king’s heir, he treated her almost as an equal.

They are most certainly your sons, Rhaenys had remarked to Daemon more than once.

The play tired his sons quickly, however, and they did not even need the aid of a story to drift back to sleep.

“I do not think it is anything to worry about,” Rhaenyra said once they had re-entered the main chamber. “It seems very like the minor ills that plague my sons on occasion. Once the fever goes, it will be sniffles and prodigious quantities of snot.”

Daemon rubbed at his eyes, fatigue setting in. “Thank you.” His earlier terror had eased to a more manageable fretfulness over the course of Rhaenyra’s visit. He did not think he could shed it entirely, but he might actually sleep that night.

“And they will likely become crankier once they begin feeling better,” she added.

He nodded politely, not voicing his skepticism. Raging fits and whining seemed to afflict his nephews quite often, and even Rhaenyra’s sons were not immune, but his own were far more composed. He doubted he would face more than a few half-hearted attempts from them to win free of bed.

“Get some sleep, Daemon,” Rhaenyra said, holding herself to a nod in the presence of the household knight.

Daemon nodded back, feeling the distance between them particularly keenly tonight. “I shall.”

Her lips quirked. “You will find yourself in need of it soon enough.”

x~x~x

His sons were in fact capable of impressive crankiness, Daemon quickly learned, expressed in myriad creative ways. Jon seemed to view being sick as a personal insult, and that extended to being treated as sick. He complained incessantly about being forced to rest, insisting that he required fresh air and generally implying that he knew better than Daemon and Maester Gerardys.

On the third night, after Jon’s fever was mostly gone, Daemon’s refusal to allow his son to take a walk within the walls of the holdfast seemed to stretch him past his limits. A screaming fit ensued wherein his son accused Daemon of treating him like an infant to make amends for the years they had spent as orphans.

Daemon held himself together long enough to reiterate his decision, and then he locked himself in his chamber, vacillating between tears of heartache and tears of rage. It proved not enough, and he sought Caraxes’s company instead, finding an isolated copse of trees a short distance from King’s Landing to burn to charcoal and ash.

His son was contrite when he returned, assuring Daemon that he knew that he would have come for them sooner if he could have, and took the peace offer of a story.

Rhaegar meanwhile was an exercise in patience and understanding. Where the nigh-mortal blow of Jon’s words had not been meant to wound him so badly, his other son exhibited a flair for cutting his heart to ribbons with calculated precision. Every accusation and taunt seemed designed to provoke fury or sorrow, depending on how tired his son was, and being denied the former only further upset his son.

Daemon learned at last that where it was kinder to spare Jon the signs of his upset, Rhaegar somehow needed his tears and frustration in order to release his own, at which point he accepted Daemon’s hugs with hiccuping apologies.

In all, Daemon was vomited on three times, reduced to tears a dozen times, driven to burn four separate groves of trees, and restrained himself from regicide by way of fratricide while on the receiving end of smug superiority from Viserys twice, as though his brother even knew when one of his own sniveling brats was sick, much less tended to them.

This would be easier if they had a mother, Viserys had even dared suggest at one point, and Daemon had smashed a vase in front of him in lieu of punching him.

His sons’ misery eventually eased, especially once Daemon started letting them chase one another through the halls of the holdfast, or recruiting an unlucky Kingsguard to be in the role of chaser. As Rhaenyra had predicted, the snot ran freely along with his sons, but with their energy spent, their mood improved dramatically.

When Daemon himself fell ill at last, he let them order him around to their hearts’ content. He was deemed confined to bed, where each of them traded turns changing his own compress as they debated what soup he should have from the kitchens, with Rhaegar pointing out that they needn’t rely upon what the kitchen had already made and could order whatever they saw fit.

The days of fever were unpleasant and somewhat hazy, the accompanying aches and shivering occupying most of his attention. Through it, he remembered the worry on their faces as they tended to him, and it was a far more powerful balm than any soup.

He had weathered sickness on the Stepstones before, but Corlys’s worry had been first and foremost for his dragonrider, not for Daemon himself. At Runestone, his wife had viewed his illnesses as brief respites of her own—perhaps even hoping that one might free her of him entirely. The last time someone had tended to him as his sons did now would have been when he had caught a bad fever at fifteen. Despite his grandfather’s protests, his father had remained by his side throughout.

Jon read to him in Valyrian, struggling only a little with some of the bigger words, and Rhaegar sang lullabies to him that evoked a hazy memory of his mother’s face, and voice rather less sweet. Qelebrys watched him from the foot of his bed, while Shadow performed tricks at Jon’s command. Visitors were turned away, except for Rhaenyra and Viserys, and somehow his sons had secured the two differing plans for the proposed holdfast at Bloodstone that the heads of the masons and builders had been squabbling about for the past fortnight and negotiated an agreement between them.

“You should let us assist you more often,” Jon said matter-of-factly. “It is more interesting than our daytime lessons.”

His fever gave way to a truly irritating stuffiness that made it difficult to rest, and equally difficult not to hate everything. His complaints seemed to amuse his sons, and although that should itself have been irritating, their good humor took the worst of the edges off.

“I have read that dragonriding can clear one’s breathing,” Rhaegar informed him once he felt well enough to take supper with them at the table. His hopeful expression was only partly out of a love of flying, Daemon knew, as his sons were also still afflicted by sniffles.

They tested it together, finding the adage to be true during the flight itself, and for a short time after, but the stuffiness did creep back with each passing hour. At supper, they composed lists of their preferred soups, and found that none of them liked the sweet carrot soup. He and Rhaegar shared a favorite in chicken and mushroom in broth, while soups with broccoli edged that out for Jon.

His sons belatedly “permitted” him hallway privileges, bestowing upon him the honor of chasing them through the halls, and though his chases ended with some light coughing, their delighted grins made the effort worth it.

It wasn’t until he felt almost completely better that he allowed them to sleep in his bed, a habit that had gone from every night for a long stretch to something they requested only on occasion. As he neared sleep, he felt Jon shift beside him, and he opened his eyes to find his son staring at him with upset.

“What is it?” he whispered, shifting his arm to lay a hand on his hair.

“You cannot die,” his son whispered back. “You must promise.”

Daemon shifted to press a kiss to his forehead. “I promise.”

[itsnesss]

𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐥 | axel kovacevik × fem!reader

summary | you spend a cozy evening at Axel’s apartment, noticing how small you look, he confesses that it makes him want to protect you, and more cheesy stuff

warnings | fluff, size difference, kissing, cuddling, playful teasing

word count | 1.3 k

author's note | it would help me a lot if you liked, commented and reposted so that more people read what I write and don't forget to follow me, thanks ᡣ𐭩

Axel had always been big. Not just in height, but in presence. From the very first moment you met him, he cast a shadow over you without even trying, as if his mere existence was enough to make everyone else seem insignificant in comparison.

But you had never felt as small as you did in this moment.

You were in his apartment, wrapped in one of his hoodies, which was ridiculously oversized on you. The thick fabric covered almost your entire body, leaving only the tips of your fingers visible when you tried to hold a cup of hot tea. Axel, sitting beside you on the couch, watched you with a mixture of amusement and something else… something deeper that you couldn’t quite identify.

"I always forget how small you are," he suddenly said, his tone softer than usual.

You looked up at him, noticing the way his gaze lingered on how the hoodie enveloped you, as if every time he saw you like this, something inside him stirred.

You smiled slightly.

"Is that a problem?"

Axel shook his head. His eyes dropped to where his arm rested on the back of the couch, just behind you, as if at any moment he might pull you completely into his embrace.

"No. I like it."

His words made your eyes widen in surprise. You turned just enough to glance at him, finding his expression calm, yet with that glint in his eyes that revealed more than he said.

"Why do you like it?"

Axel didn’t answer immediately. Instead, his gaze dropped to where his arm subtly surrounded you, as if you were something fragile and precious. His fingers flexed slightly, as if memorizing the feeling of having you this close.

"Because it makes me want to protect you," he confessed, his voice barely a whisper.

Warmth spread through your chest, a sensation that extended throughout your entire body. Without thinking too much, you lifted a hand and gently caressed his cheek, feeling the texture of his skin, the faint stubble that always gave him a rougher look than he actually had when he was with you.

"You don’t have to."

"I know. But I want to."

The intensity in his gaze left you breathless. There was no arrogance in his words, no doubt—just a sincerity so deep that it made your heart tighten.

You took a deep breath, feeling how the air around you grew heavier, more intimate. Your hand remained on his cheek, your fingers tracing soft lines over his skin. Axel closed his eyes for a moment, leaning slightly into your touch.

When he opened them again, his gaze was fixed on your lips.

Heat rushed to your face the instant you realized what was about to happen. You did nothing to stop it.

Axel leaned in, with a patience that made you tremble. His size, his presence—everything about him wrapped around you like a protective shadow, a fortress where you knew you could seek shelter without fear.

When his lips brushed against yours, it was such a soft touch that it almost didn’t feel real. A barely-there graze, as if he was waiting for you to close the distance.

And you did.

You stretched toward him, pressing your lips against his with more certainty, seeking the warmth that you knew only he could give you. Axel exhaled against your mouth, his hand finding the curve of your back and pulling you closer.

The kiss was sweet, unhurried, yet full of a restrained emotion that made your skin tingle. His lips moved over yours with a tenderness that contrasted with his size, with the strength you knew he possessed and yet always handled with infinite gentleness when it came to you.

When he pulled back, just a few millimeters, his breathing was uneven.

"You're so small," he murmured, as if he still couldn’t quite believe it.

You smiled, feeling his arm wrap around you tighter, ensuring you wouldn’t go anywhere.

"And you’re huge."

Axel let out a soft chuckle before kissing you again, this time with a little more urgency, with a little more of everything he had been holding back.

And you had no intention of stopping him.

Minutes passed, maybe hours, curled up together on the couch. Axel had one arm around you, his other hand resting on your thigh, barely touching you, as if he was afraid of hurting you. His fingers were long, strong, and despite the softness of his touch, you could feel the restrained power within them.

Your head rested against his chest, and every time he inhaled, you could feel the way his body expanded around you. He felt warm, protective, like you belonged right there.

"Aren't you tired of carrying me?" you murmured, breaking the silence.

Axel glanced down at you with a light smile.

"You're so light I don’t even notice."

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help but laugh.

"That sounds like teasing."

"It’s the truth," he replied, and to prove his point, he slid an arm under your legs and lifted you effortlessly, settling you into his lap.

You let out a small gasp, your hands instinctively gripping his shoulders.

"Axel!"

He just smiled, clearly entertained by your reaction.

"I told you—you weigh nothing."

"That doesn’t mean you can just pick me up whenever you want."

Axel tilted his head, watching you with that intense gaze that always made your heart beat faster.

"Of course, it does."

You knew he was joking, but the way he said it, with that deep, confident voice, sent a shiver down your spine.

"You're such a bully," you muttered, though you made no effort to move from his lap.

Axel let out a quiet laugh, and before you could react, his lips brushed against your forehead in a slow, deliberate kiss.

"And you're too small to do anything about it."

You gave him a light shove on the chest, but he didn’t even budge. He didn’t have to try to hold you back, because you didn’t actually want to leave.

You sighed and relaxed against him, letting the warmth of his embrace surround you.

"Idiot…"

Axel smiled against your hair, holding you just a little tighter.

"My little idiot."

And though you would usually protest, this time, you let his words envelop you, because you knew that when he was with you, the last thing he wanted was to let you go.

[blurry-lock]

SPIDER! SHIDOU RYUSEI x READER

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Another shidou fic because I feel we need more!! I’m obsessed with spiderman aus

What you need to know: spiderman au, best friends to lovers, gender neutral reader, injuries and slight blood mentions, mention of assault (not graphic, just a mention that happened) swearing, suggestive, lmk if there’s something else I didn’t include!

“You think spiderman is hot?” You smirked, chuckling slightly as you asked Shidou. You were both in your room, doing some school project and gossiping as you often do.

Shidou chuckled and shook his head. “You have a thing for masked men or what?” He tilted his head as he fiddled with his pen. He got slightly nervous everytime you asked something about the city’s hero, you didn’t know he was spiderman, not yet.

“Okay maybe I do… but that’s not the point! I mean like, is he hot behind his mask?” You raised an eyebrow, wondering what spiderman looked.

To be honest you had a small crush on spidey, you’ve interacted a few times with him and he was very charming, very flirtatious. He somehow reminded you of Shidou a little that’s why Shidou is a fan of him too, at least that’s what you thought. More than just a crush, you were deeply thankful, you always shared your gratitude towards him and your story of how he saved you some time back when a creep follow you and tried to assault you or when you were caught in the middle of a fight with some other villain and him taking you to safety without forgetting to say some flirtatious comment or a compliment.

You liked his style, it looked like he really was into fashion. His suit was pink and black with some pretty small horns on top of his mask. You had several drawings and posters of him drawn and gifted to you by Shidou who knew you liked him a lot.

“Well… I think he might be pretty hot, handsome, stunning even” he chuckled as he tried to calm down his nerves by writing something for the project. He didn’t know how to feel knowing his best friend had a crush on spiderman (him) while at the same time he was in love with you.

He wanted to tell you his secret, but was scared, Shidou Ryusei, THE spiderman, was scared. Would you hate him for not telling you before? Would you still like him? Would you want to date him? Would that put you in potencial danger? He had many questions and didn’t know how to fix this issue.

“Ha! Bet, he can do whatever he wants with me honestly…” you giggled slightly and bit your lip as you imagined sceneries with spidey.

Shidou blushed subtly at your words and was lost in thought, feeling slightly jealous even tho… he was the same person, but you didn’t know it.

“Hey… are you there Ryu?” You waved your hand near his eyes, snapping him out of his thoughts. To you, he was acting weird, you never see him this lost in thought.

“Huh… yeah, yeah, I was just thinking…” he mumbled, shaking his head. He wanted to tell you the truth and kiss you senseless, imagining some sceneries of his own.

“What? You jealous or sum?” You teased him, ruffling his hair playfully.

“No, it’s just- forget it…” he sighed and checked his phone, a notification of a villain causing trouble popping on his feed alarming him. “Can you continue the project without me? Something came up”

“Huh? I mean sure I can but, is everything okay?” You tilted your head, confused with his sudden change of demeanor.

“Yeah, it’s nothing bad, just Aiku asking for something” he lied, he felt bad he had to lie to you. He would see how to tell you his identity later, he needed to save the city now, he couldn’t ignore his duty.

You nodded, still feeling somewhat confused, but you didn’t pushed further, maybe he would tell you later what happened, right?

┈┈・୨ 🕸️ ୧・┈┈

The days passed and Shidou was acting weirder and weirder, he was distant and every time you asked him to hang out or ask if he was okay he would dismiss you, tell you he was just “busy” or that he already had plans with Aiku.

You were worried, you didn’t want to pressure him into telling something maybe he wasn’t ready to tell you, but you couldn’t help but overthink what was going on. If he had plans with Aiku and Aiku was a well known player, did he introduce Shidou to someone else? Was he seeing someone? Your heart ached, but why? He was just your friend or did you have some feelings you didn’t even were aware of them?

You were even more concerned when you decided to ask Aiku if Shido had a partner and what did they do on their “plans” only to find out Aiku didn’t know about this.

“Nah pretty face, I haven’t been out with him for a while now, he always says he’s busy…” Aiku told you as he leaned on the wall, smirking at you.

“That’s weird… i’m worried for him, you know?” You sighed and looked away, thoughtful.

“Yeah i’m kinda worried to… but anyway, i’m still free for you, ya know?” He grinned and moved a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Don’t start Aiku, you know I would never go out with you” you sighed and began to walk away, leaving Aiku with an unsatisfied pout as your thoughts lingered on Shidou.

┈┈・୨ 🕸️ ୧・┈┈

Later one night as you couldn’t sleep from all the turmoil and encountered feelings, laying down on your bed and staring at the roof something made you snap out of your thoughts, a loud thud in your window. You jumped and walked to the window, your heart racing as you opened the window trying to see what was that sound when a figure bursted into you room and collapsing to the floor, you gasped and looked down only to see spiderman.

He was laying on the floor slightly groaning in pain as his body was covered in blood, scratches and injuries, some parts of his suit even were ripped off.

“What the fuck?! W-wha… what happened? How do you know this was my house?” Your heart sank at the sight of spiderman injured, but why did he come to you?

“D-don’t worry about it pretty… can you maybe help me?” He panted slightly, you helped him stood up and guided him to you bed, he sat and leaned on your wall, his body tensing from the pain.

“I’ll get the med kit, just stay with me!” You ran through your closet, desperately searching for the med kit, once you found it you sat next to him and checked his injuries. “I… I need you take of your shirt… is that okay?” You blushed slightly.

He just nodded and you took out his shirt, leaving his mask on. You ran your fingers through his injuries as he flinched slightly from the pain, they looked like burns from friction, though they didn’t seem to need stitches or something more serious. You stared at his shirtless body, he was very muscular, even with all the injuries he looked hot.

You snapped out of your thoughts and shook your head as you started cleaning his wounds, he looked like he was struggling to breathe through the mask, your lips trembled as you opened your mouth. “I think… you need to take off the mask…” you suggested, expecting a deny from his part thinking he won’t reveal his identity to a random person he barely knows.

He sighed and slowly started to take off his mask, your eyes widening at every inch of face he was revealing until he took it off completely and you were met with….

“Ryu?!” You tensed, your lower lip shaking not knowing what to say or do. You expected his secret to be everything but this. “Y-you are-“

You were caught off when he gathered all his force and pulled you closer, making you straddle his lap and crashing his lips with yours in a needy and desperate kiss. You froze in place but quickly composed yourself to kissed him back, your heart hammering your chest and your face reddening at the situation. In that moment all your worries seemed to fade as you let out all your feelings in that kiss.

“Am I hot then?” He smirked, pulling away from the kiss as he panted softly.

You let out a chuckle and playfully slapped his shoulder, causing him to groan in pain. “Idiot… you should’ve told me before”

He chuckled and rubbed his shoulder. “Hey! I’m injured be careful pretty…” he remained silent for about five seconds, just staring at you with a stupid grin. “I’m sorry… I guess I didn’t want to put you in danger and… i was… scared” he mumbled the last part, slightly embarrassed to admit his feelings.

You sighed and ruffled his hair. “Your secret stays with me, i’ll be fine Ryu” you smiled as your heart fluttered from all the feelings you experienced. That kiss felt nice, it was very freeing.

You blushed suddenly, remembering all the things you said to Shidou about spiderman. “Uh… does that mean… you knew all this time about my feelings about you… well, spidey”

His smirk widened as he looked at you with an amusing look. “Are you still down for that or…?”

You widened your eyes and blushed even harder as the realization was starting to sink.

He placed his hands on your waist, going down to your hips and sliding to your rear “So… can I do anything I want with you? Maybe we can-“ he groaned in pain as you hit him again.

“R-ryu!” Your face reddened at his suggestion, the embarrassment from all your dirty confessions was still there but, it didn’t sound that bad since you now realize you really liked Shidou maybe you could try… No! He was still injured and you needed to keep tending his wounds, but definitely will do something when he felt better. “J-just let me take care of your wounds and we’ll see later…” you huffed as you went back to cleaning his wounds.

He chuckled as he caressed your sides. “Fine, fine… I don’t mind a sexy nurse taking care of me now~”

“Shut. Up.” You gritted your teeth as you tried to dismiss your blush, he got to your skin so easy, you tried to stay mad but you couldn’t help but let a small smirk escape from your lips.

Maybe this wasn’t too bad, being with spiderman that at the same time was your long time best friend.

The end!! I had so much fun writing this short fic fr, sorry if there’s some mistakes english is not my first language.

Also I tried to make this very gender neutral so pointing out any mistakes i did, tips, etc are highly appreciated ^^

Im trying to make a lot of shidou fics bc i think they aren’t enough, i mean, i swear every time i say i like shidou i feel like crazy because no one gets it 😭 they don’t understand how much i love this man fr…

Lmao anyway i hope you like it and stay tuned for more fics, feel free to give me some ideas or suggestions!

[iichfilwypj]

loml | percy jackson

ღ percy jackson and mortal! reader (both are 27 yo!!) ღ warnings: angst, very very sad, mentions of blood and injuries (past) ღ wc: 1.429

The park was ideal to visit at that time; the sun would set, bathing the sky in a stunning orange glow, and most of the little ones had gone home, leaving a serene quietness in the park. The dogs were already resting in the shade of the trees, and the air felt much softer.

Indeed, at that time, the park felt enveloped in calm, making it the perfect place to enjoy her small haven. She could settle into her regular bench, beyond the reach of noise and people, and concentrate on her work as the peaceful atmosphere intertwined with her thoughts.

While she listened to music and focused on the paper, a faint little voice emerged around her, barely noticeable at first. She thought she might be delirious, too weary to trust her senses completely; but then, a gentle touch came, as if a tiny hand had softly landed on her leg.

Her sight fell immediately, and there, in front of her, was a little girl.

The vision brought an instant smile to her face; the little girl was the sort of child you might believe to be an angel in disguise if you looked closely. 

Her hair was blonde and curly, with a nearly platinum shine. Her cheeks were delicately flushed, as if she had just been running in the park, and her large, radiant eyes stared at her with an innocent intensity, so big they seemed to take over her entire face.

Green.

Her eyes were green.

They reminded her of someone, but she couldn’t remember who.

Just as she was about to speak, to ask the little girl where her parents were or what she was doing there, the child surprised her by sitting down beside her, her curious eyes scanning the papers.

“Are you reading? My mom loves reading a lot” 

The words hovered in the air, and for a moment, she simply looked at her. as if her words carried a quiet wisdom, a familiarity she couldn’t ignore, an echo in her mind that she couldn’t quite place.

Even though she tried to, something changed when a third voice joined the conversation. In that instant, something in her chest tightened, and it was as if the very air had changed in texture.

She recalled exactly who those green eyes belonged to.

Percy Jackson.

He was running toward her, a look of relief on his face as he fixed his gaze on the little girl. He was wearing a hand-knitted blue scarf, a hat in the same color, and a dark jacket.

His hair was as dark and messy as when she used to run her fingers through it, his hands still fiddling with his fingers—though at one point, those fingers had been hers—, and from a distance, she could scent the ocean that always seemed to follow him.

And his eyes.

His eyes were still just as green as before.

Her mind was paralyzed, and her body felt strangely both cold and hot. She clenched her hands, sure that if the pencil had been between her fingers, it would have bent, but it was already lying on the floor.

“Sweetie, hi,” Percy walked up to her without even glancing in her direction, his eyes fixed on the little one. He gently took the child's face in his hands, sighing and pressing a kiss on her cold forehead. “You slipped away in a second, didn’t you?”

“Dad, she likes reading! Just like mommy” 

And as the child pointed at her, she wished she could vanish. Run off, without saying a word, without providing any explanations.

He had done it once, so why couldn’t she?

“Really, wow—”

And just then, she knew he had recognized her. 

She could tell by the way his eyebrows bent, by how his eyes opened slightly, by the way his cheeks went pale. By the way his lips curled into a pout.

“Hi, Percy,” she said, voice low and quiet.

“You remember me?” 

Of course she would remember. The memories hit her all at once, like lost bullets, like something that had been trapped for so long it broke free with all the power it could find.

She felt as if someone had stepped into her heart, uncovering in seconds what she had desperately tried to keep sealed under lock.

And that lock she believed to be shut found its key; the same key that had locked it years ago.

“Hi, I—I don’t know what to say.” He was speechless, what do you say to someone after 10 years?

The situation had stolen his words. His lips trembled with words kept for years, with explanations hidden away, with thighs he had felt. The truth, why that had been his only choice at the time, and how much he regretted it now.

“Who’s this sweet girl?” She decided to ask, leaving her stuff besides her and standing up briskly. The small child answered timidly, her cheeks warmed by the adult’s caresses, yet she broke into a wide smile. 

“She’s my daughter, uhm—Why don’t you go find mommy? I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

And as the child walked off, the silence became unbearable.

“I married Annabeth,” Percy said, his voice barely above a whisper. 

He didn’t dare look at her, his gaze locked on his shoes, as if the weight of his confession was too much to face.

“Congratulations?” She replied, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. Her tone was sharp, but the faint quiver in her voice betrayed her. She took a step back, shaking her head as if trying to process what he’d just said. “Percy, I should—” 

“I’m sorry, for everything.” He interrupted, finally looking up at her. His eyes shimmered with a guilt that made her stomach churn, that made her want to vomit.

“Oh, you’re sorry?” She snapped. “That’s supposed to fix it, right? All the tears, the therapy, the fear I felt without you?” 

Her breath was ragged, the anger and hurt bleeding into every syllable. 

“Do you know what it felt to wake up alone? To wake up terrified, expecting to see the love of your life beside you after almost dying, and find nothing but a letter? You said you’d never leave!”

The words hit him harder than any punch.

But it wasn’t fair. 

She wasn’t the only one who remembered. 

He remembered it all too well.

Carrying the girl to his room, her blood soaking his blue sheets. 

Gripping her hand tightly, repeating over and over that everything would be okay, when he wasn’t sure it would; when all he could do was pray for a miracle.

Her desperate screams, begging for everything to stop.

Her life slipping through his fingers, pulling his own life along with it.

She wasn’t meant for that world, for the God's sick kingdom. How could he let her get hurt again? 

“You almost died!” he said.

“No, I died the day you left!” she shouted, the weight of her anger pushing her forward. “I just needed you!”

Percy stood silent, the weight of guilt now completely suffocating him, as it hit him like a wave sweeping away any defense he might have had and leaving him exposed before the woman he had once loved and lost.

“Percy, I honestly didn’t want to see you again,” She grabbed her bag and turned toward Percy, tears in her eyes. “But this might be the last time I look at your face. I don’t know what’s happened in your life these years, I hope you’re okay. I can only wish that you’re happy, that letting go of me was worth it.”

She paused, a lump forming in her throat, but she swallowed it down.

Percy’s heart beat erratically, each beat feeling like a hammer. He opened his mouth again, but his voice was caught, the silence between them more deafening than any words could be. 

“I forgive you, truly. Because when you left me, you lost the one real thing you’ve ever known, and that will be enough for me to rest in peace.” Her voice was quieter now, almost to a whisper. She took just one step closer, almost felling his body heat.

But all she wanted to do now was get away form it.

“Do you remember how we used to talk about getting married? Picking out names for our future children? Daydreaming about houses on family trips, like two naive sixteen-year-olds who thought growing up was all that mattered? Maybe we could’ve had it all.”

He winced, his expression contorting while those memories consumed him.

“But because of you, we’ll never know. Maybe in another life, but not in this one.”

Percy’s eyes filled with unshed tears, his throat tight, but he still didn’t speak. He stood there, watching her as she slowly turned away, feeling the space between them grow, the years of loss and pain stretching wide.

Watching the love of his life walk away. 

But then something seemed to stop her. She paused for a second, glancing back over her shoulder at Percy, her face softening as she hesitated.

“What’s your daughter's name?” She could feel Percy frozen, his breath catching. 

And when she heard her own name leave his lips, she had no trouble accepting what was lost, what once was and would never be again. 

She looked one last time at the loss of her life.

maybe i am overreacting but i wrote this with a pout on my face!! this is based on all to well and loml!

[kissforyouu]

𝙲𝙰𝚁𝙳𝙸𝙶𝙰𝙽 . 𝚓𝚓𝚔

pairing : jungkook x reader

genre : college boy!jungkook , fwb , so much fluff , situationship , confusing relationship

warning : angst , strong language , smoking , masturbation , use of weed and drugs , getting high , lots of kisses🤭 , oral sex ( f recieving ) , doggy , unprotected sex , situationships. (trigger warning😓)

Inspired by Cardigan - Taylor Swift

unedited.

> read pt. 1 here

It's been about three weeks since Jungkook had left my door. I try, but I still can't make up my mind with the fact that it's all over. It's even harder, because Jungkook was always apart of my daily routine. We'd go get our groceries together, drop eachother by our respective classes, study together, hangout and so much more. It's not just the fucking, or the kissing, he was also my best friend. Losing my bestfriend was even worse. Sometimes I'd wonder how it would've been if we never had sex. Would we still be friends? Best friends? Would it have been better? It would have been better, I think. Maybe. Or maybe not. I don't fucking know.

Or maybe we'd just be strangers and I would've never gotten to experience this love from him? Or maybe—it wasn't even love. Well, obviously, it wasn't. He made it clear. Very clear.

Although it's been a week, Jungkook has never tried to contact me. It hurts, but whatever. Clearly he's enjoying his time though, judging by his instagram stories. Party after party. I always see him either drinking or going out with his friends on social media. Okay. I might be stalking him on social media. But hey, it's not exactly stalking when the information is public and accessible to anyone, right? So, I'm not stalking. I'm only making use of my rights as someone using social media.

It's whatever. Jungkook's whatever. I'll move on. Of course, I will. It's nothing a bit of journaling and music can't fix, right? Yeah.

I hum to my music, continuing to write on my journal. This was my way of letting all my feelings out. I'd journal, write and doodle about it. It was calm, and it also helped me open up and learn more about myself. I liked it.

I continued to write...

I still want him. I want him so so much. I really hate to admit that, but I do. I don't know what's gotten over me. I have to make up my mind, I really really do. Jungkook proved to me that I was nothing but some fuck, but why can't I think the same? It's slowly driving me insane. In addition to that, I really really really really fucking hate the fact that I'd go back to him in a heartbeat if I could.

I let out a sigh, closing the journal. This is what I've been doing for the past three weeks. It's stupid, really, we weren't even fucking dating! I keep thinking about that, and it's driving me crazy. Whatever. I placed my journal and headphones back on my table, then getting back on my bed. Covering myself with my soft pink sheets, I made myself comfortable enough to fall asleep.

I hated this so much.

Everywhere I looked, it always reminded me of Jungkook. I hated how every corner of my room had some sort of memory attached to him. Whether it was just him holding one of my belongings, standing in a specific area, or him just doing something—it always reminded me of him.

The worst was my bed. Everytime I got on it, I just couldn't help but think of all the things we did on it. I couldn't help but think of the places his hands touched me, the feeling of his lips on my skin, or the feeling of his cock going in and out of me. I hated this because sometimes—sometimes! Just sometimes I'd feel myself getting hot down there.

I hate to admit this but—

"Mm..." a whimper leaves my mouth at the feeling of my fingers pressing onto my clothed clit. All that thinking got me wet. I slowly drag my fingers up and down, caressing my folds. I imagine it's his fingers, Jungkook's, teasing my folds slowly.

What would he do right now? He'd subtly touch me everywhere to get me soaking wet.

My other hand reaches down to my left breast, rubbing my nipple through the material. A few seconds later, the material of my top was now discarded on the bed. I continue to rub my nipple slowly, just the way he would. My other hand was caressing my thighs slowly, letting my fingertips subtly touch the surface of my skin. I gather a good amount of spit in my mouth, then bringing my fingers to my lips, then my nipples. I spread the liquid all around my nipple, flicking it too.

A heavy breath is heard, my fingers creeping inside my panties this time. It was a new sensation. I never masturbated. I didn't need to. I had Jungkook.

A small whimper echoes within my mouth as my fingers come in contact with my folds, spreading the arousal around. Shit, I was so wet. Not as much I was whenever I was around him though. I gather some of the arousal, rubbing my clit with it next. I moan, continuing to rub myself. It felt awfully good. I imagine it's him. His fingers teasing and rubbing my clit while his face was squished in between my tits. That's how it'd usually go.

An embarrassingly whiny moan slips past my mouth at my thoughts, fuck I want him so bad. I continue to rub myself faster, my back now arched a little. I rub my bud in the motion of an 8, hoping for a release. It feels good, but not that good.

I then run my middle and ring fingers up and down my folds. I imagine it's his tongue, sliding up and down on me as he savours the taste. "So good..." I hum. I retreat my fingers back to my clit, rubbing it again. About a minute later of continuous rubbing, heavy breaths and small whines, I slowly feel my high approaching. I squeeze my eyes shut, imagining it's him, as my body shudders.

I don't rub myself further, stopping myself right there. I was now sensitive down there. I didn't cum. Fuck, this is annoying.

Groaning, my body sits back up on the bed. I put back all my clothes on, pee and get right back to bed. This was unsuccessful and very annoying. Embarrassing, too. What have I done? Fuck, really, Y/n? Over Jungkook. Yes, Over Jungkook.

Okay, just sleep it off. I tell myself, trying to convince myself that what I had done just now was totally not embarrassing.

I groan at the sound of my annoying alarm beeping on my nightstand. "Fuck you", I turn the alarm off, groaning once more as I roll off the bed. I grab my phone, my eyes still blurry, and then— FUCK. IT WAS 12PM. MY CLASSES START AT 11AM. FUCK, FUCK, FUCK. I rise up from the bed, running to my bathroom. I have to make this very quick. I grab the toothbrush and get in the shower, washing my body while brushing my teeth. 5 minutes later, I run out of the bathroom to open my closet. I throw a pair of jeans and a hoodie before quickly putting them. I don't bother to style my hair or to eat, I just grab my bag and laptop before running out of my dorm. Mina, my roommate, didn't even wake me up. Where even is she? I didn't see her coming back home yesterday? Whatever.

I speed walk to my class that's already started one hour ago. Shit, hopefully the teacher doesn't give me a bad grade or note this down. I had a record of being one of the top 10 students in each class I took. I wouldn't want to drop it because of something so careless and small.

I hesitantly walk inside the door, my foot taking small nervous steps. The teacher looks at me, her eyebrow raising up to a confused look on her face. "Y/n, you're late" She taps her pointer finger on her chin repeatedly.

Bringing my lip in between my teeth, I nod my head in return. "Uh, I'm so sorry, Ms. Kim"

"Any particular reason you got late, Y/n?" She asks.

Oh yeah, I miss my ex - ex best friend - ex talking stage - ex fuck buddy— or whatever, and then I rubbed one out for him and passed out on the bed right after.

"Um, just overslept"

"Ah, pity. As a punishment, stay after class and help out the librarian please. New stack of books incoming!"

I press my lips into a thin line, nodding. It's not like I have another choice.

"Yes, madam."

She giggles in return, then directs me to my seat.

Another hour has passed, the bell has rung. After class. A groan echoes out of me as I rise up from my seat, clutching onto my bag. My friend looks at me, then giggles before patting my shoulder twice in hopes of comforting me a little. She leaves the room.

"Y/n, I hope I see you tomorrow on time. You're a good student, don't lose that reputation." Ms. Kim flashes a bland smile as she exits the classroom. Shrugging, I walk out of the classroom as well, heading to the library.

"Hi, Ms. Kent! I wave at the librarian.

"Y/n, isn't it? Ms. Kim informed me about you." She responds as she adjusts her glasses.

I nod my head back at her, my hands holding on to eachother at the back.

"Great! You can help me by taking out that stack of books and putting them inside this box" She hands me a big cardboard box.

I take it as I walk to the book shelf she pointed at. I turn around to look at the librarian, desperately hoping that she'd come help me out. But no, nevemind. She was on her chair, legs resting on top of her table as she took a nap. Okay, fine, take your rest. She probably deserves it, anyway.

I turn back, my hands now on my hips. "Good luck, y/n" my eyes scan the big shelf.

I start by taking out the books at the lowest layer, then gradually making my way to the top. "Hmm..." I hum, looking around the library for a tool. In order to reach the top, I needed something to get on. As I scan the room, my eyes land on the small tool in a corner. "Ah!"

Getting on the stool, my spread out my arms in order to balance myself. I grab a few books, then slowly lowering myself down to the box to drop the books. It's a bit of a risky task. I could break a limb. "Good", words of relief leave my mouth. I repeat the process, slowly and watching each of my steps.

I bend down to drop another book then lift myself back up, my feet doing a 60° degree again to align myself perfectly in front of the shelf. I grab one of the last few books on the shelf, turning around to drop it into the box. Uh, oh. There we go. I fall to the ground with a yelp. I lost my balance. Groaning, I close my eyes. Maybe I'll just lay here for a few minutes till the pain goes away. It really hurts though, I rub my hip and waist area. I'll apply some balm when I get back to my dorm.

"Y/n?"

I want to drown myself in a river.

I know that voice better than anyone else's. What the fuck is he doing here.

In the other hand, it felt really nice hearing my name coming out of his mouth. I missed his voice.

I gulp at the feeling of two fingers patting my shoulder. I don't want to open my eyes because I know I'll come eye to eye with the person I seriously do not wanting to be talking to right now. But I do it anyway.

"Y-you good?" He stutters.

I nod, slowly raising myself up. I flinch, wincing at the sudden jolt of pain on my lower back. My hand grips onto the closest shelf as I slowly lift myself back up on my feet. Jungkook offers me his hand for support, but I deny it. I just want to walk away.

"Y/n—

I walk past him with the now full cardboard box, ignoring the stabbing pain I'm feeling. Lifting this is so hard, fuck, especially with my now broken back. Broken is probably an exaggeration, but whatever.

I place the box in the small room right next to the library that's filled with stacks of books and other material. I'm done!

I go back inside the library to grab my bag and other items. As I put my pair of glasses inside the bag, I feel the soft honey-like voice from before say my name again.

"Y/n" I'm done.

Ignoring him would be too immature and would cause even more problems. So it's better to say something, right? Totally not because I want to talk with him, maybe, kind of.

"Jungkook." I gulp.

"Let me talk to you." Oh.

"About?"

"Us" Oh.

"There's nothing to talk about us, Jungkook."

"Yes, there is."

"No, there isn't. You made it clear."

"Jesus, Y/n. Can we move on from that, please?"

I scoff. "Fuck, no."

His hand immediately catches my wrist just when I try to walk away.

"Please, let me make it up to you—

"Jungkook. No."

I make it very clear to him that I don't want anything with him anymore. Maybe I do. But maybe I'm scared to get hurt again. Doesn't matter.

I pull my wrist away from his grip. I don't look back but walk straight out of the library.

If you wanted to talk to me and make things right, you should've done it two weeks ago.

Stepping into the safe space of my dorm, I sigh, plopping myself on the bean bag. My fingers go through my hair, softly caressing it and massaging my scalp. Shamelessly, my mind drifts away to the moment where Jungkook's fingers were tangled in betweens my locks, massaging my scalp and stroking my head. Or the times where he would fist my hair, using it to guide my head up and down while I choked on his dick. Unconsciously, my thighs rub against eachother just a little to bring me back to my senses. I look around my room, cheeks flushed and embarrassed. I can't be doing this again, god no.

Deciding to make myself a cup of ramen, I make my way to my little kitchen. I add boiling water to the cup, waiting for the noodles to be ready. Now back on my sofa with my noodles, I was so so ready to dig those chopsticks in and take a bite on my noodles. But my phone suddenly dings, the screen showing a message. It was Jungkook. What, Jungkook? Why's he messaging me? Oh fuck, was it about early? I gulp, reaching down to the coffee table to grab my phone.

jungoogie💌: haiiiii😆😁😁

jungoogie💌: Y/NNNNN!!!! ansehwr mem

My eyebrow slightly raises at the texts, noticing how messy and chaotic they were. Is he was drunk? I began typing my reply.

No, what.

I immediately press the call option then and there after reading the message of him saying he was going to take another gummy. What was wrong with him?

The call answered fast, the first thing I hear being him giggling.

"Y/nnnn?"

My name is heard in a slurred speech, a set of small giggles being heard once again after.

"Jungkook? Where are you?"

He hums into the phone, then small wet kissy noises being heard after. Is he kissing his phone?

"Miss you...so much..."

My heart warms up at his words. I know I shouldn't let it affect me, but I felt the same. It's been weeks since I had last seen Jungkook, and I've wanted nothing more than to be in his arms and hold. I clear my voice a bit before speaking again.

"I miss you too. Can you tell me where you are, please?"

I need to make sure where he is. Back before I met him, he used to go around the street and get high for fun with Yugyeom. I stopped him later on. But he's back at it again, I guess.

"You do?!" His voice suddenly escalates from tired and slurred to hype pitched and excited. He is being so adorable right now.

"Baby, I...miss you too!" Jungkook groans, then a small thud is heard. I hear Jungkook sigh, sounding very relaxed and calm.

"Mm, are you in your dorm?"

Jungkook hums in confirmation. And just at that, I get up from my bed before walking out the door. I cannot let him get even more high. Even more so, who knows what else he'll do in there.

"Jungkook, keep talking"

"Can I sing?"

"Yeah"

"Vintage tee, brand new phone, high heels on..."

He knew I liked that song. He's doing this on purpose. As he continues to serenade me, I slowly make my way upto his dorm. We weren't allowed to be here. One of the rules in our university was that no one of the opposite gender should be seen at another's dorm. That's a rule me and Jungkook had broken way before. He was always there in my dorm. I'm surprised he was never caught.

Too lost in Jungkook's voice, I forget that I was already near his dorm. Snapping back to reality, I hesitantly ask Jungkook to stop singing.

"Kook, open your door. I'm there."

I'm sure of this, right? Yeah, yeah I am.

"Oh?" His singing stops, his voice switching to a more confused tone. Next, I hear small sounds, then thuds on the floor as they got closer and closer.

The door shoots open in a hurried manner, his eyes falling onto mine. But his eyes are not the thing I'm looking at, it's the weed roll in his hand. I look back at him, my eyebrows now furrowed.

"Baby—"

"When did you start smoking again?" I cross my arms against my chest.

Jungkook rolls his eyes, bringing the blunt upto his mouth to inhale some.

"A few days after we stopped talking" He admits. He looks guilty, but I try to ignore it. I was still mad at him. For everything. In addition, about this too.

Jungkook angles his body to the side, making space for me to walk in. I walk past his body towards his room.

Once I enter, I let out a small gasp at the state of his room. It was so fucking messy. Clothes here and there on the floor, his books scattered across his table alongside empty cans of frizzy drinks and empty ramen cups, bed fully messy and sheets on the floor included.

"What the fuck happened here?" I ask, concern flowing through me.

I feel his hand snake around my waist, cold fingertips giving me chills as they traced my belly. My body instinctively leans back into his, my back pressed against his chest. Jungkook's sighs into my neck, the tip of his nose caressing my collarbones.

"Missed you..." He was holding me so tight that I almost couldn't breathe. He was holding me so tight as if it's the last time he'll ever be able to do so.

I don't say anything else while I lead the both of us to the top of his bed. Jungkook doesn't allow me to move much, caging me in between his body and the bed right away. I lay flat as his body settles in between my legs. I run my fingers through his hair, massaging his scalp.

Jungkook takes one look at me, then another inhale from his weed roll. I forget he even had it.

He blows the smoke away, eyes still on mine, staring into the deep the corners of my eyes. Suddenly, I start coughing, my hand on my chest as I tried to calm down my breathing. The smoke was making me cough.

Jungkook sits on the bed, alerted as he starts to mutter sorrys over and over.

"Fuck, fuck, I'm sorry, baby"

His hand rubs up and down my back in a soothing manner in an attempt to calm me down. It works, of course. My breathing slows down to my normal pace. Jungkook looks at his blunt, getting up from the bed before taking one last inhale then throwing it in the bin.

He groans, now inside his bathroom. I hear the sound of the water running down.

The light is turned off again as Jungkook exits the bathroom. He looks at me sitting on his bed. This time he notices the outline of my breasts, clearly visible from the thin material of the shirt I was wearing. His eyes trail down my body, from the outline of my breasts to my nipples, then my waist.

"No bra?" Jungkook breaks the silence.

I shook my head, pushing my shoulders back so I could lean against the headboard. And also that my tits were even more visible to him, but I don't want to admit to it. I watch Jungkook's eyes shift from my face to my tits. He walks towards the bed and gets on it.

Sitting on the bed right in front of me, Jungkook sighs, gripping onto my thigh before pulling me towards him so that I'm laying flat on the bed.

We lock our eyes together, our breathing suddenly syncing in as Jungkook hooks onto the edge of my shirt. He looks at me, for approval.

Fuck, how could I not? I've been wanting to feel him so bad.

I nod, gulping.

He raises the shirt upwards, exposing my tummy. Jungkook leans down to place a few kisses all over it. He continues to kiss my tummy in circles, causing me to let out a few giggles at the ticklish feeling here and there. And each time I did, he would raise up his head to look at me, his eyes big and sparkling.

Jungkook moves the shirt more upwards, my tits now out and bare as the end of the shirt laid right over them.

His hands immediately fly to cup my breasts, holding them. He sighs.

"So warm..."

Jungkook crawls further, so that his head is laying on my breasts. He nuzzles himself deeper, cheek pressed against my chest and hands groping my breasts. I watch him attentively, finding this moment comforting.

He slowly turns around to look at me, and this time, I notice how his eyes are half lidded, reddish with veins visible. It's from all that weed and gummies. Jungkook says nothing though, he just looks at me in awe, but also guilt.

I glide my thumb over his cheekbone, stroking it. Jungkook leans in to my touch, then colliding his lips and my palm, small smooch noises being heard after.

This is nice. I want to have this everyday.

He proceeds kiss my fingers, trailing them up wrists to my arms, then collarbone, my throat and upto my face. I close my eyes, focusing on the feeling of his soft thin lips on me and the small smooch sounds they create. Right then, he kisses both of my closed eyelids, then nose, cheeks, chin. The only area left were my lips. My eyes open to look at him.

His breath was fanning against my lips. We were inches away from kissing.

Jungkook cracks up a small giggle,

"I think you sobered me up a little."

He pulls away to sit up on the bed again.

No, kiss me. I want you to kiss me.

I clutch onto his shirt, pulling him back to me. Jungkook was surprised, his hand gripping onto my arm for support. I lean in to peck his lips once. I pull away, my lashes batting as I stare at him.

Jungkook looked shocked. He shouldn't be, I just let him kiss me all over. His expressions change, turning into a more soft and relaxed look on his face. His big eyes stare back at me as he leans in, going for another kiss.

The kiss feels passionate, deep and so — real. It feel real.

Jungkook's eyebrows furrow, head tilting to the side to deepen the kiss more. Our lips move against eachother so perfectly. The kiss wasn't rough, neither was is soft. It was perfect, filled with longing and love.

He settles his legs down next to my thighs, caging my body. I grab his hand, holding it with both my hands to my heart. I'm sure he could feel how fast my heart was beating. He whimpers, sending vibrations through my mouth. The kiss was getting sloppy and air was running out. But we continued kissing. I missed his lips so much. His soft lips against mine, moving in a synchronised rhythm. Even our breathing was synchronised.

After one final smooch, I pull away with a gasp in a serious need of air. My head arches onto the pillow, hair messy and arm thrown over my head as I catched breath.

I lower my eyes down to look at Jungkook, who was looking at me as if I was the only thing that mattered to him. If I could, I'd hit replay and live this moment over and over again.

He cups my face, squishing my cheeks while he left small pecks all over my upper and lower lip. My lips turn into an uncontrollable smile, so big and bright. He continued to peck my lips, teeth even, then my cheeks.

I don't know what is making him do this, is it the weed and gummies he took earlier or is it actually him.

"Mmmm..." I whine once he pulls away.

There is so much tension in the room right now. But nothing sexual, I don't want to fuck him right now. Maybe later. But not now.

Everything we did right now obviously meant we had to talk about it later. Especially about Jungkook's behaviour. The drugs, the weed, the messy room, calling me. Everything. Would I go back to him after this? Yeah.

There is an awkward silence again, and Jungkook looks like he wants to say something so bad. I can say that because he keep tugging onto his lower lip with his teeth, nibbling on it constantly. For a moment, he opens his mouth, ready to say something but closes it again. My eyebrow raises. Patting Jungkook's cheek,

"Say it." I tell him.

"I love you."

Jungkook whispers, audible enough for me to hear. Audible enough to send me into euphoria. Audible enough to make me fucking forget everything for a moment.

I don't say anything back for a few seconds. Jungkook looks relaxed and relieved, maybe glad that he finally said it. Before I could say anything back, he covers my mouth with his hand.

"Don't say anything, please. I don't want to hear it yet. Let's just go to sleep and talk in the morning."

Jungkook lays down on the bed right next to me, his arm wrapping around my waist. His big eyes sparkle, looking directly into mine.

I don't say anything back just like he wants, but I wrap my arms around his torso, pulling him closer to me. I don't know whether it was the weather or something else, but Jungkook felt so warm. The atmosphere around us as well. Everything felt warm and comfortable. Nuzzling my face further into his chest, I hum, comfortable as fuck. My heart skips a beat once I feel his fingers on my head. He run them through my hair, massaging my scalp and patting my head. Fuck, I missed this so much.

I soothe into his touch, my body weight now entirely on him. As my eyes get even more drowsy, I let myself fall asleep in his embrace.

Before even realising, the morning had come already. What did make us realise that was Jungkook's alarm going off.

Jungkook groans, rolling over to the other side to turn his alarm off. When he turns around, he finds my back facing him fully. I had shifted while sleeping. Jungkook giggles, his arm pulling me back to him as my back collides with his hard chest. He thinks of going back to sleep again, but too late, the alarm had already woken me up. Just when Jungkook presses his head onto my shoulder, I pull his hair away so that his head is back on the pillow.

"I'm awake"

"Don't care" Jungkook murmers.

"Jungkook"

"Fucking hell..." He groans.

He rubs his eyes open. Jungkook yawns again, then going back to lay his head on my back.

"My head hurts" he sighs.

"Probably because of the things you did last night. Maybe I could give you a massage?"

Jungkook's eyes lit up at the suggestion. Eagerly, he nods his head already sitting up on the bed.

"Take your shirt off and lay on your stomach"

Jungkook can't help but crack up a small laugh at my comment while I tilt my head to the side, clearly confused.

"What?"

"Nothing" He grins.

"No, say it"

—"Say it." - "I love you" —

"It's just that it's usually me who says it you know, cause, when we have sex..." he giggles again.

I look at him, grinning back. Grabbing the pillow, I hit his back with it. Jungkook pokes his tongue, looking at the outline of my nipples through my shirt when I stretch my arms up to hit him. He snorts at the hit, then taking his shirt off before throwing it on the ground.

I get on top of his back once he lays down.

I take my time to admire his naked back, sculptured to perfect. It was so perfect and built. You could tell that he worked out just by the side of his back.

I begin with his shoulders, gently massaging them to ease the tension out. He hums as I continue massage his shoulders now increasing the pressure. I move down to his arms, squeezing them and sort of punching them to relax them. Jungkook's eyebrows raise up,eyes closed as he nods his head in approval. I then press onto his bones, circling them from time to time as I switch in between squeezing his muscles to massaging his bones.

I loved the feel of his muscles. Touching them felt so nice. I loved it when I felt him relax at the pleasure of my hands massaging him. I take a moment to admire his back again, running my hand up and down his back. Unknowingly, my nails begin to scratch his back. He lets out a long moan at the soothing feeling.

I giggle, leaning down to press a small kiss behind his neck. I get no reaction back from him, so I continue to trail kisses down his back. Jungkook shifts a little in his position, groaning a little.

"Jungkook, turn around" I whisper.

I get off of him for a brief moment so that Jungkook could lay on his back before getting back on top of him again. Now that my clothed pussy was pressed onto his growing buldge, I grip onto his shoulders to massage him more. He moans at the feeling, head thrown back.

"Here, baby?"

His eyebrow is raised because of the tone of my voice—flirty— and the nickname I used on him. I never called him baby. Ever.

"What's up with you?" He asks.

I immediately give in not being to control myself more, I dive in for a kiss. Jungkook understands how I'm feeling, smirking into the kiss while his hands sneakily slide up my legs and inside my shorts. He palms my ass cheeks, rubbing his palm over them. My arms lay on around his head, caging it, as both our mouths working on eachother's. My tongue licks his lower lip, a smile forming on my lips slowly. I feel his hands leave the inside of my shorts to slap both my cheeks, a cocky laugh coming from him next. Jungkook then hooks onto the waistband of my shorts, pulling them down upto my ankles. My ass was now bare and out.

I go back in for a kiss, arching my back as well. I whimper into the kiss once Jungkook sneaks his way into my mouth with his tongue, at the same time — his fingers touching my pussy. I could imagine his smirk right now. Fuck. I feel the tip of his fingers teasingly tracing along my folds teasingly. To spite me up even more, he inserts the very tip of his fingers in, but nothing more. I grunt, trying to grind myself back on his fingers. I was begging for some friction. Jungkook's fingers leave my pussy, only to be back with a small slap on it.

I groan into his mouth, letting him take over me with his godly tongue. His middle finger touches my bud, pressing onto it while my pussy clenches on absolutely nothing. It was so fucking embarrassing but I was dripping wet for him.

Jungkook pulls out of the kiss, now beginning to trail kisses all over my neck. He starts with the side of my neck, then down to my collarbone and back up on my neck again. He nibbles on a spot near my throat, biting it here and there to create a hickey. Jungkook licks over the small purple bruise forming, to then kiss it over and over again. He begins to repeat the process all over on several areas on my neck and collarbones. Meanwhile, I melt onto his touches, just letting him continue kissing and biting me all over. But while being too caught on the moment, I feel his fingers begin to slowly rub my bud. A long moan leaves me as my back arches even more. I'm pretty sure I looked like a fucking cat who was stretching.

"Turn around. Want this pretty pussy on my face" He pats my bud.

Shit, I was so turned on.

Immediately, I turn around, my ass now in front of Jungkook's face. I feel his hands on my cheeks, squeezing them and feeling them all over as he slaps it a few times.

"Sit on my face"

I felt myself clench around nothing.

I turn my upper body around to make sure I won't hurt him, I slowly lift my thighs up to sit on his face. I wasn't exactly putting my whole body weight onto him, more like hovering over him.

"Sit" He commands.

"No, you'll be crushed and my thighs are too big. This is good enough"

I hear him sigh. Next thing I know I feel his hands on my thighs, bringing me down so that my ass was entirely on his face and thighs around his neck and shoulder. My entire body weight was on him.

"I'm not dying, see?" He scoffs.

I whine in defeat, nodding to his words.

Jungkook begins by swiping his tongue up for a long stripe on my pussy, then going in again. He repeats the process, but much rougher, with his nose pressing onto my flesh. Meanwhile, his hands rub and squeeze my thighs, delivering a few slaps here and there. I lean forward a little balance myself out, but suddenly jolt at the feeling of his tongue entering my pussy.

"Shit!" I moan.

Gripping onto his shoulders for support, my back arched and pussy on his face. His face was smothered all over my dripping cunt.

"Baby, you're so wet. This pussy must've missed me, huh?" I feel his thumb dipping in to gather arousal. Jungkook sucks on his thumb, pulling it out again to enter two fingers in my hole at once.

"Fuck!" I wasn't even stretched out to begin with.

He kisses my clit, lips softly sucking on it while his fingers went in and out of me slowly. So slow, that it felt like he was just caressing my wet folds. His teeth gently tucks on my clit to pull on it a little, earning a long moan from me return. He sighs into my pussy, groaning right after, sending vibrations through me adding even more pleasure.

Shit, this was heaven.

He was so mindful with what he was doing. He knew where to touch me, where to kiss, how to tease me and make me like it. He knew my body so fucking well, better than I ever could.

Jungkook pulls out both of his fingers to replace them with his tongue. I feel his tongue swiping through my folds, gulping down all of my juices. His room was filled with nothing but my filthy moans and his slurping noises.

His tongue enters my gaping hole, making my eyes roll back in pleasure. Shit. He saves me no mercy, trusting his tongue in and out of my pussy. Fuck, I was so turned on. I could feel my slick dripping down to his face, smothering it all over.

Panting, I close my eyes just to open them a few seconds later, my eyes immediately landing on the fat dent in his pants. His cock was prominent and big, standing tall even in his quite tight pants. I want to have it. I look beneath me at the man who was currently eating me out like a starved man, biting my lip at the erotic sight.

I groan a little, moving my hips at the same pace as his tongue.

"Jungkook, I want you in my mouth!" I cry out.

He doesn't respond, continuing to eat me out. His finger was now pressed onto my bud, circling it. I whine, desperately wanting a response from him.

Still no response. I then grip onto his shoulders with my hands, leaning forward. I crawl my way over his body, my face right in front of his cock now. I hear Jungkook groan at the lack of my pussy on his face. I turn my upper body around to look at him, giggling at him. Sticking my tongue out playfully, I turn back around only to get dragged back to Jungkook by his arm.

My back collides with his chest, a series of giggles and laughs leaving us. I throw my head back, still laughing, as Jungkook holds both my hands tightly to my chest while not letting go.

He presses his cheek onto my neck, whispering things.

"You want me dick? Yeah, you're gonna get it"

He easily turns my body around so that I was laying on my stomach again. Jungkook now gets on the bed, on top of me as both his thighs are caging mine. He pats my ass cheeks with both his hands while I got myself back up so that my ass was displayed to him clearly with easy access (doggy style). Jungkook releases his breaths, fondling with my ass cheeks, slapping it a few times.

"I could do this all day everyday" He comments.

"Jungkook, I missed you" my voice cracks.

He scoffs. "You missed me or you missed this dick?" He slaps my cheeks again.

I whine, sighing afterwards.

"Both" Jungkook laughs, almost mockingly.

"Wonder how you got yourself off without me, hm? Did you use your hands? Were you even able to make yourself cum?"

I could feel that cocky smirk behind me.

"S-shut up, just fuck me" I could feel the heat in my cheeks growing more each second.

"Did you cum?"

"No"

Jungkook hums, fingers inching towards my pussy.

"You want me to touch you here and make you cum?" His fingers circle my wet clit.

"Mmm-hm" my voice sounds more relaxed, but desperate.

"Here? Touch you like this, baby?" He then pinches my clit and twists it, earning a whiny whimper from me. I was so fucking wet and each touch he gives me got me dripping even more. After, I feel his hand palming my pussy, juices smothering all over his hand while he rubbed my clit painfully slowly.

A long whine leaves me, back arching even more. Fuck.

"Jungkook, p—please... please"

I was a big fucking mess and Jungkook loved it so much.

"No more, please... Just fuck me, mm!"

My hair was messy and all over, head buried into the pillow while Jungkook's hand worked slowly on my pussy. He lets out a little laugh, stopping his movement on me. I don't feel his hand on me no longer, but not even a second later, I gasp at the feeling of the tip of his cock pressed onto my folds.

"Shit, Jungkook" I cuss.

"You're on birth control?"

"Mhm"

We were too fucking horny to even care at this point.

He glides the tip along my folds, coating it nicely with my slick. I hear him pumping himself a few times — not that he wasn't hard enough, fuck his cock was standing so fucking tall — but to bet my slick all over. He aligns himself with my hole once again, patting my ass afterwards.

"You ready?"

"Just put it in!"

He thrusts himself in rough, a big wet noise echoing through the room.

"Fucking hell, baby, you're dripping"

Jungkook begins from just grinding his cock into me while being inside, then gradually increasing his pace. He then stops for a moment to pull his cock out for a second to slam it back in a rough pace. He never stops, repeating the same process over. The sound of his thighs clapping into the back of my thighs echoes through his room alongside the wet mushy noises my pussy made.

"S—shit, so good, taking this cock so well, baby"

He repeatedly slaps both my ass cheeks mid process, enjoying this moment to the max. My whole upper body had collapsed to the bed already, and it was the pillow that Jungkook placed under my stomach that was holding me up.

I was this close to passing out. My mouth was open, saliva spilling to the pillow while he continues to drill into my pussy.

Jungkook leans forward to press his chest onto my back, hands enveloping my breasts to flick and pinch my nipples.

He circles his hips in circular motions, just to pull out and slam back again inside.

I was such a moaning mess.

"Mm, mm, mm! Y-you fuck me so well!" I scream out.

"Oh, baby" He groans.

I feel myself clenching around him repeatedly, about to cum.

"J–jungkook, cumming!"

His thrusts slow down a little but he picks it back up, slopping but fast as he fucks me through my high. I feel my pussy clenching around him tightly, making the man behind me cuss and moan as I finally released all over his cock. Panting, I moan into the pillow as Jungkook kept going on.

His lips leave a few kisses on my back, his thrusts getting sloppier as he went on.

He lets out a long moan, finally releasing myself in my pussy.

"Shit, shit, shit—" a series of moans and cusses leave his mouth.

We both lay there, breathing synchronised and fast. Jungkook then slowly lifts himself off of my body, slipping himself out.

"You look fucked out, baby" He laughs.

"Of course, I would be. You just fucked me rough and I'm stuffed with your cum" I respond.

He puckers his lips, leaning down to place small kisses all over my face.

"Ah, my babyyy. Tired?" I could tell he was teasing me from the little baby voice he's using on me.

I turn my head to the other side, a smile forming on my face, completely forgetting about the fact that I was filled with his cum to the brim.

I feel his hand on my head, fingers twirling my curls at the end. He then holds my chin, gently, moving my face so that I'd face him.

His nose scrunched, Jungkook smiles wide before leaning down to place a soft peck on my puckered lips.

"Cute" He mumbles, and I swear my heart just did a flip.

"Let's get you cleaned"

We both were now on his bed again, cuddled up against eachother after a nice shower together. Both our classes start around 2pm, thankfully, and it was about 9am right now so we had a plenty of time left to just be in eachother's presence. I still had so many questions to ask Jungkook regarding yesterday. But not right now, I wanted to enjoy this moment.

I was currently laying in his arms, my head resting on his hard chest and both arms securely wrapped around my body while we watched whatever show that was on the TV. From time to time, he would lean forward to press a kiss onto my body or just talk about the show we were watching.

"I honestly don't like her character. She's so...ugh" I comment on the TV show, my face scrunch up in disgust.

Jungkook just hums, hand massaging my scalp. He seemed to be out of space a little. Deep in thought. Wonder what he was thinking about. Eh, I could think of a few possibilities.

"Jungkook?" I pat his cheek.

He hums in response, glancing at me.

"You good?"

"Mm, just — ah, yesterday, you know. I'm sorry, baby"

Awwwww.

"No, it's okay. I'm sorry about earlier, though"

"Baby, there is nothing for you to be sorry for, okay? In that case, it's me who should say sorry for anything. I really did care about you right from the start it's just that...I didn't want to admit it, you know? I didn't know whether I was ready for a relationship or not. I know in that way, I was leading you on and I'm sorry for that. But I truly did enjoy and care for you from the bottom of my heart. I just kept trying to convince myself that I didn't want anything else from you..."

I listen silently. He continues...

"...And also, I'm sorry about the café. But we weren't anything to begin with. You were the only girl I talked with throughout the whole time I was sort of seeing you. But after the incident, I started to realise how much of a fucking douche I was to you. But the more realising I did, the more I realised how much I actually cared about you. And that's when I started taking all the gummies and weed again because I needed something to get my frustration off on. But I also worked hard to stop using them because of you. That's when I realised I was in love with you. I was so fucking in love with you that I started to dig up old unhealthy coping mechanisms to cope again which I stopped doing solely because you told me to do so. I felt back because I felt as if I was betraying you but I had already betrayed you so what was the point, I thought. I tried to go to parties to find girls to release my stress but non of them were you so I'd end up disgusted and leave. I'm so fucking sorry, I became a mess"

He stops talking, releasing a sigh. We stay in silence for about 10 seconds before I break it.

"Jungkook, it's alright. I'm glad you told me and everything is fine now, hm? Thank you for telling me. I understand your side and I also forgive you. I'll help you clean your room. I'll help you with everything. And I can't give you an answer for your confession right now, okay? But we can definitely go on a date" I smile, tilting my head to the side.

Jungkook squeals out of happiness, pulling me into his embrace.

"Thank you so much, baby. Take all your time and thank you so much." He responds, the shaking of his voice from earlier now nowhere to be heard.

He leans down to place a kiss on the top of my head, pulling me closer into his embrace while we continued to watch TV.

Maybe this is for the best. This feels right. And I want this. Yeah.

"I like this" I say

"I like you"

I know you'd miss me once the thrill expired, and you'd be standing in my front porch light. And I knew you'd come back to me.

a/n : hii sorry this took a while to post 😭🙏🏽 i been busyyyy. thank you soo much for reading and hope you liked it :)

[wasawattpadkid]

Housewife

Part - 5

Summery: Billy and Stu have been planning these murders for quite some time. Everything is going to plan until you show up. What happens when they meet someone who is just as mentally deluded as they are?

Pairing: poly!ghostface x fem!reader

Warnings for this series: murder, blood, smut (will be more in depth on smut chapters), power dynamics, a dash of sexism, knives, stalking, perverse behavior, cheating,

Part 1

"You know you boys look amazing in an apron." You wolf whistled at them both. Billy acted annoyed but he secretly loved the attention. Stu shook his ass at you making you laugh. Stu offered to do the dishes but for some odd reason they both fought over who would do them. Now there they stood aprons covering thier clothes. You and Stu practically had to hold down Billy as you tied the strings around him.

"I'll fix the popcorn!" You cheered hearing a groan from both men. "We just ate please..." Stu whined holding his stomach. "You two are party poopers. Well, while you do the dishes I'm going to change into my pajamas." Both their heads snapped towards you. "And I'm locking my door." You shouted down the hall.

You weren't really sure what to wear. You didn't want to draw unnecessary attention to yourself but in a way you did. They had girlfriends you knew that. The way they looked at you however was addicting. You weren't going to sleep with them so what's the harm in looking good? A voice in your head screamed male validation but you ignored that. You pulled the silky nightgown from your closet debating on wearing it. "Too obvious." You muttered putting it back in the closet.

Leaning your head out of your room you shouted. "How cold is it supposed to get tonight?" Within seconds you hear them both answer. "Very cold, extremely cold, even freezing, it might snow." You know damn well in the air of California it wasn't going to snow. You grabbed a pair of silky shorts and pulled out the matching top. That would have to do. Once you were changed you went back to the kitchen seeing the dishes were all done. "Thank you guys."

"Thank you for dinner." Billy said honestly. "Yeah what he said." Stu was laid out on the carpet as Billy glared at him. "Anytime boys." Stu looked at your new outfit trying to figure out how you looked so hot in pajamas. "Why didn't you wear what Bil- what we got you?" He corrected himself. You plopped down on the couch next to Billy. "Because I knew if I did, you two wouldn't want to watch a movie." Stu nodded as he shrugged knowing you were right. "Who said I wanted to watch a movie now?" Billy said dangerously close to your ear. You jumped up going towards the TV. "Alright! What are we watching first?"

Christine was pretty good, not as good as Stu made it out to be though. "The coolest car ever!" Stu shouted which you quickly shushed him. "I don't live out in the country like some people, keep your voice down." Stu covered his mouth in regret. "Yeah Stu keep your voice down." Billy repeated and you slapped his chest. "Ow!" He laughed. "My turn, put on Ferris Bueller's day off." Stu groaned sliding off the couch and over to the VCR.

"You'll love it. If you liked Dazed and Confused you'll like this." Billy cocked his head. "You never told me you liked that movie?" Stu ignored his friend's eyes focusing on the tape. "I saw it once." He played it off which confused you. "Once? You said you went to see it at the movies 4 times." Stu silently begged for you to shut up. "You never told me that." Billy said once again a calmness to his voice. "I'm sorry. I didn't think you'd care." Stu bit back. "What else are you not telling me?" You realized very quickly this could get worse somehow. "God you two fight like a married couple. Just put the movie in and get up here I'm freezing."

The arguing stopped immediately. Once the movie started Stu sat at the end on the sofa leaving you in the middle. Carefully you wiggled down laying your head on Billy's lap. "This doesn't bother you does it?" His eyes glanced down and back up again just as fast. "No you're good." Stu grabbed your legs laying them on his lap. Ever so often he'd drag his hands up and down your legs mindlessly. After a while he genuinely started to like the movie. "Those two are so banging."

"That's what I was thinking." Billy responded to Stu. "You think Ferris and Cameron are a couple?" Stu made a noise shaking his head. "Did you see the way they look at each other or how no matter what bullshit Ferris drags him into he goes along with it?" The room grew silent with a unanimous acknowledgment of the current similarity. The movie continued and so did Stu's commentary. "Oh no, all three of them are fucking." You laughed and Billy took notice. "What's so funny about that?"

"Oh nothing it's just I can see it." The movie continued with Stu laughing his ass off at some parts. Billy's hand found it's way into your hair playing with what he could grab. Slowly your eyes fell shut. "She reminds me of you almost." Stu said turning to look at you. "Man she's asleep." Stu loudly announced, annoyed you both didn't finish the movie. Billy looked down watching your chest slowly go in and out. "Then why are you yelling?" Billy snapped. "Sorry." The boy mumbled. "Cut all this off while I take her upstairs."

"Why do you get to put her to bed she barley even trusts you awake?" This Billy found particularly funny. "That's rich coming from the guy that's done nothing but hit on her since you met her." Stu moved your legs standing up off the couch. "I do that with everyone it's charming." He laughed until he saw the way Billy was looking down at you. "Why do I get the feeling I'm being replaced?" Stu paced on the shag carpet. Billy sighed not wanting this shit right now. "We'll talk about this later."

"No I think we'll talk about it now. A year ago you came to me in need and I did everything I could to help. It was month after month of "I was drunk" or "I don't even remember it." I put up with it hoping once this was all said and done with, we'd run away and have our sequel. That was the plan wasn't it Billy?" You wavered in and out of consciousness barley piecing together what was being said. "She's different Stu and you know that. You feel it too. I need time to think to plan around this." He looked down at you noticing your eyes twitch. "We'll talk about this later."

Stu knew that was the end of the conversation. "Y/n..." He gingerly whispered trying to wake you up. "Mhm?" You stirred swearing they were fighting. "What's wrong?" You asked trying to look around. "Nothing's wrong we were trying to figure out if we should pause the movie or not. I'm going to take you to bed and me and Stu will head there shortly." You just rolled over burying your head against his stomach. Billy slowly moved off the couch, picking you up bridal style. Stu followed making sure Billy followed your rules.

Billy placed you softly in bed hoping to just look at you for a bit. "If it's too cold on the floor you can climb in here." You mumbled. You weren't in your right mind Billy knew that and so did Stu. That wasn't stopping them however. "Go cut the lights and everything off then bring your bag up here." Stu like the good little soldier he was, he did as told.

"Here." He handed Billy his sweat pants. "We're sleeping in our shirts." Billy said as he unbuckled his belt. "What why? We never sleep with our shirts on." Billy folded his pants sitting them on the chair in the corner. "Because if she wakes up and sees us half naked beside her she's liable to freak thinking we did something. So please, just do as as I say for once." Stu had to give Billy this one. He was the smartest piece of shit in town.

Stu was the first one in bed with you. Making you roll over and wrap your arm around him. "Billy look!" He whispered like you were a cat in a cute position. You tossed your leg over him next making it impossible for him to move. "Billy help! Her feet are fucking freezing!" He whispered once more earing a laugh from Billy. "She looks so peaceful doesn't she?" He taunted as Stu struggled against your restraints. Before getting into bed Billy cut off the light making the house seem earily dark.

Billy climbed in, his back towards you and Stu. Without warning you rolled over putting Billy in the same position Stu was. "She makes a good big spoon don't you think?" He taunted back but deep down Billy had never felt more comfortable. "Shut the fuck up." He mumbled holding your hand that rested over his waist. His thumb traced little circles on you hand. Stu scooted behind you. He snuggled up knowing damn well all three of you would wake up in a cold sweat from just being around each other all night. "Goodnight boys." Your voice was dangerously clear. Stu was already half asleep but Billy however heard you. He wasn't sure how much you knew but he'd have to quickly figure it out.

(If your name has a line through it Tumblr wouldn't let me tag you.)

Part 6

Taglist: @katie-tibo @danodoll21 @agustdeeyaa @bowlofceral @gonnapermashift @tati-the-fangirl @kozumewhore @tatijoestar @illyanam1011 @c4rved-pumpk1n @msghostface @gojosbucket @sammanna @lokigirlszendaya @reneki @fetusharryluvr @kadu-5607

[oddaesthetin]

catching you looking at his photos — han hyeongjun

fluff

—

“why are you looking at my photos?”

you flinched at the sudden voice, almost falling over from the kitchen stool you were sitting on. turning your head to face the person you hadn’t realized was there, you found yourself face-to-face with a slightly flustered but still composed hyeongjun, whose eyes remained fixed on the screen.

playing it cool, you slowly turned your phone off and flipped it over.

“just because.”

“you can’t just say ‘just because,’” he pushed, standing up straighter. feeling bashful, the slender man behind you uneasily licked his lips and combed back the hair covering over his face. you giggled silently at the beguiling sight.

“i just did.” it was an answer you thought would end the topic, until your boyfriend murmured something again.

“those were fan photos of me.” he pressed once more, as if teasing you could hide the fact that your actions had thrown him off balance, too. he doesn’t do this often, hyeongjun thought to himself. don’t get the boy wrong; having the opportunity to tease you comes a lot, actually. it’s just his timing that doesn’t. which is why more often than not, he chooses to be sly in silence. now is not one of those times.

you felt warmth creeping up to your face again. it had already been there before he came in, courtesy of the photos, but being confronted like this left you blank for a moment. it wasn’t your first time doing this though, no. with that face? please. you had a pinterest board full of his fan photos, though this was the first time you’d been caught.

it wasn’t really a big deal. so, with that thought in mind, you answered honestly.

“you look hot.”

first shot.

“i mean, i’m sorry for being your biggest fan, but it’s impossible not to look at them. have you seen you?”

second shot. one more, and hyeongjun thinks he might pass out. how the turntables, to take a quote from the office. now, his face was starting to redden. you vivaciously turned to face him fully.

“especially when you’re playing your guitar! it makes me feel things i haven’t fel—”

“ok! oh my god, stop. please.” laughing, your boyfriend hid his face in his hands. “i didn’t know you liked me this much,” he said, half-teasingly and half-full of warmth—an expression he usually have when you do something that makes him feel valued. to be loved is to be seen—something you took very literally, and thinking just that, he flopped his head down again to try to hide the pink that resurfaced. you make him feel too precious.

every once in a while, he doesn’t know if he truly deserves that, but he couldn’t deny as well that whenever he felt unsure of himself, it was always you and your comforting words that lifted him back up. sometimes, he just wished he had the ability to tell you all of that easily.

“now, i regret teasing you. i’ve learned my lesson,” he said meekly, his face still flushed. he combed his hair back once again in an attempt to calm down.

finally, to end this madness (as you were still feeling fairly shy yourself), you decided to just play along and shrugged playfully. “well, you know what they say; be sure to taste your words before you spit them out.”

he laughed softly, the tension fading, and reached over to give your cheek an affectionate squeeze.

—

© oddaesthetin 2024