#'it's not every day you hear something like it?'

[maskedbyghost]

lets continue our talk about situationship!Simon, where this bitch grovels for monthssss

_______________________________________________

situationship!simon starts sending you text messages. before you could expect something like "you up?" or "come to my office.", but after you broke things off with him, simon started sending you heartfelt text messages, apologizing for his past behavior. “i’ve been thinking a lot about what happened between us,” he texted one night. “i realize now how much i hurt you, and i’m truly sorry, love. i understand if you need space, but i wanted you to know how much i regret everything.”

along with his messages, simon started sending you small but meaningful gifts. he remembered how you’d joked about his tea obsession once and that you’d mentioned you only liked chamomile. to your surprise, he found the best brand of chamomile tea and even packed it in a nice box before delivering it to your room.

he even started to open up more. during a late-night phone call, where you could clearly hear that he was drunk, simon said that he started seeing a therapist. “i’m workin on understandin my issues and changin for the better. i want to be better, not just for you love, but for myself. i hope you can see that i’m tryin to change.”

when you asked him to stop calling you love, he refused. “i can’t help it. you’re mine in a way no one else could be, and i don’t want to pretend otherwise.”

as simon keeps showing up with gifts and heartfelt messages, you can’t help but wonder if he’s being real or if he’s just trying to win you back before breaking your heart again.

you still go on dates with other people, and simon is tormented every time he sees you leaving the base in those pretty dresses—dresses he wishes were just for him. he follows you, quietly lurking in the corners of the restaurants or bars where you’re out with your dates. oddly enough, most of the guys you go out with either get transferred to another base or stop calling you after just one date, and you’re doing your best not to blame simon for it. but you know it's him. and he is not sorry at all.

almost every day, simon texts you, asking you out on dates and planning special things for the who of you. all you have to do is say yes, but each time, you refuse. it breaks his heart every time, but it also makes him more determined to try even harder. he knows he deserves this treatment from you.

back when you and simon used to train together on base, it was a special routine you both enjoyed. now, you’ve started asking other guys to help you with exercises, and it drives him wild with jealousy. watching their hands on you makes him see red. after your training sessions with them, simon invites these guys to spar with him. it quickly becomes clear that he’s using these sparring matches as a chance to take out his frustration and anger, landing a few extra hits just to make his point.

despite everything, you still won’t budge, and it’s only making simon more frustrated. the truth is, it’s becoming harder and harder for you to resist him. his persistence is wearing you down, and the more he pushes, the more you find yourself struggling to stay strong.

simon invites you to one of his therapy sessions, saying his therapist thinks it would be helpful for him and his progress. during the session, he opens up about his struggles and insecurities, laying everything bare. as he talks, you start to feel sympathy for him. it’s clear he’s determined to change and work on himself, and you see how genuine his efforts are.

one night, you were preparing tea in the kitchen when a girl you know from the base asked for simon’s number. she mentioned she was interested in him, which made you jealous. you snapped at her, making it clear that he would never be interested in a girl like her. simon overheard the whole thing and couldn’t help but smirk to himself. it was clear you still had feelings for him, and he took a bit of satisfaction in that.

later that night he sent one simple message to you: "that's my girl. i belong to you, and you only."

after that message, simon stepped up his game. he started sending you lots of sweet texts and little gifts, and even took care of some of your paperwork. it was hard to ignore how much he was trying, and you found it tougher to resist him as he kept showing you how much he cared.

a few months after managing to ignore simon as best as you could, you caught a nasty cold and were stuck in your room. you only texted price to let him know you needed a few days off because you were sick, and got back in your bed trying to sleep that cold off. a few hours later, as you were still trying to fall asleep, you heard your door open. simon walked in, carrying a bunch of bags, a worried look on his face.

“i came as soon as I could,” simon said, worry in his voice. “i brought you soup and medicine.”

simon didn’t leave your side for days. he only went back to his room to grab more clothes and shower. he was insistent on helping you with everything, even assisting you with your showers in the most respectful way possible of course. he’d sit in a chair next to your bed, and you felt a pang of guilt seeing how much he was giving up for you. you even tried to convince him to go get some rest, but despite your protests, he somehow ended up in your bed, gently spooning you as you slept.

simon would whisper sweet things in your hair, thinking you were asleep. you heard every word as he softly talked about how much he missed you, how sorry he was for everything, and how he wanted to make things right. even though you were sick and exhausted, his words touched you deeply.

once you were feeling better, you found simon sitting alone in a common room, lost in thought. you approached him quietly and gently kissed the side of his face. with a soft smile, you whispered, “take me on that date you promised.”

_______________________________________________

@daydreamerwoah

[kittyfrisk9]

IdeaDpxDc: A nice moment with a sleep demon.

Note: Sorry, I don't know English, so please use a translator. I apologize if you don't get the idea.

Dead On Main.

---

Danny accidentally absorbed some of Nocturn's powers (like in the Vortex episode), and now, with these new temporary abilities, why not take advantage of them? Like a kid with a new toy, Danny (or should I say Phantom: with a new design) has fun every night going from dream to dream.

The dream world is so strange! Without the constant threat of a dream entity trying to take over the world and all that. Now he has fun exploring the most unusual parts of his classmates' subconscious, or anyone's in general.

Even though he knows he shouldn't be doing this (after all, he's a responsible adult now), spying on other people's dreams isn't exactly something a mature person would do.

On the other hand, Danny is the responsible adult; Phantom is the one who uses his new powers recklessly. Plus, no one in Gotham knows who Phantom is, and at the end of the day, he's not hurting anyone. Point in his favor!

It was all fun and games… until he felt it: the unpleasant taste of a nightmare, distressing and desperate. Phantom knows he has to intervene, because, unlike Nocturn, he does not delight in the suffering of others.

So he goes. And what he sees shocks him.

Resonant laughter of a psychopath, the constant pain of flesh being beaten, and the devastating reminder that no one came to help. Phantom doesn't just see it, he feels it. Gross. What is this? Why would anyone be hurting a child? Then he understands: this is not just a nightmare, it's a memory, and someone is suffering from reliving it.

He absolutely will not allow this nightmare to continue.

...

Jason hasn't been having good days lately, mostly because instead of going to therapy, he's chosen to sweep his trauma under the rug and aggressively throw himself into crime-fighting. He's not good at dealing with his emotions, especially when he's been tormented by the same damn nightmare over and over again.

He knows the script by heart, he knows how it will end, but he still feels the same fear as the first time.

His head hurts.

"No, not again," he thinks in terror. Once again, he's tied up, unable to move or call for help. It's colder than he remembers. The walls have a grotesque tint, with laughter written in every corner. But the worst thing is the silence… until the sound of clashing metal begins to resonate.

Everything is a thousand times worse. He's sure the original scenario wasn't like this, but his terrified mind refuses to accept it.

The metallic sound resonates louder, each crash rumbling in Jason's chest. His breathing quickens, and then he hears it: that laugh.

A deep, distorted echo of laughter that seems to come from every direction. The laughter snakes around the grotesque walls, filled with the same letters that repeat his agony. “Ha… ha… ha…” fills the air, louder with each invisible step that approaches.

Then, he appears.

It’s not the Joker he remembers from that fateful night. This one is worse. Bigger, more deformed, with a smile that seems to tear at his own face. The colors of his suit are darker, more twisted. It’s as if his mind has amplified him, made him more monstrous.

“My, my, how little Robin has grown? But… something remains the same, doesn’t it? No matter how many times you live it, it always ends the same way. And to think that you were my greatest work of art!”

His voice is mocking, but behind the mockery is pure cruelty, a wicked amusement that lights up in those crazy eyes.

The Joker leans towards Jason, his face invading the small distance between them. The sound of metal continues to echo, and Jason knows what's coming next.

"Oh, I almost forgot…" he says, pulling out of nowhere an iron crowbar that gleams in the dim light of the nightmare. "It wouldn't be a good memory without this, would it?"

That's when the pain begins. Jason doesn't want to scream, and he won't. Even though that abominable creature is just a representation of his killer, he won't give him the luxury of listening to him suffer. The blows continue, and Jason bites his tongue. It's just a nightmare, it's not real… it's not real.

It's not real.

It's not real.

It's not-

"Hey… Are you okay?" he hears him ask. His shocked gaze turns to where the clown should be and discovers that he's gone. In his place, there's a handsome young man: short, slightly messy black hair, expressive purple eyes, and a body almost completely shrouded in dark shadows.

The mysterious man had a cosmic air about him, surrounded by a mix of special effects of stars and galaxies. Something magical.

And new.

Jason honestly doesn't know what he's seeing, or why he's seeing it. "What?" he says, unable to find another word to describe his situation.

The entity laughs at his stunned state, a reassuring echo very different from the joker's laughter. Then he snaps his fingers, and suddenly he's no longer in that ugly room. He's now in a field of flowers, beautiful and vibrant, looking out at a starry sky.

Okay, this is the part where he asks his brain how he went from being in a nightmare to being with a handsome guy under the stars, hands free and untethered.

"Relax, you're not crazy," the being says as he lies back in the grass. “You were in pain, and I didn’t like it, so I got you out of there. Don’t worry, that abomination won’t bother you again.”

Jason blinks twice, bewildered, not understanding anything. “You… saved me?”

“You could say yes.”

“Why?” He shakes his head. “No, wait, that’s not the question. Who…?” Looking back at the being, he decides to change his question: “What are you?”

He seems to have taken the being by surprise.

It clasps its hands together as it looks up at the sky, trying to act normal. Jason narrows his eyes. “You can call me Void.”

“Did you just make up that name?”

The being looks away, seemingly embarrassed at being found out. “Yeah…” And suddenly exclaims, “Ah, ancients! I'm not supposed to be doing this, much less with one of the bats."

That last sentence had given away more than it should have.

"Hey, how about we admire the night view and then pretend this never happened?" Void suggested with a hopeful smile, turning to Jason.

Maybe it was the soft scent of the flowers, the calm atmosphere, or just the tiredness after so many nights of endless nightmares, but Jason, without thinking too much about it, walked over, lay down next to Void on the grass, and said, "No."

He needed a break.

...

And that's how Jason befriended a dream demon. And how Danny pretended to be a dream demon until Nocturn's powers wore off. He couldn't let the bats find out his identity.

After that, they spent more time together, fell in love, there was drama and there was closure. In the middle of all that, Danny started having tea with Alfred in the dream world, and at other times, he had fun bothering the other bats in their dreams.

But that's another story.

---

Note: Sorry, I don't know English, so please use a translator. I apologize if you don't get the idea.

[cvnt4him]

Hold on ..... Bc katsu fucking you in izus bed?!!

It wasn't on purpose.....initially. you n katsuki had a couple of drinks together in the yuei college dorm house, eventually one thing led to another and you found yourself fondling each other's body through sloppy spit filled kisses and sweaty movements trying your hardest to get each others clothes off. Within an instant of stripping you of your close he turned you around and pushed your face into the pillows. He fucked you roughly from behind, not much prep due to him being extremely horny. The gutteral groans he let out the second his cock entered your walls were perfect. You could tell which each thrust he was losing more of his composure, his control. This big tough act he out of was falling. Soon the groans turned into stifled moans and small carefully muffled mewls. his hips piston into the back of your ass with such heavy force. He felt the edge coming quicker than expected, katsuki hated when he got like this he could never hold back. He lifted his foot onto the bed and thrusted into you with so much force. The wind was literally knocked out of your lungs, you were gasping but it's as if the air left as soon as it came in. Katsuki had a hand placed on your lower back slightly on your ass while the other held your head down with a terrible grip, your head was beginning to hurt but how could you begin to care when you had a soon to be pro heros cock inside of you?! Katsukis motions were getting sloppy, his thighs flexing and slightly quivering as he chanted in his mind not to cum just yet, his forehead was sweaty and the hot breaths you both let out were moistening the air. Katsuki soon began to speed his thrusts up once again, making the entire bed shake. The faster he moved the rougher his thrusts got, the back of your thighs and ass were sure to be red, not to mention the fact he'd been gripping your ass cheek terribly hard.

“ fu- fuck...”

His small words were breathy yet strangled, you could hear the way he was holding back. His thick and veiny hand brang a harsh slap onto the flesh of your ass, not just one however. Soon it was two, then three, then four and so much more. He couldn't stop, the slight jiggle of your ass when he hit it triggered something in him. He had his eyes squeezed shut when you two first started in hopes of not cumming, but when he seen your ass bouncing back against him without his help, the way you were just ass needy for him as he was you... Fuck how could he not cum inside?

You two cleaned yourselves up, slightly sobering up after the liquids you two ended up losing. He sniffled before standing and taking notice of his surroundings. His slightly blurry eyes blinking away the tears that wettened his eyes. Katsukis eyes widened before he realized...... That was dekus room..... He looked around at every little detail of the room before his eyes landed on a limited edition super rare or wtv all might card that was preserved in a card slip thing to keep it clean n unbent n shit. It looked u touched and so beautiful, identical to the same one katsuki had....

Katsuki looked down at you and how your legs were slightly shaking, you were sitting on dekus bed cleaning the sticky messing between your thighs with some random blue shirt. You threw it on his bed before standing and leaving without a word. Katsuki gulped and walked out behind you. Hopefully the dimwit wouldn't notice......

Oh but did he. Three days after the party izuku finally decided to go back to his dorm instead of staying at his girlfriends, he mostly just went for some more clothes to take back to ochakos but whatever. He walked into a cold but not so empty room grabbing what he needed and heading towards the door before he realized.....the display he had up over his bed was all messy, the allmight bobble head's were slightly out of place and his other nicnacs were knocked over aswell, somewhat out of place. He hummed of disapproval before heading towards his bed to fix it. Once fixed he looked at his bed that was rather messy aswell...he knew he didn't leave it like that. So, who did? He looked at the crinkled all might shirt that he normally wears to bed and smiled. That was the shirt he'd wanted to wear. His face contorted in a confused way at the feeling of the fabric, it was rather weird. It wasn't as soft as it usually is once washed. He hadn't worn the shirt in a while though, how could it be dirty? He gave the shirt a quick smell before throwing it out of his hands and shivering. It smelled of a familiar smell....for the most part, bodily fluids.

Explaining this story to a couple of the guys he shared classes with they all laughed at the poor green haired boy who regretted not just staying in his room the night of the party. Katsuki however was trying his hardest not to laugh through the small tinge of guilt he felt. It wasn't HIS fault, maybe izuku shouldn't have left his dorm door u locked.

[jinnie-ret]

cover me

poly!stray kids x fem reader

genre: angst, fluff at the end

content warnings: stress from uni/work

word count: 1.5k

summary: money, work, school. it was only a matter of time before the boys would see her crumble, and be there to pick up the pieces

requested: @straykidsnerd255

1K FOLLOWERS PLAYLIST 💚🖤

MAIN MASTERLIST

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Every time she tried to take one step forward, something would ultimately knock her back twice as far. Finally having a very generously paid job as an intern at a big company was serving her well, yet with the return of going back to university, finding a work-school balance was becoming difficult.

Truly, that was the hardest thing. She had great people around her, those being her uni friends or her loving boyfriends, the renowned Kpop band, Stray Kids. The way they cared for her and each other with such strong morals and support meant that surely it would be easy to confide in them.

Not always, especially in this case.

Other times she would be thankful for the fact that her partners all had a longer practice at the company, not to their own detriment of course, but because it gave her more time to get herself together and paint on a calm picture of 'I'm definitely not struggling right now and on the brink of my second breakdown of the day'.

However, this time she really needed them. The stress had amounted to such a level that she felt it right through to her bones, and so she found herself crying over the smallest things, which in turn let out the release of her biggest pain.

"Stupid shoes, why aren't they organised, there's too many," she sniffled, sat on her knees by the front door as she began to cry at shoes. Yes, shoes. Her boyfriends' shoes to be specific. She would have thought at least Seungmin would have berated the others for their lack of organisation at this point but even his were out of place.

"They didn't even match them back up," she cried, and more tears spilled out, "oh, why am I even crying right now?"

Sometimes being in such a state meant that it was hard to understand your own feelings, your thoughts far too occupied with the wants of other people to be able to manage the basic needs of your own.

Eventually she gave up on the shoes and wiped her tears, walking slowly over to the sofa and letting her body fall into it with a soft thump. She tugged a soft velvety blanket over herself, one that Felix probably picked out due to it's plush exterior, and instinctively cocooned herself. Her heart felt heavy, her eyes hot and burning as the tears kept falling. All it took was a reminder on her phone for a work assignment, and a uni assignment, to trigger a sob to catch her throat.

"Too much," she sobbed to herself, trying to muffle the sounds even though there was no one else to hear them, "it's too much."

She was wrong. Not about her feelings, gosh, no, but the fact that she thought she was alone.

"Hey, hey, what's going on?" Hyunjin was crouched down right in front of her trembling form, almost hidden if it wasn't for the blanketed lump that had been shaking so much it couldn't have been natural.

His hand brushed her hair back and his thumb rubbed under her eyes, catching the tears that seemed to keep appearing. Hyunjin watched on in deep concern, just like their other boyfriends did the more they realised something was wrong.

"What? When, when did you get back?" she gulped down her sobs, or attempted to, even though her words still came out messily. She sat up, the blanket falling off her shoulders and resting around her hips.

"Don't worry about that, love. Just tell us what's going on, yeah? What's wrong?" Chan held her against him immediately, taking a seat ñext to her. The only time his arm that was wrapped around her moved away, was to let Jeongin lift the blanket back up to keep her warm.

"I don't know," she sniffed indignantly, coughing lightly through her cries when she tried to clear her throat. Her arm pressed against the lower half of her face.

"You're getting yourself in a state now, come on, move your arm, you know you don't have to hold back in front of us," Seungmin sighed sadly, seeing his girlfriend so stressed. He pulled her arm towards her lap which he was sat in front of, holding her hand with one of his own and the other rubbing her knee.

"Thanks," she said sarcastically at first, until hearing the rest of what he had to say and tilting her head up to the ceiling to blink away the rest of her tears.

Chan pressed a kiss against her forehead, and everyone was around her to offer comfort, Felix and Changbin in particular wanting to jump out of their seats on the adjacent sofa to take all the pain away.

"What's got you to upset, jagi?" Jisung pouted, his own eyes glistening as he saw how upset you were.

"It's stupid, really," she began, rubbing at her eyes roughly, Hyunjin subsequently tutting at her and pulling her other hand away that Seungmin wasn't occupying.

"We're not doing that, jagi," Minho shook his head, brows furrowed, looking down at the floor with his hands folded together, "if it's upset you, it's not stupid."

"Exactly, please just tell us, you know we just want to help, that's all," Felix quickly pitched in, face crumpled sadly much like your own.

"There's just too much going on really. You know? Like, oh-" she had to cut herself off when her voice cracked with emotion again.

"You're ok, take your time," Jeongin gave a small smile and nod to reassure her.

"We're listening, baby," Changbin's raspy voice rung out.

"I've got a good job right? Like, it pays so well, but now with going back to uni it's just like I don't have time for anything. I-i'm having to squeeze in hours where I don't have them because my boss won't help me work around my timetable," she explained, the clashing of two parts of her life and time issues being what was clearly causing so much turmoil.

"I'm sorry, darling," Chan tugged her closer to him, a frown on his face.

"Don't be sorry, not your fault, is it? I'm just so tired, I'm exhausted," she admitted, pressing her lips together and taking a deep breath in order to not cry again.

"We'll help you figure this out, ok?" Hyunjin leant his head against her shoulder.

"Ok, ok," she let out a deep breath and nodded.

"I think you need to focus on uni, love. If work can't meet you in the middle then, it's hard," Seungmin trailed off, not wanting to fully leave her in the dark but not wanting to be too blunt.

"What do you think, jagi?" Jisung wondered, curled up against Minho, one leg hanging over the older's lap.

"I don't know. I don't even wanna make any decisions right now," she shook her head tiredly, blinking a couple times.

"That's understandable, baby, how about we just relax for now, ok?" Changbin suggested.

"And if anything else is upsetting you, please tell us," Chan huffed with a knowing smile.

"Ok, promise," she grinned.

₊˚⊹♡

She must have fallen asleep without realising, as she found herself waking up to Jeongin and Felix giggling over something on the latter's phone.

"What's going on?" she murmured tiredly, pressing her face deeper into... Jisung's chest, it took one whiff of his cologne to be able to tell it was him.

"Had a good sleep then, hmm?" Minho poked her forehead, slow blinking at her.

"Mm, yeah," she nodded, "Lixie, Innie, what's funny?"

The two froze, looking at her a bit guiltily.

"Well, umm, you know we have that camera in the hallway, just in case for security, like if someone broke in or-" Jeongin began to ramble awkwardly,

"I know, yeah," she nods, adjusting her head against Jisung's chest as he loosely keeps an arm around her, securing her to him.

"We're actually sorry for laughing, babe, it's just... You were crying over our shoes earlier?" Felix can't even keep eye contact as he explains.

Jisung stifles a laugh and so she slaps his chest playfully through her mild embarrassment, making him yell out dramatically.

"What's Sungie done now?" Hyunjin asks as he flops onto the sofa, entering the room again after leaving Chan, Seungmin and Changbin to managing the cooking.

"It's more about what our jagi did," Minho teases, looking at her with a smug grin.

"Guys, I was stressed, leave me aloneeee," she huffed, but it didn't stop the light laughter that filled the room knowing that she wasn't completely upset about it.

"Sorry, but..." Jeongin chuckles again, "the way you throw the shoes away from you is so funny!"

"What did our shoes do to you?!" Felix laughed again as he watched the video on replay.

"They smelt bad," she grinned happily, teasing them back as revenge, "specifically Ji's."

"Yah!"

Jisung gave her a noogie, keeping her trapped in his arms. He couldn't let her discredit him like that.

"Sorry! Sorry! Hahaha!"

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[lenaswritingandstuff]

Dating the Slytherin boys (+ Harry) - HEADCANONS

Requested: No

Characters: Mattheo Riddle, Tom Riddle, Theodore Nott, Draco Malfoy, Blaise Zabini, Regulus Black, Harry Potter (+ y/n)

Warnings: NSFW mentions, English is not my first language

A/N: I'm not sure I like this but here we go. However I have to say I like Regulus' one so I might turn his version into a one shot one day (when uni won't be killing me slowly). This will include also the pre-dating/flirting stage as well. Comments and feedback are always appreciated. Enjoy! ^^

Tag list: @helendeath @im-jesus

Tag list for this story: @anawritez-posts @pumpkinchee @alwayslatetothefandoms

Mattheo Riddle:

His feelings for you probably confused him at first 

If he falls first, he either won’t let you know or will do everything to get your attention (‘Hey, y/n, come sit here, the seat is free!”, “y/n, do you mind helping me with homework for Snape? I can’t bloody do it”, “How about we go to Hogsmeade, just you and me?”, “you look beautiful, y/n”)

Your love for him always calms him when he gets anxious or when he’s upset, especially after his father comes back

Will tell you things he never told anyone

Would rather spend time with you than with his friends

Is terrified something will happen to you because of his father 

VERY jealous, but trusts you

Despite easily getting angry, he can’t get mad at you. Even during arguments 

LOVES sleeping in your arms or when you just hold him

He's crazy about your body

Loves showering with you, and we both know how it often ends

HOT, passionate sex

Will randomly eat you out without expecting anything in return (doesn't mind if you return the favor, though)

100% calls you "baby" or "love" all the time

Doesn’t care about what anyone thinks of him as long as you love him

Your love makes him feel lighter and stronger

You're his whole world

Feels bad when he hears someone criticize you for dating him 

Always makes sure you don’t overwork yourself, and makes sure you get enough sleep, water and food, and comforts you when you're anxious

Holds your hands when he's anxious or stressed

Will listen to anything you have to say 

Crazy about your perfume

Theodore Nott:

Struggles to express his love or feelings in general, at least in the beginning 

Has never done serious relationships before, and it may cause some trouble in your relationship, as you end up believing he doesn’t care about you

It causes many fights, and the last one will be the first time he says ‘I love you’

Always goes to you for comfort 

Loves sleeping with you in his arms/on his laps, or cuddling, and with time he can’t sleep without you

Loves watching you sleep 

Loves having you on his lap

Always gets you great gifts (even randomly)

“Well, it thought it was pretty, and…it reminded me of you.”

Will fight any guy who is rude to you or acts like a creep 

Very jealous (trusts you, doesn’t trust others)

Doesn’t mind PDA at all, will gladly hold your hand or kiss you in public

Always have a hand on your waist of around your shoulders 

Very supportive in everything you do, even when he doesn’t understand it/isn’t interested in it

Isn’t very good with comforting people (mostly because he's not used to it), but will hold you and listen to you as long as you need, can even give you advice/reassurance 

Every compliment/'I love you' you say melts his heart and means much more to him than he shows, same goes for anything you do for him

Loves doing fun things, even if it’s just throwing snowballs at each other during winter (which ends in loving kisses, just savouring the joy of being together)  

Love getting in a pool with you and playing "childish" games

Any form of intimacy means A LOT to him 

He's used to hooks up and "fucking" but it takes him a bit of time to have sex with you (despite being crazy about you and your body) because you mean everything to him and with you it's really making love instead of just "fucking"

The first time is loving and slow yet passionnate (eye contact, hands holding, desperate kisses from him), and it gets a bit rougher and passionate the next times (but aftercare, which he isn't used to, is always on point and keeps getting better)

Is secretly very insecure, and is terrified you will leave him (especially for another “better” guy) 

Craves your touch and your love but won’t admit it

His boggart is probably you being dead alongside his mother

Will tell you sweets things in Italian

Very clingy in private - and also in public with time

With you he learns to be happier and discovers a happier side of himself he didn't know he had

Loves you much more than he actually shows at first 

Will often say you're all he has (and means it)

But with time, you have no reason to doubt his love and he’s the perfect boyfriend

Blaise Zabini:

Probably will court you like the gentleman he is

He doesn’t trust people easily and might be a little distant (while always polite and kind) in the early stages of your relationship 

But with time he becomes very warm and smiles a lot

Always kisses the top of your hand or your forehead 

Doesn’t do much PDA except for holding hands and kisses on your forehead

However in private he’ll 100% cuddle you and hold you

Dates in parks or restaurants  

Get you flowers at least once a month

Will always defend you against others 

One of his love languages is acts of service

Lorenzo Berkshire:

You either were friends before dating or he fell in love with you at first sight, there is no in between

Takes you on fun dates (arcade, funfair, theme parks) 

Can be shy at the beginning, which will make it a bit hard for him to talk about he feels about you

Movie nights where you two eats lots of snacks and sweets while cuddling 

Always smiles when you enter a room

So supportive 

Loves when you're on his lap

He has no problem with PDA

Quickly willing to meet your family if you agree

He’s a great listener and mostly gives good advices 

Loves taking naps with you 

Always makes you sure you get enough sleep, water and food

Won’t let you get yourself into dangerous situations

Loves to go anywhere with you, no matter the activity and even if he just follows you around 

Many pet names

If you're Muggleborn or grew up among Muggles, he will totally ask you questions about the muggle world

Passionnate sex, will get rough if he hasn't seen you in a long time or if it's angry sex after he got jealous

His aftercare is the best, and he's always thankful you trust him enough to have that form of intimacy with him

Draco Malfoy:

Won’t flirt at first with you but keeps wanting your attention

Tries to seduce you with expensive gifts, and is a bit taken aback when you say he doesn’t work

Continues to get you gifts, but will make sure they match your interests/tastes, and keeps expensive gifts for your birthdays and Christmas (even though he’d like to get them all year for you) 

At first he doesn't show any weakness in your presence

With you he’ll learn patience and to focus of more positive things, and also to stand up to his father

Takes you on dates every chance he gets

Will ditch his friends to spend time with you

Probably makes Crabbe and Goyle carry your bags or do things for you

So proud to be dating you, it might even make him more arrogant

Gets grumpy when jealous but after a kiss on the cheek he’s back to his normal self 

Will invite you to his home and write you nearly everyday during holidays

Hates it when Harry or any Gryffindor boy tries to talk to you

Surprisingly has no problem with PDA

Loves when you come to see him play during Quidditch matches

Tom Riddle:

Oh boy

It started with him admiring/watching you from afar, for he reason he can’t understand

SUPER confused by what he feels for you and why

Will probably try to get closer to you through homework or through books if he sees you read one

Will know everything about you, and will secretly follow you, saving you if you’re in danger with you never knowing who it was

Crazy about your perfume, so much so that it makes him steal one of your clothes just to be able to smell it anytime he wants

After a while, he’ll spend most of his time with you without ever admitting he likes it

Will probably let you know his feelings for you after he cast a spell on a guy for being a creep with you 

Won’t let another man touch you

Will ask Mattheo for advice to be better or to make you fall in love with him

Will do your homework without hesitation, even if he pretends that he hates it, and will leave explanations so you understand his answers/his work

No PDA except for holding hands or your hand under his arm, but will make sure to stay close to you at all times 

Is a surprisingly good listener 

VERY jealous, but surprisingly isn’t mad or suspicious at you

“Did you enjoy having his attention? Do you wish for me to show you how my attention is better?” 

He doesn't stress over homework or stuff like that, so he finds it ridiculous when you do (learns with time to be more understanding)

Will let flowers in your room with a note on it

Pretends to not care about the gifts you get him for his birthday or Christmas but it actually means so much to him as no one ever got him any gifts before 

Nothing the others say about him gets to him, but he gets angry when he hears someone say that you deserve better than him

Is secretly insecure about his background and the fact that he’s poor, and thinks you deserve better 

As Voldemort: Might be torn between continuing his goals for power and spending a simple with you; is aware you’ll leave him if he gets on a darker path 

As Voldemort’s son: would do everything to protect you from his father, and if he’s forced to get the Dark Mark, he will makes sure you don’t know 

Possessive kisses 

Would hurt anyone who does you wrong

Borrows money from Draco to take you on dates or to get you gifts, as he feels like you deserve the nicest things, even though you keep telling him his mere presence is enough

May feel a little bit guilty that he can’t properly show you his love like “normal” boyfriends do 

Won’t admit it but considers you the only good thing in his life, and if he ever lost you he’d get on a dark path

Won’t cuddle at first, but if you wake up first you’ll find him sleeping close to you, with at least one of his hands touching you

Always notices when you don’t eat, sleep or drink enough

Not only you’re the first (and only) person he feels romantic love for

He has a bit of sexual experience before, but with you it's completely different - once you guys have sex for the first time, he becomes obsessed with your body and how it makes him feel

Loves fingering you

"You like it, dove?"

Even if you guys don’t work out, he won’t ever be with somebody else 

Would ask your parents for you hand in marriage, but honestly it's just out of politeness, the only answer that matters to him is yours

Regulus Black:

Like Blaise, he was raised the old fashioned way

Acts coldly towards everyone except you, his tone and eyes gets warmer and kinder when talking/looking at you, and you’re the only person he’ll smile at

You were his best (and only) friend and he has been in love with you for years

He hides his feelings very well, but one day you start dating someone else (thinking Regulus doesn’t share your feelings) but he can’t bear it and confesses his feelings

Always defends you

He’ll take you on restaurants or picnics dates, always bringing flowers

Mostly fine with PDA (holding hands, hands on your waist)

Thinks he’s very lucky to have you

Probably already starts thinking of marrying you during your last year at Hogwarts 

A bit jealous, but can’t stand it when Sirius tries to talk to you

Will gladly do your homework with/for you

Loves it when you sleep in each other’s arms, loves feeling you close

Loves it when you call him “Reggie” (only you is allowed to)

Will literally do everything you ask him to

You’re everything to him

Can’t stay away from you for long

Will get worried if you’re five minutes late

Always calls you “sweetheart” or “love”/”my love” 

Slow, romantic sex most of the time but sometimes he needs to be rougher

Thanks to you he’ll feel lighter and he will become kinder

You’ll even make him change his views on blood purity and stand up to his parents, and with time he gets closer to Sirius thanks to that (and you) 

If that doesn’t change and he still joins Voldemort, he’ll leave you a letter before going to the cavern, saying how much he loves you and how much you mean to him

Harry Potter:

Don’t expect any pet names from him, but he might create a nickname with your name (like he calls Ginny ‘Gin’ in the Cursed Child) 

His love languages are fierce protectiveness, loyalty and a patience he didn’t knew he had

Has no problem with PDA because he doesn’t care about what other people think  

Loves cuddles

Rarely gets mad at you, and feels guilty when he does

Mostly gets mad at you when you hurt yourself (for example during Quidditch) but it's also because he was scared for you

Hot kisses in private

Will be jealous if he sees you with another guy 

He’s passionate in a lot of things he does, and it includes you and everything you do

Will fiercely defend you again anyone, can even throw hands

Gets FURIOUS when Umbridge hurts you during detention, and will cuddle you for hours and do everything he can to make the pain disappear

Knows people are mean to you during fifth year because you're dating him and he hates it

During that year the only peace he feels is when he's holding you or when you sleep in his arms (it's also the only time he doesn't get nightmares)

Very supportive 

Loves getting you gifts 

You make him feel SO happy, he’ll just keep smiling for no reason 

Gets more and more clingy with time

Always write to you during the holidays (you always invite him to come to your house)

I'm not sure about sex while you guys are at Hogwarts but he 100% feels lust for you, there will definitely be hot making sessions when you guys are alone in a dark corner of the castle and it often ends up with you against the wall with your legs around his waist while he kisses your neck and caresses your legs

However sometimes he just can't stop himself and will eat you out (even maybe finger you at the same time), and will be proud when you come

Any act of service you do for him means a lot

You're always worried about him when he's at the Dursleys but he reassures you that he's fine

Comes to you in the middle of the night if he has a nightmare and generally comes to you for comfort or to rant 

Needs you more than ever after Voldemort comes back and after Sirius’ death 

Misses you like crazy during his quest for Horcruxes, and he can’t bear the thought of something happening to you 

Might struggle to show it, but he knows and is thankful of how patient and comprehensive you are with him, and that makes him want to be the best boyfriend he can be

Terrified Voldemort might hurt/kill you

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[robo-writing]

How different Logan’s would eat you out <3

X1, X2, and X3

✦A mix between ravenous and romantic. He wants you to know just how much you’re loved, and he expresses that by how long he can eat your pussy without stopping. savoring each and every movement from you, he actually enjoys when you lose control and tighten your legs around his head, moaning something along the lines of you’ll be the death of me as he laps at your cunt.

Your thighs quake around his head, hands in his hair as you look down at him. He’s having the time of his life, licking at your pussy like it’s the last thing he’ll do in this life, pulling you down and forcing you to sit right on his face.

“Don’t need air, stay,” he mumbles, eyes looking up at you. “Just stay here for me sweetheart.”

You want to protest but goddamn does he make it hard for you, especially when his hands grip the fat of your ass and grind you onto his lips. Higher and higher, you feel your orgasm taking hold with each movement.

“Logan, gonna come,” you whine, and he pushes you as far down as you can go.

“Come on my face doll,” he groans, tonguing at your shaking entrance. “Get my face nice and wet, yeah?”

Origins Wolverine

✦Lovey dovey sickeningly sweet romantic sex; down for anything as long as you’re involved. Sit on his face? Gladly. Pull your legs over his shoulders? Just say when. The kind of lover whose heart skips a beat every time he sees you naked like it's the first time, despite the fact that you're married with a house. Speaks to your pussy as if it’s separate from you.

“How’s my girl doing? Doing alright?”

Your answer is a moan, your pussy clenching around nothing. Logan smiles at your response, thumb stroking up to press against your sensitive clit.

“Yeah, doing just fine ain’t you?” He breathes, kissing the hardened nub before returning to suck on it, your legs shaking in response. “And my other girl’s nice and ready ain’t she?”

“Baby,” you whine, desperate to cum. He’s edged you for as long as possible and you’re almost certain if you wait any longer you’ll actually die. Thankfully Logan grants you mercy, tightening his hold on your thighs as he focuses all his effort into making your pussy leak on his face.

“Come for me sweetheart,” he groans, and you do. Fingers digging into the sheets, you feel your orgasm take hold as Logan wrings every ounce of pleasure he can, kissing at your thighs when your overstimulated pussy can’t take any more.

You barely catch your breath before he speaks to your cunt, admiring how your come trails down your thighs.

“There she is,” he chuckles, index finger slowly collecting the remains of your juices, admiring how they glisten in the low light of your bedroom. “Nice and satisfied, ain’t she?”

DOFP Logan

✦Second biggest munch. Running from danger constantly doesn’t make a lot of time for sex so whenever he finds the rare opportunity to do so best believe he’s jumping at it. Likes to joke that he’s started to go grey because he can’t fuck you as often as he likes. Truly eats you out like he needs your pussy more than he needs air.

“Need to be quiet baby,” he growls, pinning your thrashing hips against the wall. “You’re going to get us caught.”

It’s one of the rare days when you’ve found a safe house, even rarer that it’s just you and Logan alone for once. One look at his face and you already knew what was running through that adamantium skull of his, dragging you away to the nearest closet where you’ve been for god knows how long—the concept of time always seems to leave you wherever Logan’s talented mouth is involved.

You’re biting at your hand to muffle your moans but it’s still not enough, free hand tangled in his graying strands as an anchor. You can see his eyes roll back at the feeling, sloppily kissing up your pussy.

“God I wanna hear you,” he moans. “I’d give anything to fuckin’ hear you baby, but you’ve gotta behave for me. Don’t want anyone else seein’ this.”

The scene is something straight out of a porno—your legs hooked over his shoulders as he eats your cunt feverishly, the filthy sounds he makes with each movement, your hips desperately chasing his mouth—you wish this could never end.

70s Logan

✦By far the most selfish, he eats you out for his pleasure alone. He doesn’t give a damn if you’re crawling away, he will pull you back and lock his lips around your clit until you’re damn near thrashing in his arms, grinding against the mattress because that's just how hard he is. He won’t apologize for making you pass out, nor will he stay the night, but if he likes you enough you might find a card on your nightstand with his number hastily scribbled onto it.

When you decided to bring tall, dark, and grumpy home you didn’t expect it to end with tears running down your face, practically begging for a reprieve that won’t come. His hands lock together, forcing you still as he eats you out, not giving a damn about how pathetic you sound.

“Quit fuckin’ squirming,” he grunts, nosing at your pussy. “Lemme enjoy this.”

The man is talented, that’s a fact. Knows just how to push your buttons in all the right ways, but the problem is that he’s pushed your buttons nearly three times already and you’re almost certain his beard is going to give you the worst rash you’ve ever had.

But damn it if he isn’t responsible for some of the best orgasms you’ve ever had.

“Logan, fuck—lemme take a break,” you’re begging at this point, slapping at his shoulders when he doesn’t let up. Your breath catches in your chest when he smacks your thigh roughly in response, smiling against your pussy when he feels you clench in response.

“Don’t tell me you’re not enjoying yourself,” he mocks, showing just how true his words ring when his fingers rub circles against your clit.

You swear you can feel any coherent thoughts leak out of your ears, focused solely on coming. It’s embarrassing how well he plays your body like a fine tuned instrument, but you can’t bring yourself to care when you’re squirting a mess onto your mattress.

“There we go, ain’t that a sight?” He laughs, pulling you closer towards his face. “Now, be a good little slut and behave while I enjoy my meal, okay?”

Old Man Logan

✦#1 munch and it’s not even close. When his job leaves him tired and his body is sore he finds comfort between your legs, it’s the only time he can turn his brain off and drown himself in you. He’s so fucking starved that he’ll genuinely get lost in his own headspace and ignore your thrashing and whining just to wring another orgasm from your tired body. Kisses your labia and mutters how she's such a pretty pussy as you're trying to catch your breath.

Logan didn't even bother to shed his clothes, making a beeline directly to you the moment he stepped inside your shared home. Dirt still settled on his skin, his head nestled into the crook of your neck as your bodies sway within the closed off kitchen. "Missed me, huh?" you ask, his sigh answer plenty. "Always miss you princess," he whispers, pulling you closer. He lifts you up with warning, sitting you down on the countertop, kneeling between your dangling legs. His beard tickles your bare skin, pulling you close enough to place a kiss onto your pussy, right over the fabric of your panties. "Fuck," you sigh. "You really missed me." His smile is infectious, nuzzling against your fabric-covered core. He kisses you through it for a while before peeling off the moistened garment, thumbs reaching to stroke your pussy. The sight makes your skin hot, hands tangled in his hair. "Been waiting all fuckin' day for this," he moans, spreading you apart and indulging in your juices. "Can tell you were waiting for me too." You feel your body melt with every touch, Logan's hands an anchor as he makes out with your heat, nose bumping against your clit with each movement.

Worst Logan

✦Still trying to wrap his head around you wanting to be with him, but goddamn if he isn’t grateful. Reverent, like a sinner at an alter. Your word is law, likes it when you pull him by the hair and show him where you need it, loves it when you tell him how good he’s doing, presses himself further into your pussy when you’re ready to come. It's all about you and he wouldn't have it any other way.

You lovingly stroke his hair, back arching when he kisses your clit oh so gently.

“Lemme take a look at you,” you ask, and the sight of him is enough to make you come.

Face red, blushing so hard it reaches his chest, eyes so glazed over with lust his pupils leave nothing but small rings of green in his eyes. You cradle his face and the weight of his head falls into them immediately, chasing your touch.

“Gonna make me feel good, aren’t you?” You ask, and he nods his head, kissing your palm.

“Lemme taste you baby,” he whispers. “Swear to god I’ll make you feel good.”

“Never doubted you for a second Logan,” you whisper back, tugging his head back to your soaked cunt. He breathes in your scent, fucking groans at the sight of your pussy before he descends on it, noisily showing you just how much he meant his words.

“Fuckin’ delicious baby, so fuckin’ wet,” he moans. “Can’t get enough of you.”

He only gets louder when you pull him forward by the hair, rough hands leaving a mark where his fingers grip your skin.

[pomefioredove]

hii! i love your writing a lot! and its my first time requesting something so im sorry if it sounds weird.

could i request a reader who loves to give their friend or partner lots gifts(preferably handmade ones!!) and affection? like they just make gifts for them and randomly shower them with affection without any reason

please do it with the overblot gang or simply just riddle, azul and vil !!

also im sorry if you already did something like that ; ;

hi anon!! thank you for waiting so patiently for this <3

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ gifting!

type of post: headcanons characters: riddle, azul, vil additional info: romantic, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu

pleasant surprise is not something that Riddle feels often, and gifts, especially such thoughtful ones, are not something he's used to. his mother never bought him anything that wasn't a necessity, and aside from what little Trey and Che'nya could sneak to him when they were children, Riddle just... doesn't get gifts

especially without a reason. the first time you leave a love note and roses at his desk, he's worried that he somehow forgot something- a birthday, a holiday, an anniversary?

you have to reassure him that you don't need a reason to be nice to him, and he deserves to be spoiled

which is... weird... for him to hear

still, he treasures every single thing you get him. trinkets go on a well-kept shelf in his room, practical gifts get used until they're falling apart, and he even presses the flowers you give so he can keep them forever

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Azul lives in a give-and-take world. which is often... bad, but can be extraordinarily sweet when he applies that to your relationship

he wakes up to flowers on his doorstep? you'll be getting a bouquet the very next day. you write him a lovely note? he'll send one of his own right back. you make him something thoughtful, personal, and sweet? he will literally teach himself how to sew, paint, write, et cetera, and get you something you'll love by next week

(your crafting skills are incredible to him, by the way)

it's not even that he doesn't want to "owe you" anything; it's that he wants you to feel just as loved and special as you make him feel

he's never a neglectful boyfriend, I can tell you that much

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

there's something that can be so special about handmade gifts. Vil thinks of this often; he finds himself absolutely in love with everything you give him. he almost feels guilty wearing the jewelry or clothing you make, as if it should be put on display rather than worn

it's just so... you know?

you thought of him while you made this. you sat down, thought, "what would Vil like?" and made something. not because he hired you to, or because you want fame or money or success, but because you love him

as a person. not as an actor, or a model, or an image

oof. it's like an arrow straight through his heart. he loves to carry around the things you gift him, just so someone will notice and ask

he always gets the biggest smile telling them that his partner made it

[requiemforthepoets]

this is me trying 𖦹 OP81

PAIRINGS: oscar piastri x female!reader

SUMMARY: growing up, the only thing you know is that you need to be strong, provide, and take care of your sister. but being with oscar, it was different, he made you feel things—that it’s okay to not be fine, vulnerable, and to be taken care of.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: i have this fic finished the other day but i was debating on whether to post it or not, but here we are. it’s been a while too since i last wrote for oscar, and this is like a comfort (?) fic idk lol. also, can i just say that LANDO ON POLE FOR THE SG GP!!! 😭🧡 ok, i hope you guys will have fun reading this one. enjoy! :)

REMINDERS: this is purely fiction, the way how the character is portrayed in my story does not reflect the person that is portraying my character in real life. always separate fiction from reality, and do not repost or copy my work in any way.

WORD COUNT: 3.6k

WARNINGS: not proofread, typos, eldest daughter syndrome, no use of y/n, cursing, unnamed sister, named friend, and parents death

You were sitting in the living room, surrounded by case files and legal books, trying your best to prepare for the court trial that you’ll be doing soon, but your mind was elsewhere. You can't focus on the work that you’re working on in front of you, no matter how hard you try. Your phone buzzed, and you almost didn’t answer, thinking it’s just another work call, but when you saw Blaire, your friend’s name, flash on the screen you quickly picked up, expecting a casual chat.

“Hey, Blaire, how are you?” You greeted her, trying to mask your exhaustion.

Her voice on the other end was hesitant, not the usual warm tone that you’re used to. “Hey…I really hate to bring this up, but I was wondering when you would be able to repay the five thousand dollars?”

Your stomach dropped. “Repay?” You repeated, utterly confused. “What do you mean five thousand dollars?”

The conversation between you and Blaire unraveled quickly. She explained how she had lent the money to your sister out of need, thinking it was for you or with your approval. Rage bubbled in your chest, your pulse quickened, at this point all you can see is red. You thanked her hastily, barely able to end the call before fury overtook you. Without thinking, you dialed your sister’s number, the beeps echoing in your ear like a countdown to an explosion.

“Hello?” Her voice was casual, completely unaware of the storm coming her way.

“What the actual fuck did you do?!” You yelled, not caring if it was late at night. “You borrowed five fucking thousand dollars from Blaire without asking me!? How could you?!”

There was a pause, a brief moment where you could almost feel her shrug through the phone. “Oh my god, can you relax? It’s not like you can't afford it. It’s not that big of a deal, you can just easily pay for it with how big you’re making, it’s barely a scratch on your bank account!” You couldn’t believe what you were actually hearing.

“Not a big deal? Did you spend the money already? Do you have any fucking idea how humiliating it is for me that you did this without even consulting me? You think just because I make good money, I’ll fix every mess you create?” You were seething.

“Well, yeah,” she responded with a laugh, clearly not grasping the gravity of the situation. “You’re my older sister. Isn’t it your job to take care of me, right?”

Your grip on your phone tightened. “I’ve been taking care of you your whole life! I’m working myself to the bone just to make sure you have everything you need, sending you to that fancy school that you’ve always wanted so you can have a better future, and this is how you repay me? By lying and stealing?”

The silence on the other end of the line felt heavy, but your anger has not subsided. She mumbled something that sounded like a half assed apology, but it was already too late for that. You immediately hung up and slammed the phone down on the table, heart racing, pulse pounding in your ears. Anger still swirling inside you like a storm, the words of your sister still echoing in your mind. You can just easily pay for it with how big you’re making. Her carelessness, lack of respect—it hit harder than anything you had experienced before. It wasn’t about the money, you could handle the five thousand dollars easily, but the way she completely dismissed your hard work, as if it was nothing, as if your sacrifice and years of struggle meant nothing—that was what burned deep. It hurts like fucking hell.

You sat down there on the couch, trying to calm yourself down, tears started to prick at the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them back. You didn’t cry. You cannot cry. You have always been strong your whole life—the provider, carer, and protector. That’s who you were. No one had ever taken care of you, not since your parents passed away when you were fifteen and your sister is only ten. It has always been you, alone, against the world, and now, it felt like even your sister was against you.

You didn’t hear Oscar enter the living room until his voice, soft but firm, broke through the silence. “Hey, I heard you from our room. Are you okay?”

You swallowed hard, your body automatically stiffening instinctively and continued browsing through your documents like nothing happened.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Don’t worry,” you lied, though the quiver in your voice betrayed you.

Oscar walked over and sat down beside you on the couch, his hand gently resting on your shoulder. “You don’t always have to be fine,” he said quietly. “Tell me, what happened?”

You exhaled sharply, your hands trembling as you ran them through your hair. “It’s my sister,” you muttered, trying to keep your voice steady. “She borrowed money from Blaire. Five thousand dollars. Without even telling me. Now, she’s acting like it’s my job to fix it.”

“Five thousand? That’s a lot.” Oscar frowned, his brows knitting in concern.

“I know,” you said, “she doesn’t even care. She just assumes I’ll take care of it, like I always do every time she gets into stupid situations. She thinks just because I earn good money, I’m supposed to fix everything.” Your voice cracked, and before you could stop it, the tears you had been holding back for so long finally broke free. “I don’t know how much longer I can do this, Oscar. I’m always the one fixing things, I’m always the one who has to be strong.”

Oscar didn’t say anything for a moment, he just stared at you, his eyes filled with understanding. Then, without a word, he pulled you into his arms. You tensed at first, still not used to being vulnerable, but Oscar’s embrace was warm, grounding. Slowly, your body relaxed into his, and the weight of the world seemed to lift just a little as you rested your head against his chest.

“It’s not fair,” you whispered to him. “I’ve always had to be the strong one. I’m tired, Oscar. I’m so fucking tired. I don’t know how much more I can take.”

His hand gently stroked your back, his voice soft and reassuring. “I know. It’s okay to be tired. You don’t have to be strong all the time. Not with me.”

You pulled back slightly to look at him, your eyes searching his face, “I just don’t know how to let anyone help me,” you admitted, voice barely audible. “I’ve been doing this for so long, I don’t know how to not be the one in control.”

“I get that. But you don’t have to do it all alone anymore. I’m here. Let me be strong for you, too.” Oscar smiled gently, brushing a tear from your cheek with his thumb.

For a moment, you didn’t know what to say. The idea of letting someone else carry even a fraction of the weight feels completely foreign to you. But as you looked at Oscar, his eyes full of sincerity, something inside you shifted. Maybe, it’s time you let it all fall down, you didn’t have to carry everything on your shoulders all the time.

“What am I supposed to do about her?” You asked, your voice small but steady now.

Oscar sighed softly, thinking for a moment. “You have all the right to be angry and upset. Your feelings are valid,” he said. “She needs to learn that actions have consequences. But at the same time, she’s your sister. She’s young, and sometimes young people tend to make mistakes. You’ve been doing everything for so long that she probably hasn’t learned how to take responsibility for herself yet.”

You nodded, wiping your eyes. “Yeah, maybe. But I can’t just let her think she can keep doing this.”

“No,” he agreed. “But you also don’t have to do this alone. We can figure it out together.”

You looked at him, really looked at him, and for the first time in a long time, you felt like you weren’t alone. Maybe you didn’t always have to be the strong one, the provider, the protector. With Oscar by your side, you could learn how to let someone else carry the weight with you.

“Thank you,” you whispered, leaning into him once more. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Oscar smiled, pressing a soft tender kiss to your forehead. “You’ll never have to find out, I’m not going anywhere, my love.”

The next morning, you stared at the screen of your laptop, fingers moving quickly over the keys as you finished drafting the contract. The legal jargon was familiar, comforting even, but the fact that you had to use it against your own sister left a bitter taste in your mouth. The contract was firm, direct, and laid out the consequences clearly: five thousand dollars, to be repaid in installments, with interest and penalties if the deadline is missed. You hated doing it—your heart never felt so heavy—but you knew it was necessary. You had been too lenient for far too long, if she didn’t learn this now, she might never understand the true value of money and the responsibility that came with it. It was time for her to learn the hard truths you had known your entire life.

Oscar was sitting across the table, sipping his coffee, watching you in silence. “You’ve finished it?” He asked gently. You had told him last night that you need to straighten everything out, and told him your plan, in which he quickly supported you.

You nodded, eyes scanning the contract one last time before saving it. “Yeah. She’s not going to like it, but this has to be done.” You sighed, “I’ve been too lenient, too forgiving. I can’t keep cleaning up after her messes.”

“You’re doing the right thing.” He said as he reached over, placing his hand over yours. “It’s tough, but you’re teaching her a lesson she won’t forget.”

“I hope so,” you sighed, glancing out the window, the weight of responsibility pressing down on you once more. “I’ve never been one to ask for anything back, but she needs to learn that she can’t just treat me like this. I want her to be successful, but she can’t rely on me forever.”

Later that day, you booked a flight for her to Monaco, and notified her about the flight schedule. She was studying in Switzerland, and it would be a four hour flight from Switzerland to Monaco. It was time to have this conversation face-to-face. You couldn’t keep allowing her to avoid responsibility just because you were miles apart. This is a conversation that is long overdue.

A couple of days later, she arrived at your and Oscar’s shared apartment. She seemed different—more subdued, perhaps. You could tell the weight of your anger still lingered in her mind. She greeted you cautiously, her eyes flickering to Oscar, who stood nearby, his presence calm but protective.

“Sit down,” you said, pointing to the couch.

She looked at you, clearly trying to gauge your mood, but she did as she was told. You sat across from her, with Oscar by your side, and the freshly printed contract lying on the table between you. The tension in the living room was thick.

“I had already settled your debt with Blaire,” you began, your voice calm but firm. “But this conversation is not just about the money. It’s about respect, about responsibility.”

“I said I was sorry.” She crossed her arms, trying to play it cool.

“Sorry doesn’t fix this,” you snapped, your patience was already running thin, barely hanging on by a thread. “I have been providing for you because I want nothing but the best for you. But what you did was careless, and you disrespected everything I’ve done for you. You didn’t even ask me before borrowing that money, and then you just blatantly assumed I would handle it. You do this every time to me, you always get me into awkward and humiliating situations.”

She bit her lip, her attitude wavering. “I know, but you make so much—”

“That’s not the point!” You cut her off, about to lose your cool but Oscar had managed to calm you down by softly caressing your back. “Yes, I make good amount of money, but that money just doesn’t magically appear. I have worked hard, harder than you can imagine, to get to where I am. Do you want to know what’s worse? What’s worse is that you’re not even thinking about how hard it is to earn that money, how I burn myself off everyday. So I’m making you earn it back.” You slid the contract towards her.

“What’s this?” She looked down at it, then back at you, looking all confused.

“It’s an agreement,” you said. “I’ve decided to give you the five thousand dollars. Consider what you bought from that money as a gift, because I know you’ve been doing well in school, and it’s been a while since I’ve given you anything. But this will never happen again. You owe me that money, and you're going to pay it back. Every cent of it, with interest.” Her eyes widened, and she opened her mouth to protest, but you cut her off before she could even speak.

“This is not negotiable. I’m still going to support you, I’m still going to pay for your tuition, but you need to learn how hard it is to earn this kind of money. You’re going to work for it, and I'll expect proof—payslips, records—everything. If you miss a payment, there will be penalties added, and if you refuse or try to make a fool out of me, I’m not afraid to take legal action.”

“You’d sue me? Your own sister?” She stared at you in disbelief.

“Yes, I would,” you said coldly. “I don’t want to, but you’ve left me with no choice. You are already eighteen and will turn nineteen in two months, you are already capable of knowing what’s right and wrong. You need to understand that I’m not going to bail you out every time you mess up, this is your responsibility now.”

For a long moment, she didn’t say anything. Her face was a mix of shock and anger, but you could tell the gravity of the situation was already starting to sink in.

“I’m not trying to be harsh,” you said softly, leaning forward. “But I’ve been in your shoes, and I know firsthand how hard life can be. I have shielded you from that, and maybe that was my mistake. But if you’re going to succeed in this world, you need to understand that nothing is free, nothing in life is free. Everything comes with a cost.”

Oscar then leaned forward, gently placing a hand on your shoulder. “Look, we’re not doing this to hurt you,” he added, tone gentle but firm. “But this is a wake-up call. You need to understand how your sister has worked so hard, and how important it is that you start contributing. No one’s saying you have to do it alone, but you have to start doing something.”

Your sister’s eyes shifted between the two of you, and for a moment, you saw a flicker of guilt in her expression. She glanced back down at the contract, and you handed her a pen.

“Okay,” she whispered. “I’ll do it. I’ll pay you back.” Her attitude and defiance slowly faded from her face.

“Good.” You nodded, “then sign it.”

She hesitated for only a moment before scribbling her signature across the bottom of the contract. You felt a strange mixture of relief and sadness, knowing you had to be this tough, but also hoping it would be the turning point she needed.

“You can stay with us while you’re in Monaco,” you told her, “but I expect you to find a job as soon as possible. If you fail to keep up with your end of the deal, there will be consequences. Understood?”

“Understood.” She nodded, though her expression was still a mix of resentment and defeat.

You exhaled, feeling a small sense of relief wash over you. This wasn’t easy, and you hated having to be this strict with her, but it had to be done. Oscar wrapped his arm around you, his touch grounding as soon as you watched your sister head towards the guest room.

“You did the right thing,” he said quietly.

“I hope so,” you whispered, leaning into him. “I just want her to grow up.”

“Don’t worry, she will.” Oscar assured you, pressing a soft kiss to the side of your head. “With you as her sister, she doesn’t have much of a choice,”

Later that evening, the apartment finally fell quiet, dinner was definitely awkward and quiet, but with your sister already tucked away in the guest room, the weight of everything you had said and done began to settle in. You were sitting at the edge of the bed, heart heavy and mind replaying what had happened earlier over and over. The way your sister had looked at you—hurt and angry—it cut deeper that you were willing to admit.

You had always been strong, but this strength had come with a cost. Now, sitting in the stillness of the night, the reality of your actions hit you like a tidal wave. It wasn’t just the contract or the money, it was the fear—the fear that in trying to teach her a lesson, you might have pushed her too far. That in being the disciplinarian, you had damaged something that might never fully recover or heal.

Oscar entered the room quietly, sensing the shift in your mood. He sat beside you, his presence had always been comforting, but it wasn’t enough to stop the flood of emotions you had been holding back.

“Was I too harsh, Osc?” You whispered, voice barely audible.

He frowned slightly, tilting his head to look at you. “No, you weren’t. She needed to hear all of it.”

“I know,” you replied, voice trembling. “But what if I lose her because of this? What if she hates me for it?”

You felt your tears welling up again, but this time you couldn’t stop them anymore. They spilled down your cheeks, unchecked, as you finally let go of the tension and frustration you had been carrying.

“I’m not being harsh to punish her, I just want her to understand how hard life is, how much I’ve sacrificed. But what if all she sees is me being cruel?”

Oscar pulled you close, wrapping his arms around you as you broke down. You rested your head on his chest, sobs coming in waves, guilt and fear crashing over you. You had always been strong for so long—too long—and now, it felt like everything was unraveling.

“She’s my baby sister,” you choked out between sobs. “I don’t want to lose her. But I don’t know what else to do. I don’t want her to think I’m just some heartless person who only cares about money.”

Oscad held you tighter, his voice calm and steady as he spoke. “She won’t hate you. Not forever. She’s upset now, sure. But she’s young, and right now, she probably doesn’t understand why you’re doing this. But she will, trust me. One day, she’ll look back at it and realize that you did this because you love her.”

You shook your head, your chest tightening with the weight of your emotions. “I feel like I’m always the one who has to be the bad guy. I never get to be the one who’s just there for her, to support her without judgment.”

Oscar stroked your hair gently, his voice soothing. “You’ve done more for her than anyone else ever could. You’ve given her everything. You’re not the bad guy, you’re her protector, even when it means being tough on her. Yeah, maybe this will cause a rift for now, but it won’t last. She’ll come around, she’ll see that you’re doing this because you care.”

You pulled away slightly, wiping at your tear-streaked face. “What if she doesn’t?”

“She will,” Oscar said firmly. “But even if it takes time, you can’t keep beating yourself up for doing what’s right. You’re teaching her a lesson that no one else will. You’re giving her the tools to grow up, to be responsible. Sometimes, that means being tough. That’s tough love.”

You nodded, but the guilt still gnawed at you. “I just wish I didn’t have to be this person all the time. The one who fixes things, who keeps everyone in line.”

“I know. But you’re not doing this alone anymore, okay? I’m here. Whenever it feels like it’s too much, rest on me. You can always rest on me.”

You leaned into him again, his warmth easing the ache that you’re feeling inside of you. “I just hope she understands someday,” you whispered.

“She will,” Oscar said softly, kissing the top of your head. “And until then, you’ve done what you needed to do. You’ve set her on the right path, and that’s what matters.”

As the tears slowly subsided, you felt a flicker of hope, knowing that even though this was hard, it was necessary. Even if your sister doesn't see it now, you could only hope that one day, she would understand that everything you did was out of love.

The weight on your shoulders became a little lighter, knowing that Oscar was right. Even if it took time, even if there were still battles to fight, you knew you weren’t facing them alone anymore, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to breathe. You had done what needed to be done. Now it was up to your sister to follow through.

[elssero]

overheard.

k.bakugo

-in which bakugo overhears you talking about him with the girls... super whipped bakugo. cute confessions.

he knows he shouldn’t have followed him.

when sero dared him and denki to listen in on your conversations during girls night he knew it was wrong.

he knew it was wrong when he got up to follow his friend, he knew it was wrong on the walk to the room and he knows that it’s wrong now- while his ear is pressed against the door.

he doesn’t know why he followed denki- all he knows is that he’s now found himself pressed up against the wall- breathing silently as to not alert any of you of their position.

he can hear the conversation surprisingly clearly- it’s something stupid about your celebrity crushes- he wasn’t aware that girls were so.. vulgur?

“wait okay i’ve got a good one-“ it’s mina he hears- her loud voice clear as day as she begins her question- “if you had to go on a date with one of the guys in our class- who would it be?”

gasps burst throughout the room at the end of her question- giggles coming from a few of you-

he feels denki nudge his side- when he looks to the left he sees a knowing look in the boy eyes.

it’s not a secret as to who’s answer he wants to hear- it’s yours. it just so happens that almost every single one of his friends had somehow figured out about his little crush on you- everyone but you at least.

“okay okay- i’ll go first-” he doesn’t make care for minas answer, she says something about kirishima before admitting she could never actually date him- they’re too close for that. so she settles on todoroki.

gasps of surprise seem to come from the girls after that answer- “it’s not an actual crush!- he’s just handsome!”

it’s hagakure who goes next- she makes a small comment about todoroki that mina quickly agrees with before making the final decision on ojiro-

uraraka refuses to answer- teasing questions are asked about izuku- or iida? bakugo is forced to hold in a scoff.

“cmon yn! you gottta tell us!” the mention of your name brings bakugo back to focus, ears perking up as to not miss your answer.

“okay- you guys have to promise not to judge.” the excited squeals of the girls are followed with an array of promises not to judge you-

“well if i had too- it would probably be bakugo.”

his heart is beating faster than it ever has before- you just said his name. his name. out of everyone in your class you’d want him.

oh. oh.

the laughs from the girls are completely tuned out as bakugo begins to take in what you’d said. squeals of excitement are quickly turned into a bombarding of questions.

“but- why? he’s such a dick?” laughs are heard from jirou as she questions you- bakugo is too infested in your answer to take note of the insult.

“well- i guess that’s kinda what i like about him?” confused murmurs are heard from the girls surrounding you- urging you to continue.

“yes he’s loud- and obnoxious- but i guess i can’t help but find that- almost charming?”

words of disagreement leave your friends mouths.

it’s only when denki taps his shoulder when he realises his friend is still stood next to him- his jaw is dropped as he looks at the blonde. it takes him a second before he realises he feels the heat in his face- a clear blush across his features.

bakugo turns away in an instant- making his way back to the kirishimas room where they had been previously hanging out.

he slams the door behind him and denki hard- immediately pressing his back against the door letting his head fall back as he gains his breathe.

“so? what did you guys hear?” he can’t even answer sero when he asks- far too busy thinking about what you had said-

“oh- just that if yn had to go out on a date with anyone in the class, it would be our bakugo-” he could slap denki right now- if he wasn’t so starstruck.

kirishima jumps up immediately- wrapping an arm around his friends shoulders. “bakugo- man this is great! you totally have a shot!”

he wants to answer- tell his friends to shut up- but his throat feels dry and the words won’t come out, still attempting to get ahold on his breathing he shoves kirishima away from him.

“i- i fuck i don’t know how to do this shit.”

“don’t worry about it man- we’ll wingman you-” kirishima’s words of encouragement are swiftly cut off by a knock at the door. despite not knowing who it is- a pit forms in bakugos stomach.

slowly and silently bakugo moves away from the door to allow his red haired friend to greet whoever is on the other side.

“hey- is bakugo in here? i need to talk to him.” he hears your voice from his spot behind the door as he sinks into the corner, his heart rate begins to sore once again.

“yeah he’s here!” the grip on his shirt is strong as it pulls him out of his hiding spot- now finding himself face to face with you as you eye him suspiciously.

you don’t say anything as you turn away- he watches you walk without moving, feet glued to the floor. kirishima pushes him out the door whispering a quick good luck.

he follows you down the hall- you take a look around you before taking a left, seemingly looking for an empty space.

his heart is beating out of his chest so fast he’s afraid you might hear it, he watches you walking in front of him in complete silence, it feels like torture.

you stop at the end hall and before turning around to look behind him- your making sure your alone before you finally turn to look at him again.

you stare at him expectingly and he feels his stress levels rise- he needs to know what you want from him and now.

“we heard you.” his previously ferociously beating heart feels as though it’s stopped- falling flat into his stomach.

“w-what’re you talking about?” if the stutter in his usually brash voice isn’t enough- you know that bakugo isn’t an idiot, and you know that he’s aware exactly what your talking about-

“earlier- you were eavesdropping on us.” the temperature in the hall feels as through its increasingly rising- he feels the tips of his ears getting warmer the longer you look at him for.

“i-ive got no idea what your talking about.” you take a step closer to him now- he has to stop himself from scurrying away.

“so it wasn’t you outside mina’s form earlier?” a lump forms in bakugos throat- he feels pathetic, how can he manage to be so strong but completely crumble when it came to you?

“we did some eavesdropping of our own.” bakugo watches as the look in our eye changes- casting a teasing look as you continue.

“what exactly was it that you and your friends were just talking about?”

he wants to answer you- he truly does. he feels the weight of the feelings he’s had for you since last year, he wants needs to tell you.

he remembers all the stolen glances he gives you, how sometimes he would catch your eye and it would plague his thoughts for days after.

the things he wishes he could do with you come to mind, the list of spots he’s found that he’s certain you’d love- that he’d love to show you.

he thinks about how he wants to be there for you, to be the person you reach for, your safe space.

he wants to tell you.

“you- we were talking about you” he blurts it out before he can think about it properly, your eyes widen slightly, clearly taken aback.

“it’s always you.” he takes a deep breath before he continues, deciding not to rush himself.

“your the first thing i think of when i wake up- and the last thing i think of before i fall asleep. i- fuck- i think about you all the time.” he holds your stare as he continues- hoping- praying you can reciprocate his feelings.

“i can’t get you out of my head and- i’ve never felt like this before-“ taking long breath- the tension in this stupid hallway seems to only be growing before he closes his eyes.

“i like you- alot.”

silence follows his confession- bakugos eyes still glued shut as his breathes deepen, hands slightly shaking as they rest by his sides.

he opens his eyes slowly- half expecting you to have walked away before he catches the first glimpse of your face. that stupid smile plastered on it.

he takes you in- his eyes now fully open as you looks in you in a daze, you finally begin to speak.

“i know.” it’s almost a whisper when you say it- the weight of your words not fully settled in before his initial confused disappears- he can’t help the way that the tone of your voice makes him feel instantly comfortable.

“i like you too.”

[verstappenverse]

What We Never Said

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: Max Verstappen, your best friend, has always been a constant in your life. But when jealousy surfaces over a recent date, it stirs emotions he hadn’t quite confronted. Is there more between you two than just friendship?

1.9k words / Masterlist

Max had always been good at keeping his cool. On the track where everything is measured in tenths of a second and a moment’s hesitation can cost everything, keeping a level head was what set him apart from the others. But lately away from the track something had been gnawing at him, disrupting his usually unshakeable focus.

It wasn’t new this feeling it had been there for a long time, simmering quietly beneath the surface. Max knew that. He was painfully aware of it in every shared glance, every late-night conversation, and in the way your laugh could instantly pull him out of his darkest moods. For years you’d both kept things easy, uncomplicated, two best friends never crossing the invisible line that tethered you close but never too close.

At least that’s how it was supposed to be.

It wasn’t until a few nights ago when he overheard a casual comment at a party that Max realised how fragile that balance really was.

“I didn’t know you’d gone on a date,” your friend had said her voice light and teasing.

Max wasn’t eavesdropping intentionally he had been halfway through a conversation with another driver when the words hit him like a punch to the gut. He barely registered what was being said to him after that. His attention had been locked on you, watching the subtle shift in your posture as you casually replied.

“Yeah,” you said, like it was nothing. “We went for dinner and drinks, it was really nice...he was nice.”

Max’s hand had tightened around his drink. Nice. The word grated against Max’s nerves. The conversation around him faded into white noise as his mind fixated on what you hadn’t said, on what you’d kept from him. A date? You’d gone on a date? Since when did you go on dates without mentioning it to him? It felt like the ground beneath him had shifted, like something fundamental had changed, though he couldn’t quite explain why.

For the rest of the evening Max stayed quiet his usual easy-going demeanour replaced by something darker, something more brooding. You didn’t seem to notice or if you did, you didn’t bring it up. But every time he looked at you all he could think about was someone else sitting across from you, someone else making you laugh, someone else getting to know the parts of you that Max had always believed were his to cherish.

-------------------

He thought about it more than he should have over the following days, a slow burn of frustration and confusion twisting in his chest. It wasn’t that he had a claim over you but there had always been something unspoken between the two of you, and hearing about you with someone else, someone who wasn’t him, made it feel like everything was slipping through his fingers.

Max found himself at your door days later, heart racing in a way that had nothing to do with the adrenaline of racing. He wasn’t sure what he was going to say only that the unresolved tension between you needed addressing.

The door opened and there you were, smiling like always, the kind that usually made his stomach flip, but today it only made him more tense. “Hey you,” you greeted stepping aside to let him in.

He walked in without hesitation, but his usual ease was nowhere to be found. He hadn’t been able to shake the image of you with someone else. Max had tried to push it down, to convince himself that it was none of his business. You were your own person, free to do whatever – or whomever – you wanted. But the truth was, it did bother him. A lot more than he cared to admit.

He dropped onto your couch more tense than he’d been in weeks. You sat down next to him, your brow furrowing as you picked up on his mood. Max was many things, but unreadable was not one of them. He wore his emotions on his sleeve and right now you could sense the storm brewing behind his usually calm exterior. His jaw was clenched, and you could see the tension radiating off of him in waves.

“What’s up with you?” you asked, tone light but probing. “You seem… off.”

He wanted to shrug it off, say it was nothing, but the words wouldn’t come. He couldn’t pretend anymore, not with you.

Instead he turned toward you, his blue eyes sharp “Why didn’t you tell me you went on a date?”

Your expression shifted subtly, surprise, then confusion trying to place his tone, “I didn’t think it was a big deal.”

A beat of silence passed, Max could hear the faint hum of the city outside your apartment window, but inside, the air felt thick weighted with something unsaid.

“I overheard you the other night,” he continued, his voice rougher than he intended.

You blinked, processing his words. “You overheard?”

Max nodded, watching you closely waiting for some kind of explanation that would ease the knot in his chest. But you just sat there, not defensive, not guilty, just calm.

You hadn’t kept it from him on purpose. In fact you didn’t even think it was that big of a deal. The date had been fine, nice, but nothing extraordinary, certainly not enough to warrant telling Max about it right away.

“It wasn’t anything serious,” you said after a long pause. “Just dinner. I didn’t think it was worth mentioning.”

Max exhaled sharply running a hand through his hair. “And if it had been serious?”

Now you were even more confused. Your eyes met his then, a flicker of something passed between you. “Why does it matter?”

That was the question, wasn’t it? Why did it matter? He wasn’t your boyfriend. Hell, he wasn’t even sure what he was anymore, except confused. Maybe a little scared. The kind of fear that sinks deep, the kind that makes you realise you’ve been taking something for granted.

“Because it does,” he muttered quietly, his voice tight.

You leaned back slightly, studying him. There was something different about the way you looked at him now, more attuned to whatever was hanging between you. You’d always known that Max was protective of you, but this? This was something else entirely.

“You’ve never cared before,” you said, your voice quieter now, like you were piecing together a puzzle neither of you had fully acknowledged.

Max hesitated then sighed. “Maybe I should’ve.”

The words were out before he could stop them, and they hung in the air, heavier than anything he’d ever admitted to you before.

You didn’t respond right away. The silence stretched, uncomfortable in a way that it never had been between the two of you. And then, after what felt like an eternity you leaned forward resting your elbows on your knees hands clasped in front of you.

“Is that what this is all about? Me going on a date and not telling you?” You paused, your eyes searching his face,“Or is it something else?”

He didn’t answer, couldn’t answer. Because of course it was something else. It had always been something else. He just hadn’t let himself admit it not until now, not until the idea of you with someone else had thrown everything into sharp, painful focus, and maybe that wasn't fair but he didn't know how he could go back now.

Max stood, pacing the length of your living room his mind racing. “I don’t know,” he finally muttered, though it was a lie. He did know. He just wasn’t sure how to say it, cross the line you’d both been skirting around, to take years of friendship and lay it bare without ruining everything.

“Max,” you said softly, your voice pulling him out of his thoughts. “Look at me.” You needed to hear him say it. You needed to know if what you felt for him was mutual or if you were reading too much into this.

He stopped pacing but didn’t turn around right away. His fists clenched at his sides, and for the first time in a long time, Max felt completely out of control. It wasn’t like driving where every move was calculated, where he could read the car, the track, the competition with precision. This was messier, rawer, and there was no strategy for it.

Finally, he turned to face you his blue eyes meeting yours. There was no running from it anymore, no pretending that what he felt for you was anything less than what it really was.

“I didn’t like it,” he said quietly, the admission catching in his throat. “Hearing you talk about him… I hated it.”

You didn’t look away but your eyes softened, your expression still guarded.

“Why?” you asked, though your tone told him you already knew the answer.

Max let out a shaky breath. “Because… I’ve always wanted it to be me.”

The confession hung in the air, and for the first time with you Max felt truly exposed, vulnerable. The invisible line between you two, the one he’d always danced around, was gone.

All the emotions you’d been burying for so long, all the feelings you’d tried to convince yourself weren’t there, came rushing to the surface.

You walked toward him slowly, and for a moment, Max wasn’t sure what you were going to say, but when you reached him you didn’t say anything. Instead you just looked at him, really looked at him, like you were seeing him in a way you hadn’t before.

“I’ve always wanted it to be you, too,” you whispered, the words so soft he almost missed them.

“I didn’t want to ruin things between us,” Max continued, “I didn’t want to lose you. But hearing about you with someone else… it made me realise that maybe I’ve already lost you and I didn’t even know it.”

You took a step closer to him your heart pounding in your chest. “You haven’t lost me."

His heart clenched, and before he could stop himself, he reached out, gently cupping your face with his hand. Your skin was warm beneath his palm and for the first time in days the tension in his chest eased slightly.

You didn’t pull away, you stepped closer eyes never leaving his. It was as if all the years of unspoken tension between you had finally come to a head, and neither of you could ignore it anymore.

He leaned in, slowly, cautiously, giving you every chance to pull away. But you didn’t. And when his lips finally met yours it was like everything he hadn’t been able to say, everything he’d been holding back for years, poured into that kiss.

It wasn’t hurried or desperate. It was slow, deliberate, a moment stretched out between two people who had spent too long pretending they didn’t want this. Max’s arms wrapped around you as the kiss deepened, but still, there was a softness to it a tenderness that spoke of the years of friendship, of trust.

When the kiss broke, you both stood there inches apart breathing in the moment. Max's hand lingered on your cheek his thumb brushing lightly against your skin.

“You know,” you whispered, smiling against his lips teasing, “this is probably something you should’ve told me ages ago.”

Max let out a soft laugh, his forehead resting against yours. “Yeah, well” he said, his voice low and teasing back, “I guess this means I can stop pretending I’m okay with you dating other people now," you laughed softly as he smirked "but I wasn’t too worried, everything’s about timing isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” you murmured, your lips brushing his. “I guess you got it right.”

"Finally," he whispered with a grin, before pulling you into another kiss.

[not-neverland06]

conflicted spaces

Arthur Morgan x fem!reader

a/n: He doesn’t get TB in this. Why? Because this is fanfiction and I’m god and fuck canon (I just finished the game, I’m emotionally distraught and needed this)

Warnings: brief attempted SA

Summary: Your father is a gambling man and you’re always the collateral. He refuses to pay the wrong man and now you’re being dragged across country roads to a man you’ve never met. Arthur Morgan, an outlaw down to the bone, is in charge of making sure you get there in one piece. Except, he doesn’t feel right selling a woman off like she’s property.

You’re done being a doormat and letting the men in your life tell you what you’re worth. You’ve got three days to escape him, but you’re not prepared for the reality of the real world.

“Put your hands where I can see ‘em, cowboy.” Arthur’s shoulders tense and he curses under his breath. His hand darts to the revolver on his hip, but the second his fingers twitch towards it he hears a hammer being pulled back. The cool barrel of a gun digs into his neck and he raises his hand in surrender. 

The man behind him lets out a familiar laugh and tugs him around. Arthur rolls his eyes and glares at Dutch. “The hell are you doing?”

Dutch clears his throat, still laughing slightly. “Relax, Arthur, but if I had been an O’Driscoll you’d be dead right now.” Arthur doesn’t point out that the only thing they have to worry about out here are the Lemonye raiders. He’s more focused on why Dutch is even out here. Rarely does he leave Shady Belle to traverse the streets of St. Denis. 

None of them are particularly fond of the place. If he wanted to step in horse shit every other step he’d go to a stable. At least those smell better. Dutch slings an arm around Arthur’s shoulder, tugging him away from the saloon he was heading towards. 

“You’re gonna have to save the cheating for later, Arthur, I need you for something.”

“You know I don’t cheat,” Arthur jokes and Dutch grins at him and it’s nice. This is familiar to him. This feels right. Dutch has been odd lately, the jobs he’s been taking, the risks he’s been imposing, none of them feels like the man he knows. 

Now, Arthur would follow Dutch straight into hell without being asked. But he can’t abide by how he’s putting their people in harm's way. He’s felt like a stranger more often than not and he’s been doubting the people he shouldn’t. Right now, though, he can see the man he knows in the teasing curl of his lips. 

“What’dya need?”

Dutch pauses in front of a tailor and pats Arthur’s chest. “I need you to look prim and proper for a party we’ve got tonight.”

Arthur’s brows furrow cynically and he scoffs. “Someone invited us to a party?”

Dutch hesitates, a stiff smile on his face. “Well, let’s just say someone is interested in our work.” Arthur wants to question him further, he’s hiding something from him. But Dutch is pushing him towards the door of the shop before he can argue. “And get a haircut, we need to look presentable not like a bunch of mountain men.”

Arthur watches as Dutch leaves, something heavy weighing down on him. Dutch doesn’t usually tell people about his plans beforehand. At least not every step of them. But this is odd, he’s definitely hiding something and Arthur isn’t sure he wants to know what. 

With a resigned huff, he heads into the tailor. He has to mentally prepare himself for being stuffed into a starched collar and a stiff suit for the rest of the night. He hates these damn parties, hates having to pretend like he knows what the hell is being said. 

Most of the people that attend are educated or pretend to be. And when he lets it slip that he’s more likely to shoot a gun than read a book they turn on him like jackals. You can’t let them see that you’re different than them or you’ll never get a word in edgewise. 

The only part he enjoys is the booze and robbing them of their money. It’s not like they earned any of it. Most of it was made by breaking the backs of the people they mock for being too poor to afford a fancy suit. 

Arthur takes a deep breath and looks for the cheapest suit he can find in the overpriced shop. 

“Now,” Mr. Crane’s hand tightens around your bicep and he jerks you closer to him. You keep your face impassive, not letting him see just how much he’s hurting you. But you can feel your skin being stretched to its limits by his clammy fingers. “You’re going to behave tonight. I’ve got a few gentlemen I’d like you to meet.”

He looks at you expectantly but you keep your mouth firmly shut. His eyes narrow and he jerks you around roughly. “Understood,” you force the word out through gritted teeth. You’re trying to breathe as little as possible, not wanting to smell his cigar-laced breath any longer. 

Finally, after a tortuously long moment, he releases you. You take ten steps back, smoothing out nonexistent wrinkles from the silk skirt he’d forced you in. You glance out the window of his office, watching as the workers scramble to set up the tables for tonight. You can hear cooks in the kitchen, shouting out orders for the food for tonight. 

Everything must be perfect. Mr. Crane never fails to deliver on his extravagantly indulgent parties. The man himself is the very embodiment of greed. You glance over with a disgusted sneer as he sinks himself into his leather chair and pulls out a wad of cash. 

He catches your eye and sends you a sickly sweet smile. “This,” he waves the money at you and you track the movement boredly. “Is how much you’re worth, sweetheart.” Your brows raise in amusement and you scoff. More than you thought he would put up for you. 

You wonder who he’s going to have transport you. He’ll need you out of the city soon, your father is starting to catch onto what’s happening. It took him long enough. You’ve been missing a month, you’d think he would have put two and two together faster. Then again, he’d never been very interested in you beyond what you were worth to others. 

“When will I be able to meet these gentlemen?” You ask, taking a step towards him. Your eyes dart towards the letter opener on his desk and for a brief moment you picture yourself strabbing it into his fattened jugular. 

But he flicks his wrist and like magic the door opens, his men coming inside and standing resolutely by your side. “Not anytime soon, my dear.” He looks to the men surrounding you and you take in a sharp breath, wishing you’d just taken the chance when you had it. “My associate is feeling quite tired, take her back to her room, please.”

They grab you by the elbows, even though it's entirely unnecessary. You wouldn’t run, and even if you did you wouldn’t get far with the chains he has hidden under your dress. A punishment for the first time you snuck from his home. You’ve been well behaved since then but he doesn’t trust you. 

You’re whisked away without another word. The trek of the stairs is a slow one. They’re forced to help you navigate by lifting your skirts and not tripping on the chains. It no longer brings you any satisfaction to cause a hindrance in any of their days. 

Before, you would think of being an annoyance as a small victory. But it’s not, it never was. It was just a way for them to keep you complacent by allowing you to think you’d done something for yourself. You believe your father used to do the same thing. 

It’s just another way of keeping you quiet. 

When you make it to your rooms, they shove you inside. Like clockwork, you hear the jingle of the keys and then the lock clicks. You sigh and take a step towards your vanity, working on touching up your hair. 

You think the worst part of this must be how well you’re treated. You have meals made by a private chef. Your quarters are decorated more lavishly than they ever were at your father’s house. Yet, you hear the suffocating tick of the clock as it counts down your doom. 

You’re not entirely sure what their plan is with you. You know your father had made a promise to Mr. Crane involving some land. Or perhaps it had been a wager. But as always, you were collateral when your father refused to pay up. 

You know Mr. Crane wants you out of town so that he has more time to negotiate with your father, to call in the interest he owes him. You also know the only reason your father is interested in finding you is because you’re meant to marry the son of a business partner in two months. The money he’ll get from that will be enough to finally pay off his debts. 

Except, now, Mr. Crane tells you that should your father refuse to pay you’ll be married to one of his associates. And the deal he’ll make from that will be enough to cover what your father has refused to pay. 

No matter what, you’re going to be married off to some man you’ve never met and yet again be a quiet trophy on a shelf. It’s a very convoluted situation, one which makes you think leaping from a window might be a better fate. 

None of the men your father or Mr. Crane is in business with are particularly kind. They’ve got more skeletons in the closet than there are in the graveyard. You doubt you’ll live a very happy life with whoever they pick for you. 

You slump forward onto the vanity, trying to fight off the burning feeling in the back of your eyes. You’ve known this would happen for years. Even before Mr. Crane had you kidnapped, you knew that this would be your destiny. You would never get to be one of the free-spirited women who fought for the right to choose. You would always be forced into this role. 

Yet, being so close to it coming to fruition makes you feel choked and suffocated. You can feel the noose around your neck tightening, the hangman’s fingers twitching as he waits to see you drop. 

You dig your nails into your palm, taking in a deep breath and fighting back the wave of despair. Where there is doom, you also see a sliver of hope. Your next journey will be a long one. He’s hiring someone to have you transported to an area further up the map. 

If you play your cards right you might be able to escape while you’re traveling. If you’re incredibly smart about this, thinking with your head and not your heart, you might have a shot at freedom. 

You take in a deep breath, reapplying your makeup and resolving yourself to another night of mindless entertainment. But you hold onto that fleeting feeling of hope. You have a shot, you just have to take it. 

Arthur’s heard of these parties before. Some Mr. Crane fella that likes to blow all his money on food and booze. He indulges his guests and when they’re weakest, gets their secrets from them. He’s a snake and everyone knows it. Yet, missing his party is social suicide. They have no choice but to go and indulge in him. 

Arthur had never had any interest in meeting him or doing any business with him. But Dutch had informed him that’s exactly what’s happening tonight. They’ll mingle for a little while, maybe scout some other jobs, and then Mr. Crane will invite them up to his office for a private discussion. 

Dutch still hasn’t told him what exactly their business with him is. He brought Hosea along tonight so he has to assume it’s not going to be anything violent. But he can’t think of anything else they could be good for. 

“Alright, gentlemen,” Dutch places his hands on Hosea’s and Arthur’s shoulders, a scheming smile on his face. “Try not to embarrass me.” He slips behind them, heading up the stairs of the home. Hosea and Arthur share a brief look before they split up, blending into the background of the garden. 

Arthur lurks near the bar, he knows he should be talking to these assholes, possibly learning something useful. But he can’t be bothered. He orders a whiskey, gaze surveying the partygoers. They’re all loud with painted faces and fake smiles. Not a goddamn person here seems to be genuinely interested in anything they’re doing. 

“First time?” The soft voice beside him catches him off guard. He glances to the side and is surprised to see that you’ve slipped past him. He hadn’t even noticed you slide up next to him. You laugh at the look on his face and it’s the first thing here that seems real. “Sorry, it’s just that look on your face, I recognize the disappointment. You’ve never been to one of Crane’s parties before?”

“No,” he clears his throat, still recovering from the surprise. “Uh, I can’t say I have.”

You suck on your teeth, narrowing your eyes at the people passing by. “They’re not worth the effort. Everyone who leaves here leaves carrying his debt on their back.”

Arthur chuckles a little, lips twitching up into a small smile. He’s surprised by your frankness, most people like to hide behind passive-aggressive digs. He appreciates the straightforward attitude. “Then why are you here?”

You shrug and Arthur finds himself enchanted. He shouldn’t be, he’s never been one for romance. He finds women pretty and he’s been in love before, but he’s never bought into the idea of love at first sight. Or any of that mushy stuff that Mary Beth devours in those books of hers. 

But you are absolutely gorgeous, dressed in a silk dress that’s so expensive he’s sure he could buy two new horses with it. Your fingers and neck are decorated in dainty jewels that you fidget with as you stare down at your drink. When you set your eyes on him again he thinks he might have been struck by Cupid’s arrow. 

“I don’t have a choice,” you finally answer, sending him a stiff smile. “What about you? Why are you here?”

Arthur suddenly remembers himself, remembers why he’s here and what he’s supposed to be doing. The fog in his head dissipates and he’s disappointed in himself. Pretty women have never done anything except get him in trouble. 

“Business,” he answers vaguely. Your eyes narrow and your brows twitch in discontent. Something like realization dawns on your face and you back away from him. The easy attitude you’d carried yourself with is gone, replaced by a vague look of distrust. 

“Right, should’ve known.” You let out a rough sigh and Arthur can’t help but feel like he’s said the wrong thing. “I suppose I’ll be seeing you again soon.” You slip past him before he can ask you what you mean. He hears the faint sound of metal clinking as you walk back up the stairs. 

Something silver flashes under your skirts but he can’t get a good glimpse of it. He feels unsettled as he turns back to the bar. The whole interaction was odd. From how stricken he was with you to how cold you turned. 

He doesn’t know what you saw in him but it was probably for the best that you left when you did. Neither of you needed the trouble the other would bring. He shakes his head, downing his whiskey and muttering nonsense to himself about not thinking with the wrong head. 

It’s not that much later that Dutch is appearing on the balcony and silently motions him forward. Arthur leaves the bar behind and slips up the same stairs you’d disappeared on. Dutch says nothing as he leads Hosea and Arthur through the house. 

The mansion is a maze more than anything. Arthur loses track of all the turns they take and the winding staircases they descend. Finally, Dutch stops them all in front of two large oak doors. He raps once on the door and then lets himself in. 

A large, balding man with a shiny head is perched on top of a leather chair. He looms behind his desk, fingers steepled as he greets them all with a false smile. “Ah, gentlemen, so nice to finally meet you.”

Dutch grins and motions to Arthur, “This is the man who will be doing the transporting, Arthur.” Arthur’s eyes narrow in confusion but he says nothing as Dutch moves to Hosea, “And this is my associate, Hosea. He’s a lot better with money than I am, Mr. Crane. You understand.”

Mr. Crane lets out a boisterous laugh that makes Arthur’s ears hurt and nods his head, his cheeks jiggling with the movement. “That I do! Well,” he waves them forward when they linger in the doorway too long, “come in, come in.”

Arthur closes the doors behind them as Mr. Crane lifts himself from his desk. There are two couches positioned in front of an unlit fire. He takes one of them and Dutch and Hosea take the other. Arthur perches himself on the armrest of their couch, eyes surveying the office like it might reveal the truth of their visit. 

“I trust Mr. Van der Linde has kept this all quiet?” 

“He has,” Arthur grouses. 

At the same time, Dutch says, “Of course, Mr. Crane. I promised confidentiality and Dutch Van der Linde is nothing if not a man who keeps to his promises.” Crane nods, looking satisfied and  Arthur holds back a laugh at how easily he seems to trust Dutch.

“Good, good.” He dips his hand inside his jacket and Arthur’s palm instinctively drops to where his gun should be. Of course, they’d had to give up their weapons before they came into the party, if he does has a gun Arthur can’t do a damn thing. 

But he doesn’t, instead, he pulls out the thickest stack of cash that Arthur has ever laid his eyes on. A loud thud resounds through the room as he slams the bills on top of the table between them. Arthur’s eyes widen and Hosea’s jaw nearly drops at the sight of it all. 

This would be enough to get them out of St. Denis tonight. Shock sours quickly into suspicion. What the hell has Dutch signed up for? “Now, this is the first half. This is simply for accepting the job and,” he gives them all severe looks, “for your silence.”

Arthur shifts uncomfortably on his perch and waits for Mr. Crane to finish. “The other half will be given once the package has been safely delivered.” There’s a certain lilt to his words when he says package that has Arthur’s hackles raising. Whatever is getting delivered is not going to be good. 

Crane turns towards the bookshelves on the wall and calls out, “Darling, won’t you join us?” Arthur figures the man must have lost his mind, they should just take the money and leave. But there’s a loud creak and something like metal gears grinding together. One of the shelves pops open and the panel swings forward. 

You pop your head out, glancing towards Crane and then taking a step forward. Arthur, without even thinking about it, finds himself sitting up, and brushing some of the dirt off his pants from the ride over. 

At first, he’s so confused by seeing you again that he doesn’t realize why exactly he’s seeing you again. Then you glance towards him, a knowing look on your face and it clicks. You’re the package. You’re what he’s meant to be transporting. 

He glares over at Dutch, when exactly did they get into the business of trading women?

Hosea voices his doubts in a much calmer manner. “If I may, sir, why does she need to be delivered so discreetly?”

Mr. Crane laughs and your face twitches unpleasantly. You grimace, glaring at the back of the man’s head with something like murder in your eyes. He doesn’t know what he’s done to cause such a visceral look of hate and he doesn’t want to think about it. This whole situation is bothering him. You’re not here willingly, which means you’re not going to be transported willingly either. 

None of this makes sense. Dutch would never have taken a job like this before, even when they needed the money. And there’s no way in hell a rich man like this one would want to pay a couple of grungy outlaws so much money. There’s got to be some sort of trick in all of this. 

Cran clears his throat, “She’s a daughter of a, well,” he frowns and struggles for the words. “Let’s just say we’re in a hostile competition for a lot of land. This land, boys, could be very beneficial in expanding my business. He’s not interested in selling and, well, desperate times, desperate measures.”

You scoff, laughing slightly at him and rounding the couch. Dutch ignores you, Hosea looks uncomfortable, and Crane continues prattling on without missing a beat. “Should her father not pay me, she will be married to the associate you’re bringing her to. He’s promised me enough land and money to cover what I lost to her father. And if he does pay, she’ll be returned in time for her wedding here.”

Arthur’s eyes dart towards you and you send him a bitter smile. It makes him shift where he sits, hating the way your eyes bore into him. “I just need someone who's not afraid of getting their hands a little dirty to make sure she behaves while she’s delivered to my friend,” Crane glances over at Arthur. He asses him, the bulge of his arms in the suit and the scars on his face, whatever he finds must be satisfactory because he smiles over at Dutch. 

Arthur stands, ready for Dutch to tell Mr. Crane that they’re not in the business of selling women off. But Dutch doesn’t, he smiles at Mr. Crane and reaches for the money, passing it off to Hosea to count. “Well, I do believe my friend Arthur is just the man for the job.” 

“I think you’re right, Dutch.” He stands up now, pot belly nearly bursting the buttons of his shirt, and reaches for Dutch’s hand. “Pleasure doing business with you.”

Dutch smiles and takes his sweaty palm, “You as well, sir.” Dutch walks towards you and holds his arm out. “This way, my dear.” You glance between him and his elbow before rolling your eyes and reluctantly placing your hand on his arm. You follow him silently and obediently, no fight is left in you. Hosea follows after you both, a concerned look on his face. 

Arthur remains in the office, standing dumbfounded and staring at the doorway you’d disappeared through. He’s struggling to process what just happened. Arthur has helped people get home safely before and provided protection. But he’s never been one to traffic a hostage. 

Crane glances up, finally noticing him still standing there. He walks past him, patting his shoulder as he does and giving him an approving smile. “Don’t be afraid to take care of her should she get out of hand.” He’s nearly out the door but he looks back and adds, “Just don’t bruise her too much.”

Arthur’s fingers twitch for his revolver once more and he’s never wanted to shoot a man more. But he knows Dutch is waiting for him and he’d never make it out of here alive if he started a fight right now. Reluctantly, he makes his way out of the manor and towards where you’re all waiting for him. 

He’s fuming by the time he stops in front of Dutch. He’s trying to help you onto his horse and Arthur finally realizes what the metal sound he heard earlier is. There are chains around your ankles and you can’t maneuver yourself on the saddle. 

His eyes narrow and he glares at Dutch, “What the hell are you doing? We’re selling women now?”

Dutch glowers at the tone of Arthur’s voice. You watch them both passively, fiddling with the rings on your fingers and looking unbothered by the entire situation. “Watch yourself, Arthur,” there’s a clear warning in his tone but Arthur’s too upset to care. 

They’ve done a lot of bad things. They weren’t good men. But this was just going too far. “We need this, Arthur. You want to get out of here, you want to keep our people safe?” Arthur let out a deep exhale, gritting his teeth together and nodding reluctantly. Dutch huffs, “That’s what I thought. We’re not selling anyone, Arthur. It’s a simple delivery.”

His jaw clenches as he watches Dutch struggle to help you again. “It’s not going to work,” you inform Dutch. You lift your skirts, flashing him the chains he hadn’t seemed to notice yet. Neither of you gets a chance to say anything as Arthur pulls out his gun and shoots the lock off. 

He feels a little guilty at how startled you look. Your eyes widen until they look like they might bulge out. Your hands fly up to cover your ears as the sound rocks through you. It breaks violently through the silence of the night. 

Dutch turns and gives him a stern look, “Have you forgotten the meaning of subtlety?” Arthur can tell he’s trying not to shout and drag any more attention towards you all. 

Arthur glares at Dutch, something wicked brewing in his stomach. “The lady wouldn’t be able to ride a horse like that.” He mounts his horse and rides off without a look back. He can’t stand to be near you or Dutch any longer. 

The reality of what they’ve turned into hits him like a bag of rocks and it makes him irate. They’ve never been these people. Never traded a person off like they were an object. He’s sure plenty of people in camp would have a problem with this. But he doubts Dutch will let them know the truth until the job is done. 

And by then, everyone will be too happy with the money to complain. Dutch is nothing if not good at saving his ass. He’s hitching his horse as the rest of you ride into camp. He lingers by Diablo, resting a hand on the thick neck of the shire while Dutch helps you off the saddle. 

His eyes narrow in on the way Dutch’s fingers glide along your waist as you jump down. You take a step back the second your legs are steady sending Dutch a dirty look that almost makes Arthur laugh. 

He starts towards Dutch, ready to try and reason with him again. But he holds his hand up and walks away, not even giving him a chance to speak. Arthur lets out a rough sigh as Hosea comes up behind him. 

He pats his shoulder comfortingly, “You should get some sleep, Arthur. You’ll ride with her to Strawberry tomorrow morning.” He almost walks off but he whispers a quiet, “I’m sorry,” before he goes. 

Arthur glances towards you but you’re looking around the camp, eyes lingering on Javier as he sings by the fire. He swears he almost sees you smile but it's gone as quickly as it came. He takes his hat off, running his hand through his hair and letting out a tired sigh. 

“Alright, come with me,” he starts towards the house. It takes a minute to realize you’re not directly behind him. When he looks over your shoulder he sees you with your skirts lifted, tiptoeing through the mud and trying not to get your pretty skirts dirty. 

He rolls his eyes, storming back towards you. Your eyes widen at the look on his face and you stumble back a few steps. Undeterred, he bends over, throwing you over his shoulder and walking towards the house. 

Your hands claw at his back, desperately grasping onto his shirt so you keep your balance. He storms up the stairs, ignoring the alarmed looks he gets from others in camp. He can already hear them whispering, wondering who you are and why he’s dragging you into his room. 

They can make up whatever the hell they want. Arthur’s too pissed off to give a shit about rumors tonight. He drops you unceremoniously onto his bed and storms back out. He heads downstairs, rooting around in one of the chests for some extra clothes. 

You won’t be able to ride to Strawberry in those ridiculous clothes. You’ll need some pants if you’re going to sit on the horse properly. He tucks the outfit under his arm and makes his way back to you. 

When he opens the door your hand immediately darts away from his shaving kit and shoves itself under your butt. His brows furrow as he catches a flash of silver in your hand. He places the clothes down on the end of the bed, eyes drifting towards his shaving kit. Sure enough, his razor seems to be missing. 

He lets out a sigh and you tense up, hand clenching around your prize. He briefly debates taking it from you. But he figures you should be allowed a modicum of comfort. Even if you did try and use it against him it’s dull, he hasn’t sharpened it in a while and you wouldn’t be able to do much damage anyway. 

He lets you keep it, leaving you on your own without another word. He can hear the exhale of relief you let out when he walks away and it makes him feel just a little better about this. At least you’re not completely terrified. 

You change into the clothes Arthur gave you. They’re a little big, but you appreciate the pants. It’s much better than the ridiculous dresses Crane had you in. You collect your dress and toss it out the window of Arthur’s room, watching it sink into the mud pit below. It brings you some satisfaction to see Crane’s pretty silk getting ruined. 

You take off the jewelry you’d been given and stuff it into your boots. If you did manage to escape while you were traveling with Arthur then you were going to need some cash. You could sell off the jewels and hopefully, it would be enough to keep you comfortable. 

It feels nice, to wear real clothes. Not being dressed up like a doll for once. You envy some of the women here, who can wear what they want. There is an appeal to the outlaw life. As long as you’re on the right side of it, which, currently, you’re not. 

You slip out of the house before anyone has a chance to retrieve you. The whole night you were curled up around a dull razor with your eyes wide open. Spending a night surrounded by outlaws isn’t exactly restful. 

You figure you might as well try and walk around before you’re on the back of a horse for the rest of the day. There are more people up than you’d expected. Luckily, you don’t see Dutch around anywhere. You don’t feel like having to deal with any more of his false charm or empty apologies. 

The same man you’d seen strumming his guitar the night before is asleep next to the dying fire. A blonde woman catches your eye, she’s walking past some other women in dresses. They’re still asleep but she looks like she’s been up for hours. 

There’s a bit of blood on her pants and you briefly wonder what she’d been doing. “Who are you?” She asks, surveying you from head to toe with suspicion in her eyes. 

“A package,” you tell her bluntly, walking past her towards the only lit fire of camp. She follows you, a wry grin on her face as she watches you pour yourself some coffee. 

“You’ve got a real attitude, I like it.” 

You huff out a laugh, taking a sip of the burnt coffee and giving her a brief smile. “I’m sure my future husband won’t.” 

She rolls her eyes and scoffs, waving you off. “Husbands, good for nothing. I loved mine but he was useless as a sack o’ flour. You’re better off without them.”

Your smile turns strained and you look down at your feet, at the boots that aren’t your own. You’ll never get to dress like this again. Or speak like this to a woman who isn’t afraid to voice what's on her mind. 

“Yes, well,” you shrug and meet her eyes again, “I don’t seem to have much of a choice.”

Her eyes narrow and she frowns, “What’s that supposed to-”

“Mrs. Adler!” Dutch’s voice booms from across the camp and forces the others awake. Most of them grumble, but they’re quick to get started on morning chores. “I see you’ve met our guest,” he says your name with a flourish that almost makes you laugh. 

He’s a good actor. He’s especially good at covering up his mistakes. “Yeah, what’s going on, Dutch? Who is she? Why don’t you guys ever let me in on this stuff?” She fires off questions rapidly, you almost don’t catch them all. There are clearly underlying issues here other than your unexpected presence. 

“In due time,” he assures her, laying the charm on thick. But even you can tell he’s full of it. He’s not planning on letting her in on anything unless it benefits him. “And this is our guest, her fiancee has paid us handsomely to provide her safe passage back to him.” 

He walks towards you, laying a hand over your arm and squeezing slightly. You give Sadie a stiff smile and let him lead you away. “I do believe it’s best that you just wait for Arthur, dear.” He gives you a look that lets you know it’s an order, not a suggestion. 

Still, you play along, “I think you might be right, Mr. Van der Linde, thank you for the hospitality.” You run a tired hand over your face, sitting down on the stoop of the house and finishing off the rest of your coffee. Dutch watches you for a while, never straying too far from where you are and intercepting anyone who asks about you. 

He spins quite the romantic tale of your lost love and how he desperately wants you back. You wish it were true, that you were living out some wonderful fairytale and were about to be reunited with the love of your life. Instead, it feels like one long walk to the gallows. 

The wood creaks behind you and you don’t need to turn to see who it is. “Ready?” Arthur asks and you figure he means, ready to leave freedom and happiness and the will to live behind? 

No, “Sure,” you toss the rest of the coffee into the grass and leave the mug on the stairs. You get to your feet and let him lead you towards the horses. He shares a brief look with Dutch as you pass by him but it doesn’t look entirely pleasant. 

He makes his way toward a towering black shire and your eyes widen in horror. “What’s this?”

He works on saddling the horse up, not paying much attention to you. “This is Diablo.” You take a step closer and the horse starts huffing, swinging his neck towards you with his lips pulled back. You jump back a step back, eyeing him warily. 

Arthur glances over and lets out a low chuckle, “He won’t bite. He’s just curious.”

“Mhm,” you give him a disbelieving look. “You’ll have to excuse me for being wary, I’ve not met a lot of horses.”

Arthur looks a bit shocked by your admission. “Really?” He questions, sounding doubtful. 

You give him a brief smile and nod. “Hard to believe, I know, but I’ve lived a very sheltered life, Mr. Morgan. Haven’t had many opportunities for exploring on my own.” 

He opens his mouth, looking like he wants to say something. At the last second, he stops himself, instead taking a step closer to you. You flinch away from him when he reaches for you and he lets out a sigh. “You can’t spend the next three days terrified of him, come on.”

He coaxes you forward and you reluctantly step closer to the beast. He chuckles at the scared look on your face. You don’t appreciate how much amusement he’s gaining from this. “Come on,” he mutters, taking your wrist and leading you closer to Diablo. 

The damn thing is named Devil, how could you not be terrified of it? 

“He won’t bite, I promise.” You don’t trust him but he doesn’t give you much of a choice. He presses your open palm to Diablo’s nose and you wince, bracing for him to lash out at you. 

But he doesn’t, he lets out a soft knicker and it seems like he doesn’t even care that you’re there. You let out a relieved laugh, running your hand tentatively over his muzzle. It’s shockingly soft and oddly squishy. 

He doesn’t seem to mind as you awe over him. You smile and glance over at Arthur but it drops when you see the odd look on his face. He seems perplexed by your reaction and you can’t fathom why. “You really never have ridden a horse before, have you?”

You shake your head, “No. I told you.”

He purses his lips and nods. You don’t know what it is about this that’s bothering him and you don’t care to ask. If he doesn’t believe just how strict your upbringing has been then fine. “Alright, come on, we need to get a move on.” 

He leads you around to the saddle and helps you up on the back of the horse. It’s beyond odd, sitting on something in pants. Getting to spread your legs freely is something you are going to greatly enjoy during this journey. 

Arthur takes off without much warning and you yelp, throwing your arms around his waist to steady yourself. He glances over his shoulder at you but says nothing. You turn your head, watching as the camp gets smaller and smaller. 

The people mill about, greet each other, and break bread together. It hits you suddenly, this will be the last time you get to see people being free. If you don’t get out, if you can’t escape, your life will be filled with starched collars and powdered faces. You’ll never have a genuine conversation with someone again. You’ll be turned into pretty jewelry hanging off the arm of a man you never met. 

The ride to Strawberry is three days at least. You have three days to get your plan together and to escape. You almost feel sorry for Arthur and the repercussions he’ll have to face losing you. But not sorry enough that you’re not gonna try. 

Arthur’s speed evens out and you let your arms relax, easing away from him slightly. Your wrist jolts against the gun on his hip and you eye it curiously. If you had a gun there would be no doubt you could escape. You see Arthur’s fingers twitch on the reigns of the horse and you move your arms higher up his torso. 

You doubt you’ll be a quicker draw than he is. He is an outlaw after all. You don’t think he’d have many qualms about delivering you to your fiancee with a few extra holes in your gut. Your mind drifts to the razor in your pocket and you consider it for a moment. 

You’re sure you’d be quick enough to just whip it out and slit his throat. You sigh and dismiss the thought. You were a lot of things but you were not a murderer. There are lines you can’t bring yourself to cross. Besides, as wicked as what he’s doing to you is, you know he’s a good man. 

It was an instinctual feeling. Mr. Crane and your father were both horrible, evil men. They knew nothing but greed and would never be satisfied by all the riches they reaped. They were the type of men you looked at and knew deep down that there was nothing left to save. 

Arthur has undoubtedly bad things. You don’t become an outlaw without spilling some blood. He was weathered and rough from a hard life, but that didn’t mean there was nothing good left in him. You won’t have his blood on your hands, no matter how much you might want to get away from him. 

As grateful as Arthur is for the silence, it is odd. He’s helped a few ladies find their way back home before and for some reason, they seem to think he’s the best listener in the world. It seems everyone who rides with him wants to tell him their life stories. 

You’re completely silent, though. He has to keep looking back just to make sure you haven’t fallen off the back of the horse. You’re pretty complacent, following along with whatever Dutch said and coming along quietly. You seem beaten down, the fight dragged out of you. 

He wonders what Mr. Crane had done to you. A few times, he’s seen just a glimpse of the spark that used to be there. But it was snuffed out before he got a chance to know it. He almost wishes you would talk. It would distract him from what he was doing right now.

It didn’t feel right, bringing you along to marry a man you’ve never even met. He has to keep reminding himself that it would have happened no matter what. Ladies like you are always sold off into a profitable marriage. The only thing he’s doing is switching up who the fiancee might be. 

None of that makes him feel better, though. He should be helping you, not dragging you away to your worst nightmare. But, his people come first. The amount of money Dutch’ll get from this will be enough to get them all out of here. This could finally be the last score. 

You gasp behind him and he whips his head around, immediately expecting someone to be following along beside you both. Maybe your father’s men or just some raiders. But he doesn’t see anything except a herd of deer running through the trees. 

His brows furrow in confusion and he glances back at you. You’re watching them like they’re something spectacular. Arthur’s always been a fan of the quiet beauty of nature. He appreciates them in ways most folks don’t understand. But you’re looking at ‘em like you just found God. 

“Never seen deer before?” He teases, chuckling a little at your reaction. 

You startle, not realizing he had been watching. You clear your throat and look away from them sheepishly. He almost feels bad for ruining the moment for you. “No. No, I haven’t.” 

He knows it's possible, but it’s astounding to him that someone truly lived their whole life in the city. It just doesn’t seem right. Cities are full of shit, smog, and bad people. Not even having a moment out of that your whole life seems like torture. 

“I’ll just enjoy it while it lasts,” you mutter, eyes darting back to the tree line. But the deer are gone and you don’t look very interested anymore. 

“Right,” he shifts forward, the air between you awkward. He’d only meant it in jest. He didn’t mean to remind you of what was about to happen to you. He doesn’t like the silence, not this time, it feels wrong. It makes him stew in his shame and that’s a nasty feeling. 

Selfishly, he prods you for more. “A few days on the road, you’ll be eager for the city again.”

You laugh but there’s no humor to it. “I very much doubt that Mr. Morgan.”

“Arthur,” he corrects, “just call me Arthur.”

“Right,” your tone remains cold, “well if you don’t mind Arthur, I’d like to ride there in silence.”

He's got no other choice but to comply. If you don’t want to talk he won’t make you. He just wishes he could make this a little easier for you both. 

Camping is something. You don’t have a word for it. It’s nice to be out in nature and embrace it for the first time in your life. But you really would not mind the comfort of your bed right now. 

Rocks digging into your spine and head do not make for a good night’s sleep. You’ve been lying in front of the fire for hours, flipping around uselessly. It doesn’t matter how much you shift, the rock stays digging painfully into you. 

You let out a loud huff, flopping onto your back and glaring up at the starry sky in defeat. At least the view is nice. In the city, you can’t see the stars. The smoke’s too thick and you never get a good look at them.

Out here, they almost feel fake. They’re so bright and beautiful, you thought the paintings in the museum had always been exaggerating just how breathtaking a night sky can be. But you were wrong. And you hate that there’s a potential future where you’ll never get to see this again. 

“Would you quit squirming so damn much?”

You shoot up, resting on your elbows and glaring over at Arthur. He’s got his hat over his eyes, arms crossed, and looking like he’s been asleep for the past few hours. You hadn’t realized you’d been keeping him up. 

“Some of us aren’t used to sleeping outside,” you hiss, throwing yourself back down to the ground. He doesn’t say anything for a while and you figure that’s the end of it. You clench your eyes shut, counting sheep in your mind and trying to force yourself asleep. 

You hear boots crunching across leaves and your eyes fly open. Arthur’s standing over you, hands propped on his hips as he glares down at you. “Can I help you?” You snap when you get tired of the staring. 

He scoffs and shakes his head, kneeling to be eye level with you. You’re startled by the proximity, an odd heat creeping up your neck. “Come on, I’m gonna tire you out. Maybe then you’ll get some sleep.”

You gasp, astonished at the audacity of his suggestion. “Excuse me?” You demand, tone incredulous. 

His brows furrow before he shakes his head and rolls his eyes. “Not like that,” he grouses. “Get up,” he doesn’t give you much of a choice. He places his hand under your back, shoving you onto your feet. You stand with a slight stumble, glaring at him as you brush dirt off your shirt and pants. 

You can’t help the snotty tone of your voice as you ask, “What are we doing?” 

“Huntin,’” He answers gruffly, going over to the horse and taking the bow out of his saddle. 

Your brows furrow as you recall the few stories your father told you of hunting bison. “Aren’t you supposed to use a rifle?”

He shakes his head and nods towards the treeline. You glance back at the fire before reluctantly following him into the dark forest. The moon is full enough that it provides just enough light for you not to be terrified of what’s lurking in the underbrush. 

“Got a friend,” he tells you, kneeling and glancing at some tracks on the ground. “Taught me how to hunt properly. Bows are quieter, less disruptive, and they provide quicker, cleaner kills.” He looks back at you and motions towards the arrows, “Less pain for the animal.”

Your face slacks with something like astonishment. All you’d heard from your father was the thrill of the hunt, the satisfaction of the kill. He never mentioned keeping anything from the animal, using it for meat, or about how long it took for them to die. You’d never thought there was anybody who actually cared for the creature’s comfort as it died. 

You suppose there’s going to be a lot about Arthur that’s different from the men you know. 

“Arthur,” a twig snaps behind you, and your eyes widen. You drop your voice to a whisper, not wanting to draw too much attention towards you both. “I don’t want to kill anything,” you hiss.

“Ha!” He barks out a laugh and you purse your lips in irritation. He stands and looks at you, chuckling again before shaking his head. “I wouldn’t be so confident in your huntin’ skill, kid.”

You click your tongue and glare at him, “Don’t call me that,” you snap. It’s the same patronizing nickname your father loved to use on you and you detest it. He raises his hands in surrender and you roll your eyes at the smirk on his face. “Then what’s the point of this?”

He shrugs and heads further into the trees, you have no choice but to follow along behind him. “Figure you should be taught a few skills before I get rid of ya.”

You want to argue with him that there’s no point. If you are given to Crane’s associate, you’ll never set foot in the woods again. However, if you do manage to escape him, learning a few survival skills wouldn’t be a bad idea. 

So, you keep your mouth shut and let him lead you through the forest. “How do you know where to go?” You ask, trying to figure out what it is he keeps looking at in the mud. He waves you forward, moving you so you’re standing directly in front of him. 

“You see that?” You have to squint, relying solely on the light from the moon, to make out what he’s pointing at. There are some tracks in the mud that look vaguely like hooves. “It’s buck tracks, you can tell by the size.” He kneels and when you don’t follow he tugs you down by the sleeve. “You can’t rely on just the tracks, though. You have to look for other signs of ‘em.”

You glance around, noticing some crushed twigs and grass a few feet ahead. “Like that?” You point towards it and he huffs in amusement. 

“Caught on quicker than I thought.”

You feel vaguely offended by that but don’t bother voicing it, just glare at his back as he gets up. You walk silently through the forest, letting Arthur show you which tracks to follow and which to avoid. You’re not comforted by how many cougar prints you find. You stare up into the branches always expecting something to already be looking down at you. 

Miraculously, no wild cat chooses you for dinner as you track the buck down. You find him near a small stream, antlers dipping into the water as he takes a drink. He’s got to be one of the most gorgeous creatures you’ve ever seen. 

You’ve lived your whole life in St. Denis. The most you’ve seen are overworked carriage horses and mangy dogs. No life slips through the cracks of that place. There’s just smoke and misery. This is nature, real beauty. It’s breathtaking, the way the leaves ripple in the wind and the starlight reflects in the water. 

You can’t imagine seeing this and wanting to tear it down to put up an oily machine that contributes nothing to the earth but death. It just makes you hate your father more. It also makes you more resolved to not be forced back into that life. You can’t do it. You can’t have this one taste of freedom and then let it go without a fight. 

Arthur pulls the bow out and nocks an arrow. You glance between him and the buck and rapidly shake your head. “No,” you hiss, “I don’t wanna kill it.”

He rolls his eyes and moves you in front of him. You don’t have much choice as he places your hands on the string and guides you into the right position. “Relax,” he murmurs in your ear as you fight against his grip. “You ain’t gonna kill it.” 

It doesn’t bring you much comfort, but if you’re going to make it on your own, sometimes you’ll have to do something you don’t like. “Now,” his hand drifts down your bicep and you suck in a sharp breath. “Don’t hold it too long, you’ll get tired.” 

It’s dawning on you just how close you both are. You’re kneeling on the ground with him behind you, essentially cradling your body to him. You’ve never been this familiar with a man before, it’s making your brain short-circuit. You can hardly pay attention to what he’s telling you. 

He lifts your elbow slightly and points you towards the left. “You need to keep your arm steady even after you let go or your aim will be off. Take in a deep breath and release on the exhale.” You give him an apprehensive look, still not wanting to hurt the buck. He just nods and there’s something in his gaze that lets you relax slightly. 

You release the string and the arrow flies over the buck’s head, burying itself into the tree behind it. Its head shoots up and it turns towards you both before dashing off. You let out an astonished laugh, glancing down the bow and then back at Arthur. 

“My god, I’ve never shot anything before.”

“Congratulations, you’ve killed your first tree,” he remarks dryly, but you see the glint of humor in his eye. 

He gets to his feet and offers you a hand up. You smile up at him, undeterred by his attitude. “Thank you for this,” you tell him earnestly. He gives you an odd look but nods anyway. He doesn’t understand just how important this is to you. Knowing how to do something like this is the difference between life and death when you’re on your own. Of course, he doesn’t realize you’ll be making an escape attempt soon. 

He retrieves the arrow from the tree and you run your hand over the curve of the bow. You wonder just how much he’d miss this if you took it from him. 

Arthur’s tearing down the camp and you’re standing by Diablo, feeding him some apples. You stroke absentmindedly over the horse's muzzle, watching Arthur intently. He’s too busy pulling the tent apart to be paying attention to you. 

You got better sleep last night than you did at Crane’s. He was right, hunting had tired you out. You were eager enough to sleep that you didn’t even feel the rough ground underneath you. He seems to be a little more lax about his watch over you. 

Something about last night must have eased him into a sense of comfort that you’re not going to run. That’s his own fault, though. You glance over the curve of the hill, noticing a carriage that will be passing by soon enough. 

You look back at Arthur and ease slightly away from Diablo. Arthur is still collecting the blankets and rolling them up. He turns towards the dying fire and tosses the rest of the coffee out. You take another step back and he keeps his back to you. 

Slowly, you release Diablo’s reigns, giving him one last apple before you turn on your heel and run down the hill. Your foot slips out from under you and you let out a loud yelp as you go flying headfirst down the grass. 

You land on your back with enough impact to make the breath rush out of you. But your descent is still going and you’re flipping over headfirst into the road. You slide forward, the dirt scraping up your chin as you cough and try and catch your breath. 

“Look out!” You roll out of the way just before the carriage rolls over you. Someone shouts your name from the top of the hill and you see Arthur glaring down at you. He starts towards you and you scramble to your feet. 

“Stop!” You scream, waving your arms wildly and chasing after the carriage. The man gives you a bewildered look as you throw yourself at him. “Please, sir, I’ve been kidnapped, you must help me get back to my husband.”

The man looks behind you, sees a very angry Arthur bellowing out your name, and moves to the side. “Hurry up,” he urges, giving you a hand on the bench beside him. You let out a relieved breath, taking his hand and throwing yourself the rest of the way up. 

He whips the horses, hurrying them along all the while Arthur is yelling after you. It’s not hard to believe that he would kidnap you. He looks half-crazed as he follows along behind you. You turn over your shoulder, giving him a brief wave and a smile. “Thanks for the help,” you tell the man beside you. You offer your hand and name. 

He glances down at it but doesn’t take it, instead looking forward and ignoring you entirely. Something uneasy settles in your stomach but you push it aside. You blame the feeling on the adrenaline still pumping through you. 

“Where are you headed?” You ask, glancing into the back of the carriage. You notice some moonshine and a crate full of guns but decide not to question it. 

“Said yer husband’s waitin’ for ya?” He demands, completely ignoring your question. You stare at the side of his face but his expression isn’t giving anything away. He comes to an intersection. You see a sign pointing towards a town and figure he’s going to take it, but instead, he pulls onto a smaller trail leading to the woods. 

“Um,” you clear your throat uncertainly, glancing back at the sign. “Yes,” your voice cracks and you know you sound like you’re full of shit. 

He laughs and the sound sends chills down your spine. You rip your eyes off of him, looking down at the horses and suddenly realizing just what you’d gotten yourself into. “You sure about that, little lady?”

Something cold digs into your side and you gasp quietly, looking down to see a gun pressed against your ribs. “You scream, run, or do anythin’ to piss me off and I’ll put a fourth hole in ya.” When you don’t say anything he digs it harder into you. “Understand?” He growls and you can do nothing but nod your head. 

You want to move, want to shove him off the side of the carriage and make a run for it. But you can’t, you’re frozen solid. You’re so petrified with fear you can’t even blink. You think you’re holding your breath, as if taking in air is going to set the gun off. 

He grins, a blackened curl of lips over rotted teeth, at your obedience and comes to a stop in the trees. “What are you doing?” You whisper, staring at the secluded area with a newfound sense of horror. 

“Shut up,” he snaps, his voice echoing through the quiet of the woods. You hear no birds or animals and you feel so alone it makes you want to cry. He gets off the carriage and turns towards you. “Down,” he demands. Your eyes dart towards the reigns of the horses and he pulls the hammer of the gun back. “Don’t even think about it.”

You lift your hands in the air, slowly slipping down the seat. He doesn’t appreciate you taking your time He grabs the front of your shirt, jerking you further into the trees and tossing you to the ground. 

You let out a rough groan at the impact, blood staining your shirt as your elbow slips across a jagged rock. It’s like something is snapped loose in your mind. He comes stomping towards you, kneeling between your spread legs and it finally clicks. 

You lunge forward with a shout and he rears back in surprise. You wonder how often someone’s actually fought against him or just let it happen. You don’t want to die, you don’t want to get shot by this scum, but there are a lot of things worse than dying. 

You grab the arm holding the gun, jerking it around, and knocking it out of his hand. “You bitch!” He hisses, bringing his open palm down across your cheek. The smack rings through the trees and ricochets through the air. Your head whips to the side so hard you think you might have snapped your neck. 

Blood dribbles out from your lips, your teeth having bitten into the fat of your cheeks. You spot the gun nearby, the silver of the barrel glinting from under the leaves. Just as you reach for it, he’s wrapping his hands around your ankles and dragging you back towards him. 

You feel like screaming as your hands desperately grasp at the dirt underneath you. But there’s not enough air to scream. You dig your nails into the mud, feel them split against the rocks, and kick at his chest hard enough to make him lose his breath. 

His grip on you loosens and you throw yourself at the pile of leaves. Hands groping for something solid. Just as he flips you over you wrap your hand around the handle of the gun. You pull the trigger and the bang is deafening. 

Your ears ring and your hands are trembling from the recoil. His jaw goes slack and he tumbles on top of you. You let out a grunt, breath pushed out of you by his weight. You scramble against his chest, something warm making your hands slip as you struggle to roll him off of you. 

You glance over, waiting for him to spring back up. But there’s something dark pooling around him and sinking into the dirt below. There’s a hole in his chest and his eyes are already flattening. You fall back against the earth, staring up at the trees above you. 

The sounds rush back to you all at once. The birds singing, deers prancing somewhere in the distance. You hear a stream rushing nearby and let out a stunned laugh. There’s a smile on your face but there’s nothing to be happy about. 

You think you might be in shock. Mind still trying to catch up to what just happened. You glance down at the gun in your hand and toss it to the side, not wanting it near you anymore. Only a second later do you reach for it again. 

You struggle onto your hands and knees, checking over yourself for any injuries that you might be numb to right now. The only blood on you is from the dead man on the ground. You keel over, hands on your knees, and suck in a deep gasping breath. 

You stumble back, limping towards the carriage. You dig around in the back of the wagon, tugging out a giant hunting knife and walking towards the horses. You cut them loose, keeping the rope on one of them and tugging yourself onto her back. You tuck the knife in your belt and nudge her side, leading her forward gently. 

You don't even have time to process the fact that you’re riding a horse on your own. Your body is moving on autopilot. You can only think about getting ahead, getting away. What just happened will hit you later. You slump against the neck of the horse, adrenaline leaking out of you and exhaustion catching up. 

He’s going to find you and he’s going to kill you. Leaving while he had his back turned. Getting on some carriage with a man you’ve never met before. How dumb do you have to be? You can’t trust people out here. Not when there are gangs, raiders, hell, he’s encountered a few cannibals. 

For all he knows, you’re already dead and he’ll be delivering a body to the train station. The thought makes him curse and urge Diablo forward. It’s not hard to follow the tracks of the carriage, what concerns him is when they lead into the forest instead of the town. 

“Goddammit,” he mutters, “the hell have you done woman?” He leaps off Diablo, figuring it will be easier to track you on foot. He follows the paths of the wheels, finding the wagon abandoned and the horses cut loose. 

His brows furrow in confusion as he wanders around the side and spots a lump in the leaves. All he can see is the bottom of a boot and blood splattered across the orange of the fallen leaves. 

His stomach plummets and he races towards it. But it’s not you buried under the foliage, it’s the man who offered you a ride. “What the hell?” He kneels, brushing the leaves off his chest and frowning when he sees the blood splattered all along his chest. 

He doesn’t need to look long to figure out what killed him. He’s sure the bullet buried in his heart did the job. Arthur curses and stalks away from the man. There are prints where the horses were but there are too many to tell which one you might have taken. 

He’ll have to rely on instinct to find you. You’re becoming a real pain in the ass for what was supposed to be a simple job. Still, he can’t help but be a little relieved that it was a stranger and not you lying dead on the ground. 

He turns back onto the road, taking the turn into town. Someone on horseback rides past him, they look disgusted by something up ahead and it makes alarms go off in his head. He urges Diablo forward, running the rest of the way into town. 

An unsaddled mare lazily eats some grass as the sound of a rushing river meets his ears. Diablo’s hooves sound off against the wood of the bridge. He finally sees what disturbed the other rider so much. 

You’re sitting on the railing of the bridge, legs dangling dangerously over the edge as you stare down into the crashing waters below you. Arthur gets off his horse, approaching you slowly. He doesn’t want to startle you and have you go tumbling over the edge. 

He calls out your name and you glance briefly over at him. Blood is splattered across your neck and the front of your shirt is soaked with it. He knows it isn’t yours but it still puts him on edge. “What’re you doin’ kid?” 

You don’t answer him, “Did you follow me?” He eases up beside you, straddling the railing so he can catch you if you slip. He nods and you let out a rough sigh. “Is he dead?”

He scoffs, “Sure as shit hope so, don’t know how someone would survive that.”

A manic laugh bursts through your lips and you double over your head falling into your hands. Arthur surges forward, steadying you before you dive headfirst into the river. “Alright, let’s go,” he quietly urges you around. You don’t put up a fight, letting him maneuver you how he likes.

He gets you on your feet and leads you back to Diablo. You latch onto the horse's reigns immediately, stroking your hand over his mane. Your silence is concerning. Arthur doesn’t know what your regular behavior is, the most he’s seen of you, you have been quiet. This is different, though. He’s seen this sort of quiet in women before and it never ends pretty. 

“You’re alright, come on,” he tries to keep his voice low so he doesn’t set you off. He keeps his hands light as they land around your waist, giving you help onto Diablo’s saddle. Your gaze is distant and you move like someone else is controlling your body. 

He collects the mare you’d brought along with you and leads both horses into town. He’ll have to get a saddle for her, she already seems attached to you. And maybe taking a horse with you into the city will let you escape a little. 

The town, at least, is on the way to Strawberry so he doesn’t have to worry about being too far off schedule. Though, that’s the least of his concerns right now. His eyes keep darting up to you. Waiting for you to try and bolt again or finally break down. It doesn’t look like anything is going on in your head, you seem completely distanced from the situation. 

It’s a good thing for him. He can’t handle a distraught woman. He’s not a kind enough man for it. 

He hitches the horses in front of the hotel. You turn in the saddle, staring down at him and waiting for a hand down. You slide easily through his hands, landing in the mud with a dull thud and heading up the stairs of the hotel without prompt. 

He huffs and follows after you. He doesn’t know how to explain the blood on your clothes away and hopes he won’t have to. The man running the place, thankfully, doesn’t have many questions. He looks disturbed but keeps his qualms to himself when Arthur slips him a little extra cash. 

Arthur guides you up the stairs with a light hand on your back, opening the door of the bath for you. “Alright, here’s your room key. I’ll be out for a while so, just,” he sighs, taking in the blank look on your face and shaking his head. “Try not to cause any more trouble.” You nod and close the door behind him. 

There’s no worries that you’re going to make a run for it again. He’s sure whatever happened in those woods was scarring enough to make you want to go back to the city and never see country folk again. He wouldn’t blame you, there are some nasty people out here. Himself included, but he could never imagine hurting a woman like that. It just ain’t right. 

He heads to the shop across the street, buying some new clothes for you that actually fight properly. The horses are brought to the stables and he goes ahead and gets a paper for your mare under your name. Diablo will be faster tomorrow if he doesn’t have to carry the weight of two people. You might make it to your handler in time. 

Arthur still doesn’t feel right about this whole thing. Leaving you with a man you’ve never met feels even worse knowing what happened to you today. He doesn’t think you being so calm about it all is a good thing. Shouldn’t women react?

Dutch likes to tell him women are a more sensitive breed. He’s seen some tough ones in his life, but this seems like the time to be in hysterics if there ever was one. He heads back to the hotel, planning on just leaving the change of clothes in your room. 

He passes by the bath and hears an odd sound seeping through the cracks. Frowning, he presses his ear up against the door. A man passes by him, giving him a disgusted look as he goes into his room. Arthur sighs but he stays where he is. 

It’s clearer now, you’re crying and it’s hard to listen to. It's the type that makes it hard to breathe. That sort of crying makes your ribs ache and bruise. It’s wrong to keep listening to such a vulnerable moment. So, he does what he planned, drops the clothes in your room, and then heads to bed himself. 

Sleep comes easier than he thought it would. It’s not as restful as he’d been hoping but it draws over him faster than it normally does. He’s always been a light sleeper, though. It comes from years of having to be on guard in case some O’Driscoll is gonna try and slit his throat while he’s asleep. 

When he hears the door creak his hand is already on the trigger of his revolver as he shoots up in bed. The glow of the lamps outside illuminates what’s clearly a woman’s form. But he can’t see your face until you take a step further into the room and the moonlight provides some light. 

“Arthur?” You whisper his name, peering into his room. “Are you awake?”

“I am now,” he grumbles. With a sigh, he shoves the gun back under his pillow and runs a rough hand over his face. “What'd ya want?”

You let out a low breath and rock back on your heels. “I’m sorry,” you mutter. “I just, I can’t sleep. I keep thinking he’s gonna creep out of my closet or bust through the door, I-”

You cut yourself off but he can hear the emotion thickening your voice. He clenches his eyes shut in irritation, arguing with himself over what he’s about to say. “You wanna sleep in here?” He mumbles reluctantly. 

You close the door immediately, practically running towards his bed. “You don’t mind?”

You’re not really giving him a choice, but he’s not going to say that to you. “No.” He grabs a pillow and blanket off the bed and rounds the end of the mattress. You frown as you watch him toss everything to the ground. 

“Well, what’re you doing?”

“What’s it look like?” He snaps, angrily gesturing towards the floor. “I’m givin’ you the bed.” 

You bite your lip and he feels horrible instantly because you look like you’re about to cry. He’s not trying to be rude but you woke him up in the dead of night. What’d you expect him to say?

“I was sort of hoping we could share the bed.”

His eyes widen and he glares at you in disbelief. “You mean-”

“No!” You cut him off with an aggrieved sigh. “You fool, that’s not what I mean at all. I just don’t want to be alone, alright?” 

“Look,” he scoffs and shakes his head. “I don’t think I’m the man you want to bunk with for company, alright. I’m not that kind of guy.” You glare at him and snatch his pillow and blanket off the floor. 

“Don’t be so damn stubborn.” You aggressively fluff the pillows, throwing the covers back and gesturing towards them, your brow set in anger. 

“Right,” he huffs, “I’m stubborn.” He reluctantly crawls into bed and you follow behind him. It’s not that he minds sharing a bed with a pretty lady. He’s just not the sort of guy you should be coming to for comfort. 

He doesn’t think he can provide whatever it is you need at this moment. But you seem to think otherwise as you inch towards him slowly. He lays on his back, arms under his head as he watches you out of the side of his eye. You think you’re being subtle, slowly moving into his side until you’re flush against him. 

He doesn’t say anything to object and you don’t bring up the proximity. He doesn’t want to admit it but it is nice having someone else beside him. He’s so used to camping out on his own. He hasn’t had anyone beside him in a long while. He lost interest in women of leisure a long while ago. And ever since Mary, he’s given up on any sort of intimacy. 

He hates to admit it, but he finds himself easing towards the warmth you provide. The second you feel him reciprocating you’re inching a tentative hand around his waist, cuddling closer to him. He recognizes it for what it is. 

He’s always been looked at as someone who can protect, at least by the gang. He’s their muscle. To most others, he incites nothing but fear. It should be the same for you. But after what happened today, you just see someone who can keep the monsters in the dark away. 

He doesn’t mind being used like this. He wraps an arm around your shoulders and waits until he feels you settle to ease into sleep again. 

Arthur figures you should both get breakfast in town while you’re here. He reasons you should enjoy a hot meal before you’re on the road again. You don’t point out that you know he’s just trying to ease you into the day. 

You appreciate it, honestly, but yesterday wasn’t your first run-in with men like that. It’s become incomprehensibly normal in day-to-day life, even for a city girl like yourself. You’d cried everything out in the bath once you’d scrubbed your skin raw. 

You don’t think Arthur will ever understand just how much his presence helped you last night. If you’d been on your own, jumping every time you heard the wood creaking outside, you’d have driven yourself over the edge. He protected you, even if there was nothing to be protected from. 

You don’t think he gives himself enough credit. Ignoring the situation you’re both in and what he’s taking you to do, he’s a good man. While the caliber of the men you’ve met is questionable at best, he’s one of the best ones you’ve ever known. At the end of the day, he disagrees with the whole situation, but he’s doing this for his family. That’s admirable in its own way. 

But, god, does he have poor conversational skills. “So, yesterday.” You glance up from your toast, brows raised in question. He clears his throat, eyes darting between you and his food like he can’t choose what to focus on. “That man, did he…”

He trails off and you feel your hackles rise. “Don’t worry,” you hiss, a bite to your words, “I’m still pure for my husband. Your pay won’t be docked, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

His hand clenches around his fork and his eyes bore into yours, “That’s not what I meant,” he growls. “I wasn’t worried about that,” he snaps, “I was worried ‘bout you, woman.”

You take in a deep breath, actively biting your tongue from saying something spiteful. He wasn’t being rude, that’s just what you’re used to. “I’m sorry,” you concede lowly. “Nothing happened,” you repeat without the attitude. 

“Well,” he huffs and goes back to his breakfast, “good,” he settles on dully. 

“Good,” you agree quietly, pushing the rest of your food around. You find your appetite dulled and you push the plate away. You lean back in the booth and stare out the window. The horses seem to be getting on well enough. “Did you name her?”

Arthur gives you an odd look and you nod towards the mare hitched next to Diablo. He swallows the food he’d been chewing and takes a swig of his coffee. “No, figured you’d want to do it.”

Your brows furrow and your lips quirk in confusion. “Why?”

“She’s yours, ain’t she?” He grouses. 

You shake your head, “Nope,” you tell him, popping the p. “I just took her so I’d have something to get me to town.”

“Yeah, well,” he sounds less sure of himself and he’s looking like he made a mistake. “I thought she’d be nice for you to have with you in the city. A way for you to get around without relyin’ on someone else.”

You can’t help but smile, something in your chest easing away at the kind gesture. “I appreciate it,” he lights up a little at your approval, but you crush it in an instant. “But I can’t keep her, I won’t be allowed to. I’ve tried to have my own horse before, hard to control something that can get away from you,” you tell him blankly. There’s no emotion in your voice because it’s something you’re used to. 

He looks slightly horrified at how blunt you are. He can’t comprehend not having that freedom but he fails to recognize that he’s got a leash of his own. You doubt a man like Dutch would ever let his main asset just run off to wherever he wants to. 

A few people walk into the saloon, the women giving you odd looks when they see the pants on your legs. You smile cheekily at them, reveling in what you know will be a short-lived experience. You’ve never been on the receiving end of a judgmental look like that. 

You’ve always blended in. Been the perfect wallflower for the men in your life. You were never something to gawk at or cause trouble. It’s a relief to stick out for once, to break the mould for the first time in your life. 

Arthur clocks the interaction and chuckles. “Missin’ the skirts yet?”

“Not one damn bit,” you tell him, smiling as you take a sip of your coffee. “I’m going to miss being able to run around without having to lug an extra four pounds of fabric behind me.” 

“Ya know, you could just wear some pants, you’ve got a choice.”

You grin patronizingly at him, propping your head on your chin and watching him finish the rest of his breakfast. “You don’t know city men very well, do you?”

“Glad for it,” he grumbles, distaste clear in his tone.

A laugh breaks through your chest, the first real one in a while. “I’m going to be marrying one, Arthur. I won’t have a choice in much of anything anymore.” You can tell he wants to object, tell you there’s always a choice. 

He’ll never truly understand what’s going to happen to you, though. You’re no longer human once you’re married. You’re cattle and property, meant to be bred and shown off. You accepted your fate a long while ago. And after you’re failed escape attempt, you’ve realized this is what you were always meant to be. There’s no point in fighting fate. 

“Don’t apologize or argue,” you tell him, no spite or bitterness in your tone, just the honest truth. “I don’t mind anymore, really. What place is there for me in this world, anyway? I can’t exactly take care of myself.”

“You did a damn good job yesterday,” he snaps back quickly. He doesn’t seem too keen on the way you’re talking about yourself. But you’re not lying. Yesterday was a wake-up call. If you let yourself get screwed over by a hillbilly that quickly then how were you ever going to make it on your own? In your defense, you were raised to be dependent, you never had a chance. 

“Sure, but that was a one-off incident. I’m not going to run again, Arthur. There’s no point. And there’s no point in fighting against the way things are, they’re never going to change for me.” You take in a deep breath, the easy mood ruined by your sincerity. 

“I’m just gonna wait by the horses.”

You slide out of the booth, leaving Arthur to stare pensively at his plate. You’ve nearly slipped through the door when Arthur calls out, “You should name her.” You pause at the doorway, glancing back at him. He’s settling the bill at the front and you walk back out to the horses. 

The mare picks her head up as you walk towards her, ears perked and tail flicking. “Hey, girl,” you run a hand over her muzzle, admiring the sleek silver of her coat. “I guess I should name you.”

You run a hand over her mane and swing yourself onto the saddle. “How ‘bout Bullet, it’s how I got you, anyway.” A dark joke, but it eases the macabre feeling hanging around you. 

Arthur walks out of the saloon, tucking his money away into his bag. He lifts himself onto Diablo, glancing over at you with a knowing glint. 

“Name her?”

You resent how smug he sounds. “Bullet,” you answer reluctantly. 

“Bullet?” He questions, tone incredulous. 

You grin at him, “It’s how I got her.” There’s a slightly stunned expression on his face before it slacks away into something more amused. 

He shakes his head and nudges Diablo forward, Bullet follows alongside him eagerly. “Clever,” he mutters.

“Not really,” you snort, running a hand over her neck lovingly. “But I think it works for her.”

“Your husband’s gonna have his hands full with you,” you know he means it in jest. The lightness of the conversation turns into something heavier. Realization sinks over both of you and the smiles slowly drop away. “I-”

“How much further to Strawberry, anyway?” You effectively cut off whatever train of thought he was going to follow, distracting you both from the truth. 

“Half a day,” he tells you, frowning when you refuse to meet his eye again. Half a day. That’s all you’ve got to enjoy the last bits of freedom you have. You’re gonna take your damn time getting there, that’s for sure. 

You slow down from the steady trot Arthur had led the horses into, easing Bullet into a slow walk. You’re slowly getting the hang of riding a horse. It’s easy when she’s so intuitive. By god, though, your ass is sore. 

Arthur shoots you a questioning glance at the slow pace and you shrug. “Might as well take the time I’ve got left.”

“You’re actin’ like you’re on death row,” he chuckles. 

“Aren’t I?” He falls silent and you don’t know what’s bothering him but you don’t have the energy to inquire. 

He’s slowing you down on purpose, he knows it and you know it. Neither of you says a damn thing about it but it’s bugging him. He shouldn’t be this bothered by a job. He knows how to separate himself from what he does. He just can’t this time. 

There’s something about you that glows. You’re sitting beside him on the peak of a hill, overlooking the roads below you, and laughing as you make up stories for the people that pass by. It’s a far cry from the beaten-down woman he’d seen at Crane’s house. 

Even after what happened yesterday, you somehow manage to seem happier. There’s nothing about it that makes him happy. This feels like the last goodbye of someone who knows they’re going soon. The last bout of happiness before they just give in. 

You’re not gaining your spark back, you’re just giving in to what you think is inevitable. But it doesn’t have to be inevitable. You could fight back you just refuse to. He’s sure growing up the way you have, you don’t think it's possible to stand up for yourself. 

But you don’t have to give in like this. You don’t have to roll over and let someone else dictate your life. Which is rich, coming from him. He’s practically Dutch’s lap dog now. Even when he disagrees he still follows along behind him. 

He shouldn’t even be thinking like this. He can’t criticize you for not standing up for yourself when he’s the one thing standing between you and freedom. “Not hungry?” You nod towards the uneaten meat on his knife. 

He shakes his head, plucking it off the blade and passing it to you. You give him an odd look before popping it in your mouth. “Ya know,” you mutter around a full mouth. You take a moment to swallow it down before smiling over at him. “I’ve grown up with private chefs my whole life, but there’s is something infinitely more satisfying about this.”

He takes his hat off, running a hand through his hair. He snorts at your comment, “I find that hard to believe.”

“No,” you shake your head, insistent, “I mean it. Being out here, hunting the game myself, I don’t know, it’s nice.” You shrug and lean back on your hands, gazing across the way at the trees and river. 

“You can always get a bow and go hunting.” He speaks to you like it's a cut-and-dry truth that you’re just not accepting. Your face screws up and you give him an annoyed glare. 

“No. I can’t,” you tell him again. Where your words were patient before, he can tell you’re growing irritated at how much he’s pushing this.

“Yes, you can,” he snaps. “You don’t have to keep yourself boxed up in some manor in the city. Get out, woman, do something with your life!” His voice echoes through the air and you flinch back from it, lips pulling down into a sneer. 

“You know, that’s really easy for you to say, Arthur. You have a goddamn choice. Sure, I grew up with a silver spoon in my mouth, little miss rich girl crying about being pampered.”

He lets out a rough sigh, “That’s not what I meant-”

You cut him off, getting to your feet and glaring down at him. “You got to grow up with a choice. What to do with your body, your life, your career. You get to have an education if you want it. Every goddamn door is open to you. You don’t get hated for not wanting to have a family. You get to choose. And as much as you insist I can too, you will never understand the position I am in.”

You kick dirt over the fire and head back towards Bullet. “It’s a double-edged sword, Arthur. Sure, my life might be comfortable, but it’s never really gonna be my life.” He stays there on the ground, too stunned to get up. 

You glare down at him, impatiently waiting for him to get a move on. This isn’t how he wants things to end. He doesn’t want you to go off thinking he’s just some ignorant fool. But he is, much as he denies it, he’s always been a fool. 

He should never have thought he could make a difference in your life. Not when he’s the one backing you into this corner. He could have helped you escape the very first night he saw you. But he was too selfish to let you go, now you’re both paying for it. 

He mounts Diablo and you both head back to the roads silently. You’re moving faster now, leaving him behind if he lingers in one area for too long. You’re too pissed off to enjoy the rest of your day and he hates that he ruined it for you. You, at the very least, deserved a slower journey towards your future. 

You’re in Strawberry before he’s ready, he’s sure you aren’t. “Hey, we could-”

“I think that’s him.” You cut him off before he says something stupid like spend another night in town before you go. He’ll miss you, he thinks. Odd, he’s known you such a short time but it’s been so different having someone beside him as he rides. It was nice, what he wished he and Mary could have had. 

Arthur follows your gaze and lets out a tired sigh. Sure enough, some prim and proper ass is standing in front of the ticket station, foot tapping impatiently. He’s got a large bag beside him, gaze wandering around expectantly. He doesn’t doubt the man who looks like he’s got a five-foot stick up his ass is Mr. Crane’s associate. He’s got the same slimy glint.

You slide off Bullet and Arthur follows suit, taking the reigns of both horses and leading them towards the platform. The man’s eyes narrow in on you before lighting up. He calls out your name and it’s like a mask being dropped over your face. 

The spark is gone once more, a subdued and demure smile resting on your face as you wave at him. “I apologize for my dress,” you tell him as you walk up the steps. “Pants were more conducive to such a long ride.”

He takes your hand, pressing a lingering kiss to your knuckles that makes Arthur roll his eyes. “No apologies necessary, I brought you a change of clothes. I figured you would be less than put together after such a journey. I’m only sorry I couldn’t accompany you.”

You scoff and nod along, “Okay,” you mutter, not believing a word of his bullshit. You take the bag from him and move towards the saloon to find a room to change in. They both watch you leave, though the other man with a much more devious glint in his eye. 

Arthur’s hands tighten on the reigns of the horses, anything to keep him from reaching for his revolver. He’s already getting a bad feeling about this. There’s nothing trustworthy about the man in front of him. 

“Mr. Finch,” he holds out his hand and Arthur gives it a distrusting look before reluctantly shaking. Finch attempts to squeeze the life out of his hand but Arthur can barely feel it. He tightens his own grip and revels in the way Finch’s face blanches. 

“Arthur Morgan.”

Mr. Finch looks him up and down in the same way Crane had. He sees a commodity, not a person. “I trust,” he drawls, “nothing unsavory happened.”

Arthur feels rage bubbling in his gut. The only damn thing he cares about is whether or not you’re “pure.” Not if you were okay or injured during the journey. If he told him that he’d punched you out for talking back Finch would just ask if you were bruised. 

“She’s fine,” Arthur grits out. 

“Oh, good, good. Glad everything went smoothly.” Finch has a way of talking he’s found most self-important men do. He draws everything he says out, and forces you to listen to him speak. Makes you pay attention so he can pretend he has power for a moment. 

His gaze darts behind Arthur and he turns just in time to see you slipping out of the saloon. The dress Finch has provided you is ridiculously large. It poofs out at the waist in a way that makes Arthur wonder how you’re going to fit into your seat. 

You look beyond uncomfortable. Grimacing as you join them again. You try and plaster a smile on but it’s a struggle. You look to Arthur, a finality on your face that makes him want to throw you over his shoulder and run. He’s doing this for the others, he reminds himself. They’ll be on a boat to Tahiti in a week. 

“Thank you, Mr. Morgan, for everything.” The smile you leave him with is real, if just barely. Something lurks under your words that Mr. Finch will never understand and Arthur knows it will drive him crazy. 

“Let’s go,” Finch grabs your hand, looping it through his arm and tugging you towards the doors of the station. 

“Wait!” Arthur calls out, feeling foolish when you both look back at him with perplexed expressions. “You’ll be wanting Bullet, won’t you?”

Mr. Finch answers for you with a condescending tone, “She won’t be needing a horse, thank you.” You give him a knowing smile, turning away and slipping through the doors of the station and onto the train. 

Arthur stays rooted where he is, something crawling up in his chest and rooting around restlessly. The whistle blows and the wheels start cranking slowly forward. Arthur just barely catches a glimpse of you through a window as the train chugs past. 

“Shit!” He hisses. He tugs himself up onto Diablo’s saddle and urges him after the train. He was born a fool, he’s always going to be a damn fool. But he’d have to be a complete moron to just let you go. 

Mr. Finch keeps a painfully tight grip on your elbow, jerking you through the passenger cars and practically throwing you into your seat. You land with a thud, your arm bouncing against the window painfully. You keep a stoic expression, trying not to let him break you so soon. 

He takes a seat beside you, straightening out his jacket and tugging on his tie. Something white flashes in his jacket pocket and you lean forward, perplexed when you realize what it is. “What is that?” You question, not quite believing your eyes. Finch glances down at the thick wad of cash in his jacket and grins. 

“Oh, this? Mr. Morgan must have forgotten to collect the rest of his payment.” He sends you a condescending smile and you flinch away in disgust. “He was too enamored with my fiancee to pay much attention, I’m afraid.”

“That’s his money,” you snap, the volume of your voice catching the attention of a few other passengers. Finch sends them apologetic smiles, making you seem like a mad woman. “He earned that!” You object, eyeing the money warily. 

His hand snakes out, gripping you tightly around the arm and dragging you towards him until your noses are nearly touching. You nearly gag at the smell of his cigar-infused breath. It’s not like when Arthur would smoke one, you didn’t mind that. But this was making you sick to your stomach. 

“Let's get a few things clear, I will not be dealing with an obstinate wife. You can either get yourself in order or I’ll do it for you.”

Your lips pull back in disgust and you jerk yourself out of his grip. He’s not as strong as he pretends to be and you’re not going to be scared into submission again. “I’m not your wife yet. My father still has time to pay.”

He laughs at you, spittle flying from your lips and sprinkling across your cheeks. “He has time to pay, but that doesn’t mean he’ll be getting you back, sweetheart.” Your eyes widen with the realization and you want to throw yourself off the side of the train. 

You never had any chance to get out of this situation. Mr. Crane was always in control of it all. To even think of having a hope of getting back home was foolish. To believe for a second that you were going to escape this had been utter idiocy. 

He sees the crestfallen expression and sinks into his seat with a satisfactory look on his face. He thinks you to be subdued. But now you’re nothing more than a cornered animal with no other choice of escape. You’ve got nothing left for you, nothing to hold onto. 

As much as you’d thought you’d bonded with Arthur, you were still nothing more than a job to him. You were nothing more than a commodity to be traded between men. You would never have a say over your life. 

You have nothing, you doubt you ever actually had anything left for you. You glance over at the man beside you and feel a cool dread blanket itself over you. Nothing left to lose. 

There’s a solid weight tucked into the bodice of your dress. Its cool metal has been warmed by your skin. Its handle curves around your ribs and it only has one bullet left. You reach down the front of your dress, fingers curling around the revolver you’d stolen from a dead man. 

Finch glowers at your inappropriate behavior “What are-” You pull the gun out, turning it on him. He jumps back in shock and throws his hands in the air on instinct. “Please-” you revel in his pathetic pleading only for a moment. Pulling the trigger a second time is surprisingly easy. The screams that ring out through the train car are less enjoyable. “Shit!” He cusses, hands coming up to try and staunch the flow of blood pouring from his stomach. 

You slip your hand into his blazer, stealing the money before he can object. You run out of the passenger car, leaping to the flat car with all the cargo. It will take a few minutes for them to catch onto what happened and figure out where you went. 

You don’t know what you’re going to do now. You’re stuck on a moving train, there’s nowhere for you to hide. You hadn’t thought when you’d shot him, you just wanted that smug look on his face to disappear. 

“Where is she?” You hear the guards shouting out your name, flipping over crates to find you. They’re still at the front of the train, but you don’t have long until they start moving back here. 

God, what have you done?

You just know, if you made it to that train station, you were never going to make it out. His men would be waiting there to transport you. You’d be watched every second of your life, you can’t do it again. You can’t be locked in a gilded cage, that’s not a life worth living. 

There’s no escape for you. Nowhere left to run, nowhere to hide. You glance over the left side of the train. There’s a slight dip into a deep ravine. The crashing water looks almost peaceful from up here. 

You don’t know if it would be a quick death but you know it would be merciful compared to what’s waiting for you at your last stop. You keep your eyes on the water, see yourself taking control of your life for the first time, and take a step up on the rail. 

Someone shouts your name from the right side of the train and you gasp, arms circling wildly as you almost go toppling over the edge. They shout your name again, panic laced in the tone. This doesn’t sound like Finch or any of the other guards. You whip around and find Arthur riding his horse beside the train. 

“What the hell are you doing, woman?” 

Your brows furrow in confusion and your eyes dart between him and the ravine. “Jumping! What the hell are you doing?”

His gaze narrows and he shouts to be heard over the rumble of the train tracks. “Stopping you from being a goddamn fool. Get over here!” You hear the guards getting closer as they storm down the rest of the train. 

You don’t have long to make a decision, you can already see his horse struggling to keep up with the speed of the train. There’s a bridge coming up in a moment, he won’t be able to go any further and they won’t be able to come after you. 

It’s a split-second decision, one that has you pushing off the railing of the car and rushing towards him. You don’t have time to doubt yourself or plan this out further, you take a running leap off the train, towards his outstretched arms. 

He barely catches you in time, jerking on the reigns of the horse and bringing him to a sudden stop before all three of you go tumbling into the water. Shots fire off on the train, but they’re gone before they can do any real damage. 

Your chest heaves as you dangle from his arms, fingers digging into his shirt desperately. Your heart is pounding so hard against your chest that you almost can’t hear what he’s saying, but you get the gist of it. 

“The hell were you thinking? Trying to jump off the damn train! You’re a fool, woman.” He tugs you onto the saddle the rest of the way. As much as he tries to sound angry you can feel his relief in the way he squeezes you close to him. 

“Thank you,” you whisper, head sinking into his neck and breathing in the familiar scent. 

He sighs, struggling between yelling at you more and just enjoying the fact that he got to you before you did something neither of you could recover from. “You’re welcome, just,” he pauses, holding you a little closer, “don’t be so damn stupid again.”

You laugh and it’s a little wet as tears start to pool in your eyes. “I’m not planning on it.” You sit up, easing away from him and glancing over your shoulder. You watch as the train grows smaller until you can only see a plume of smoke and nothing more. “What the hell are we going to do?”

He sighs and turns the horse around. You maneuver yourself around, facing forward and pushing back against him.  “I don’t know. Dutch ain’t gonna be happy about you comin’ back with me.” 

You bite your lip, a hundred different possibilities swirling through your head. You’ve never been able to make a choice before, faced with it, you’re overwhelmed with options. You can’t pick one so you blurt out the first coherent thought you have. 

“What if we don’t go back?”

Arthur stills behind you, “What?” His tone is low and filled with something you know means he’s ready to say no. 

“Just for a little while,” you rush the words out quickly, trying to fight for a chance to get him to listen. “We can send this to the camp,” you tug out the wad of cash you’d stolen from Finch and Arthur barks out a laugh. You feel his chest tremble behind you and it makes you grin. 

“Did you steal his money?”

“Your money, technically,” you correct, grinning over your shoulder at him. “Besides, he doesn’t need it anymore.” He gives you a concerned look but you just wave him off. “We can send the camp some money and go off on our own for a while.”

“I don’t know, kid.”

“Don’t call me that,” you interrupt, glaring at him. “It’ll only be for a little while, Arthur. Come on, I’m free for the first time in my life, enjoy it with me.”

He looks uncertain and you know it’s an odd notion to him, putting himself first instead of the camp or Dutch. You’re sure he’s never done it before. Breaking away from them instead of going about like the loyal soldier he is. 

“Just a little while?”

You nod, turning just enough to tuck the money in his pocket. “Just a little while,” you swear.

“John Marston!” You frown, turning away from the oven and glancing out the window. Arthur’s grinning by the gates of the horse pen, leaping over the wood, and walking out to greet someone. You abandon the stew, heading towards the door of your home. 

Outside are two horses, one with a woman and her son, and an abandoned one. The owner is currently bringing Arthur into a brief embrace, John, you presume. Arthur’s told you about him a bit. They weren’t always close but it was getting better before Arthur went away. 

Sometimes you feel bad, having dragged him away from everything he was familiar with. You meant it when you said you only wanted to be gone for a little while. You knew if you went back immediately there would be hell to pay with Dutch and you’d both be put to work. 

You’d be going from one owner to another. All you’d wanted was a few weeks on the road on your own. But a few weeks turned into six months and then a year, and it was Arthur telling you he couldn’t go back. He couldn’t stand what the gang was turning into. What Dutch was turning into. All you’d given him was an excuse to finally get out before it all blew up.

You walk down the steps of the home Arthur built, wiping your hands off on your apron. You give a brief wave to the woman you assume is Abigail. She waves back, slipping off the horse and helping Jack down. 

Arthur pulls away from John, turning towards you and motioning you forward. John gives you an apprehensive look. “Do I know you?”

Arthur gives him your name, throwing an arm over your shoulder and pulling you in closer. “That job Dutch got from Crane.” John’s face lights up with recognition and he smirks. 

“I see,” he shakes his head and gives Arthur a knowing look. “It’s always a woman with you, isn’t it?” You snort at how aggrieved Arthur looks. “Well,” John turns towards you and smiles, “nice to finally meet the woman that got him under control.”

“Nice to meet you too,” you smile lightly at him, pulling away from Arthur. “Are you going to be joining us for dinner?”

“No, he’s not,” Arthur answers at the same time John says, “I would love to.”

Arthur and John share a look you can’t understand. You glance past John and wave Abigail forward, “Come in, please. I’d enjoy the company.”

“Forgive my obstinate husband, he tends to linger where he ain’t wanted.” She brushes past him and you lead her inside your home. Leaving Arthur and John to bicker outside. Jack stays outside, smiling up at Arthur. You know he’s missed the boy, you’re sure he’s okay entertaining them for one night. 

Abigail helps you set the table while Arthur and John catch up over a bottle of whiskey. Arthur tried to pull out a cigar but you’d shut that down quick. He’d had a cough a little while ago and the doctor advised cutting down on tobacco if he wanted it to go away. You know it’s hard but you’re cracking down on how much he smokes. 

“We got the money you sent,” John’s telling Arthur as they come over to join you all at the table. Jack eagerly hops into the seat beside Arthur before you can snag it and you grin. “Dutch blew it all and wouldn’t tell us on what. He kept saying we still needed another score.”

John shakes his head and the distant look in his eyes makes your stomach churn. “You’re a lucky bastard you got out when you did, Arthur, truly.”

“Hosea?” Arthur questions and you grimace at the look on John’s face. You can see Arthur deflate as John shakes his head. 

“There was a bank robbery, Molly told the Pinkertons we were going to be there, he didn’t make it.”

Arthur’s hand clenches around the fork and you wish you could say something that would make him realize it’s not his fault. “I should have been there,” he mutters. 

“Wouldn’t have done anything, man. Hosea had given up in the end. We all had. It was so damn divided, the family was gone.”

“Still.” Arthur insists, glaring down at his plate like it had offended him. 

“No,” to your surprise it’s Abigail that snaps. “Dutch was gone and that bastard Micah just kept pushing him over the edge. The only thing you would have done is get yourself killed. You’re damn lucky Arthur Morgan.”

You’re sure he’ll still blame himself later. Reason a hundred times over that had he been there something would have been different. Even if it was him on the other end of the gun he’d be happier knowing someone else hadn’t died when it could have been him. You couldn’t stand that these self-sacrificing ideals Dutch had drilled into him were still present. 

But you know Abigail and John help ease the guilt slightly. It’s on Arthur to let it go entirely, though you doubt that will happen anytime soon. John picks up on the change in mood, he’s reluctant to let the night sour so soon. 

He turns towards you with a look that makes you feel like you need to prepare for trouble. “So you did all that to escape getting married. And then you marry this moron?” He motions towards Arthur and you can’t help but laugh. 

“John!” Abigail snaps but he only smiles at her. You can see the way she fights the twitch of her lips and it makes you smile in turn. 

You correct him, “We’re not technically married-”

“Might as well be,” Arthur argues, glaring at John. You reach across the table, taking his hand in yours and gently squeezing. You can’t help but laugh at him. 

“Yeah, we might as well be,” you agree. “But it was never about not wanting to be a wife. I just wanted to have a damn choice. That’s what I got out here. I can hunt or cook. Sew or go out and make some money. And it’s a lot nicer being a wife out in the country than it is in the city, I’ll tell you that much.”

“Here’s hoping,” Abigail mutters. She glances towards Arthur, “That’s why we’re out here. We got word from a few people that you might be lurking around here. John’s thinking of getting a house, really settling down.”

Arthur sighs, leaning back in his chair and glaring at John. “That’s why you’re here? You want a handout,” he accuses. 

“No!” John snaps. “Dammit, Arthur, why you always gotta assume the worst of me?”

“Because it’s usually true,” Arthur mutters. “If that’s not what you want then what is it?”

John purses his lips and lets out a spluttering breath. “A loan,” he lands on, struggling to find the right word. 

Arthur barks out a laugh, slapping his hand on the table and poking a knowing finger into John’s chest. “I knew it!”

John swats his hand away and glares. “Look, Morgan, I only need a little. Just to buy some animals, get started on the house.”

“What’d ya want Marston, my whole damn house?”

Abigail lands a gentle hand on your arm and nods to the porch. “They’ll be at it for a while.” You nod and leave the table, following her to the swing out back. She settles down on it with a sigh, gazing out at the trees that line your home. 

“You’ve got a nice life out here.”

You smile fondly, “I like to think so. We’re thinking about getting a few cows, maybe starting a proper ranch.”

Her face lights up at the idea and she laughs. “That’s what John wants. It’s unbelievable how similar they are, they’re too thick-headed to see it.”

You can still vaguely hear them bickering inside the house. You peer inside and see Jack sitting at the table, watching them both with an entranced expression. You can’t help but grin at the look on Arthur’s face. He’s laying into John but he looks happier than you’ve seen him in a while. 

You know he’s missing everybody, has been for a long time. Maybe if Abigail and John are close by he’ll have that sense of familiarity again. “The others,” you start, turning back to Abigail. “Charles and Sadie, what happened to everyone else?”

“A few of them are living good lives, some of them aren’t. Most of them are drifting, not ready to give up the outlaw life just yet.”

“It’s hard to watch the world change while you’re still stuck in the same spot.” You brush some hair out of your eyes and smile at Abigail. “Me and Arthur are gonna help you and John. But I’d like it if you were both close by. It would be nice to have someone familiar near us, we’re pretty lonely up here.”

She gives you a brief smile back, “I think that would be nice.”

John’s voice picks up from inside and you jump, “Oh that’s a load of bull-”

Abigail’s smile drops and she leans over your shoulder to shout, “Watch it!” at John. You laugh when you see the perturbed look on his face. She motions towards his son and Arthur gives John a smug look. 

“You gonna help him?” You ask Arthur as you settle into bed later. He opens his arms, pulling you into his embrace once you’re settled under the covers. 

“John?” You nod, brushing a strand of hair out of his eyes. “Yeah, ‘course I’m gonna help him. But there’s nothing wrong with jerking him around a little bit first.”

You roll your eyes and shake your head, tucking yourself under his chin. You almost think he’s asleep but then he’s speaking up again. “We should really do it.”

You pull back, brows furrowed in confusion. “Do what?”

There’s a certain look in his eyes that causes something to swirl in your stomach. It’s not an unpleasant feeling, just an excited one, “Get married.”

You give him a bewildered look, shaking your head in disbelief. Nearly five years you’ve both been living out here and he’s never once mentioned getting married. You never thought you two actually needed it. You always knew what you were to each other, how much you meant to one another. 

You were each other’s salvation. There’s no telling what graves you would be laying in were it not for Dutch bringing you both together. You hadn’t thought he wanted to be married, he always told you he’d given those dreams up. “You really mean that?”

He shrugs like it’s the easiest decision in the world. “Might as well, right?” 

You shake your head, but there’s no fighting the way your lips curl up. “You’re a fool, Arthur Morgan.”

He nods, dipping his head down to press a gentle kiss on your temple. He treats you so gently, it makes you want to cry. But then he goes and says something ridiculous like, “Yeah, a fool for you,” and he makes you laugh. 

You tug him down, lips nearly touching his. “Yes,” you whisper, “I’ll marry you.” You were always scared of living a life like this. Being tied to one man for the rest of your time on earth. But he’s not some city man looking to make you into a pet. He lets you live, breathe, and be free. He’s a partner not a warden and that’s all you’ve ever wanted. 

[st4rpiece]

nipple piercings pt. 1

NSFW

characters: luffy, zoro, and sanji x fem! reader summary: the monster trios reaction to your new nipple piercings content warnings: established relationships, nipple sucking, breast play others: lowercase intended, not proofread, pictures from pinterest

_____

Monkey D. Luffy

you had recently gotten them done, so while they healed, you wore thin clothing instantly drawing luffy's attention. he was immediately fascinated by your new piercings.

he'd probably poke at them with a childlike curiosity, his eyes wide with wonder. "wow, these are so cool! do they hurt?" he'd ask, genuinely intrigued. surprisingly, as you explain the sensation and the reason behind getting them, luffy would listen intently, absorbing every word.

as the days went by, luffy would occasionally bring up the piercings in conversations, always with the same level of excitement. "babe, show me those cool piercings again," he'd say, his eyes sparkling with interest. he'd honestly never get tired of seeing them.

your first time fucking after getting them ignited a side of luffy you rarely saw in bed. luffy was extra careful and attentive as his hands trailed up your body before resting on your breast. his calloused hands cupping them as his thumb softly ran across the piercing, tracing its outline.

"does it feel good?" you nod, back arching, pushing your breast further into his hands. without warning he'd roughly flick the piercings, soaking in your reaction with a mischievous grin.

"i wonder how they taste," he'd say before leaning in to give them a teasing lick, his warm breath sending shivers down their spine. the saltiness of your skin mixed with the metallic taste of the metal bar tasted so good. he licked, sucked, and bit, giving your nipple the attention they deserved.

Roronoa Zoro

zoro would have a more intense reaction to your new piercings. you quickly ran to go show him the minute you and nami returned back to the sunny. you found him resting against the headboard of your shared bed.

his eye opened the second you entered the room, waiting for a kiss (something you always do after returning to him) instead you just stood there at the foot of the bed with a mischievous grin.

"what?" he'd asked, instead of answering you lifted up your shirt and showed off your new piercings.

he would stare intently at your bare tits and the contrasting silver bar with a playful smirk on his lips. "didn't think you had it in you," he'd tease, his voice a deep rumble laced with arousal.

"come here, i want to get a better look," the second you are close, he would pull you over his lap in a straddling position. while his hands rested on your hip, his eyes never left your breast. he wanted nothing more than to take them into his mouth and hear how you sounded to a new sensation. but first, he had to make sure you were okay. be began throwing questions at you.

did it hurt?

how much did they cost?

and lastly, how sensitive are you right now?

once he knows that you are okay, his grip on your waist will tighten, pulling your body closer.

without reserve, his lips would pepper you with kisses trailing from your neck down to the piercings, giving them a gentle tug with his teeth. causing you to grip his hair releasing a moan from the sensation, one he hadn't heard before.

"mmh, i like that," he'd grunt against their skin, his breath hot and tantalizing. "these suit you well, baby." his voice husky as he lifted his eyes wanting to watch your reactions closely as his fingers tugged and pulled on one while his mouth bit and sucked on the other. his eyes darken with lust as he takes in the pleasure written on their face.

Vinsmoke Sanji

before parting ways with nami you tell her to send a message to sanji about you needing him in your room. you sat on the bed, nervous and excited ready to show sanji how you spent your evening.

sanji, ever the romantic, would be utterly captivated by your new piercings. "holy shit baby," his eyes would widen in surprise and admiration, a very noticeable blush spreading across his face. "how did you manage to make yourself even hotter," he'd say, his voice filled with genuine awe.

"may i?" you nodded, even though you were still pretty sore, you craved his touch. he'd gently cup you breasts, his fingers brushing over the piercings with a feather-light touch. loving the contrast between your soft warm skin against the cool metal bar.

his touch would become more confident, his fingers teasing the piercings with a mix of tenderness and desire. causing you to let out a kitten-like moan. which further turns him on, "i want to make you feel incredible," he'd whisper, his breath warm against your skin.

his lips would follow the path of his fingers, kissing and licking around the piercings, his touch sending waves of pleasure through your body. "look at how swollen these bud are," he says, pinching your nipples harder.

"sanji," you managed to moan out.

"hold on my love, i'm just getting started," with lips still attached to your breast, his hands toy with the band of your shorts, dipping inside skimpy underwear.

_____

I just wanted to thank everyone for reading and liking my work >.<. it means a lot!!

I'm working on part 2 atm (kidd, killer, and law) and might get that up tmr :) still, I hope you guys enjoyed this one!!

in the meantime, feel free to check out my kidd one shot >.<!

[maskedbyghost]

idk why but i keep thinking about that book 'the hating game' and how you and simon share an office on the base. you’re both lieutenants, top of your game, but forced to work together because price picked you two as his best, and you hate each other.

i mean, hate hate.

constant fights, never agreeing on anything important, always butting heads. you’re both so damn hot-headed, it drives you fucking crazy how much he frustrates you. so for months, you're stuck like this—sitting across from each other doing paperwork, prepping for missions, always competing, trying to one-up the other.

then one day, you overhear someone saying how simon rarely shows his face to anyone, and you’re thrown off because… he always takes his mask off in the office with you. wouldn’t he hide his face from his biggest enemy?

but, hey, you’re not complaining. you’ve gotten used to reading his every expression—especially that look of pure annoyance when you say something snarky, and he runs a hand through his hair, and… oh.

you start wondering what else he'd do with his hands, like how he’d grip your hair if you were on your knees, hands wrapped around his d—wait, what? no no no, you hate him. sure, he looks ridiculously good, but that’s not the point. he drives you insane.

but the thing is, simon’s not doing any better.

he loves being in the room with you, hearing your voice, even when you're bickering about something he said. watching your cheeks flush when you get mad… yeah, he’s obsessed, but he’s convinced you’d rip him apart if he ever acted on it.

and then, after months of this push and pull, it all breaks one night. you're arguing about something stupid again, standing way too close, and suddenly, he snaps. his hand is on your neck, and he’s kissing you. hard. expecting the worst from you. but instead, your arms wrap around his neck, slowly, like it's second nature, pulling him even closer until there's no space left between you, the heat of his body sinking into yours, and you can feel the roughness of his breath against your lips, as if you’ve both been waiting for this moment, for this closeness, all along.

---------------------------------------------------------

should i make this longer maybee?

---------------------------------------------------------

@daydreamerwoah

[allmoshnobrain]

You're a short girl, and sometimes that messes with your confidence. Your boyfriend doesn't seem to care at all, though.

✦ on this fic: simon 'ghost' riley x fem!reader, fluff, reader is short and it makes her a bit insecure

✦ a/n: this is my first time writing for anything other than metallica/megadeth/venom which is what i usually write for but i've been daydreaming a lot about this man and needed to get this out of my system 😭 also it was a great way to warm up and start writing again after my break!! hope u guys enjoy it 💖

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

It takes him a while to pick up on your insecurity.

It's subtle, and honestly, he’s not exactly great with subtle. He fails, at first, to catch the way you pout, the way you frown whenever you see a hot actress who’s taller than you, or a long dress you think would look better on someone with a few more inches.

He finally catches on, though, one night when you’re cooking dinner. It’s kind of a slip up, really — a tiring day and your period cramps the worst they’ve been in the last few hours just making it easier for you to get upset over the smallest thing. So when you can’t reach one of the trays on the top shelf and have to ask him to grab it, he turns around to see you teary-eyed and upset, which is not how this usually goes.

“Love?” he asks, his brow furrowing when he sees your state “What’s wrong?” He glances at the glass tray in his hands. “Did I grab the wrong one?”

“What? No, no, it’s fine,” you mutter, his confused look quickly shifting into worry when he notices the tears in your eyes.

“Hey,” he quickly puts the tray down and gently grabs your chin. “Talk to me. What is it?”

He’s firm, straightforward but not harsh, which just makes you feel even more ridiculous for almost crying over something so dumb.

“I’m being silly,” you say, but he shakes his head. 

“Don’t say that,” he mutters. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

That last part sounds almost like a command, his voice all firm and serious — something that would probably annoy you if he didn’t sound so genuinely concerned. You sigh.

“I wish I was taller,” you whisper, hoping he wouldn’t hear it, but he does. Of course he does.

“You wish you were taller?” he repeats, now more confused than worried. “Why?”

“I just don’t want to feel useless, always needing your help,” you half-lie, because that’s not really it.  And of course, Simon knows — he always does. You can tell by the way he raises his eyebrow slightly at you, disarming you instantly. “I wish I was prettier,” you finally mutter.

“You are pretty,” he says slowly, like he’s still trying to figure out where all this is coming from. “You’re beautiful. And I like helping you.”

“But tall girls are… More beautiful,” you sniffle, and he snorts.

“Who said that?”

“I said,” you frown. “Like, every time I see a cute dress that’s too long, I just think I can’t wear it. It won’t look right on me. I always feel like I can only look cute, but sometimes I want to look, I don’t know, gorgeous. Tall girls just always seem to look gorgeous to me, and I...”

“Oh, shush,” Simon grumbles, sliding an arm around your waist and pulling you closer. He tilts your chin up gently so you’re looking at him. “You are gorgeous. And you’re beautiful, and you’re mine. And I like you small — easier to hold.”

You can’t help but laugh. It’s shaky, and you try to hold it back, wanting to stay in your little pity party a bit longer. I mean, seriously, what does he mean by "you’re gorgeous" when you feel the exact opposite?

"Easier to hold?" you say, trying to sound offended but failing as a giggle slips out.

"There she is," he hums, kissing the corner of your mouth, and that’s when you realize you’re smiling. "My girl. Don’t be upset, love. You don’t need to be taller to be pretty. And if you ever need to reach for something, well, that’s what I’m here for."

“You’re just saying that because you’re my boyfriend,” you tease. He lets out an exasperated sigh.

“I’m not.”

“You are!”

“Goddammit, woman. Will you quit trying to convince me you’re not beautiful? It’s not happening,” he frowns, then leans in, pressing a small, tender kiss to your lips. His arms wrapped around you are comfortable, warm and firm and feel like home.

It never fails to disarm you, how soft he can be. Out of the blue, always when you’re not really expecting it. Just when you think you’ve finally managed to annoy him or maybe this is the time he’s gonna get tired of you. He never fails to prove you wrong. 

He never fails to prove that he loves you, just the way you are.

[hoshifighting]

hi! i absolutely love your work ❤️ i binged all of your reaction scenarios in a day- your writting is absolutely amazing.

anyway- i wanted to put in a request if that's ok 🥹

how do you think hoshi would be as a dom/hard dom hehe 🫠

how hoshi would be as a hard dom WARNINGS: smut, penetrative sex, kneeling, humiliation, chocking, biting, hard dom dynamics, sub/brat dynamics.

when hoshi’s in charge, i think there’s no softness in him. no hesitation. you see it in his eyes the second the switch flips—how they darken, how he looks at you like you’re a toy, something to play with, break, and put back together. it always starts with a challenge. a look, maybe a smirk you give him because you think it’ll be fun to rile him up. but hoshi isn’t someone you can push around, not when he’s like this, you know his rage problemsss. when you test him, all you do is set yourself up for what’s coming next.

“you think you can handle me?” he’ll say, amused. it’s a warning, one you always ignore, and before you know it, he’s got you pinned up against a wall, his hand around your throat. he doesn’t squeeze right away, just enough pressure to make you aware of how easily he could. his lips ghost over your ear as he whispers, “you wanted this. now you’re gonna take it.”

hoshi doesn’t waste time. there’s nothing slow or gentle about the way he pulls your clothes off, ripping them if you’re too slow, making you stand there naked in front of him while he stays fully dressed. the control he has is intoxicating, and it makes you feel small, weak, in the best way. he’ll make you kneel, his hand still gripping the back of your neck, pushing you down. “look at you,” he’ll say, “on your knees already. tsk!! pathetic.” and then, without warning, he’ll slap your ass, hard enough to make you yelp. “you like being treated like this, yea?” he growls, and the sting of his palm still lingers as he pulls you up by your hair, forcing you to look into his eyes. “answer me.”

“yes,” you whisper, and that’s all he needs to hear before he’s got you bent over whatever surface is closest—a table, the bed, the floor, the sink, the kitchen counter, the balcony, doesn’t matter to him. hoshi’s rough. there’s no easing into it, no slow teasing. he’ll push your legs apart, fingers digging into your thighs, and when he fucks you, it’s hard, fast, relentless.

he’ll keep a hand around your throat or pressed between your shoulder blades, keeping you down, making sure you can’t move. and he talks, too—filthy, degrading, words spilling from his mouth like he’s been holding them in alllll day. “fuck, you’re so tight. you gonna come already? after all that attitude?”he’ll slap your ass again, leaving red handprints, then spread you open wider, making sure you feel every inch of him. and when you start to moan, when you can’t hold back anymore, he laughs, low and dark. “so fucking loud,” he’ll say, “you want everyone to hear how much of a slut you are, huh?”

he doesn’t stop until you’re begging, tears in your eyes, body trembling. and even then, he’ll pull out just to make you beg harder, make you tell him how much you need it. “say it,” he commands, fingers digging into your skin. “tell me how bad you want me to fuck you.”

and when you do—when you give him exactly what he wants—he’ll pull you close, biting down on your shoulder, leaving marks that’ll last for days. he’ll take you harder than before, until you can’t even form words, only sobbing into the sheets, legs shaking, body spent.and when he’s finished, when he’s finally had his fill, he’ll collapse next to you, chest heaving, a satisfied smirk on his face. he won’t say anything at first, just watch you catch your breath, maybe brush the hair out of your face.

[lxvsiick]

KISS ME RIGHT | MYUNG JAEHYUN

PAIRING: down bad! frat boy! myung jaehyun x library worker! fem! reader 

SUMMARY: Jaehyung goes to the library everyday to see Y/n even though he's never touched a book in his life.

GENRE: fluff, imagine, frat boy

WORDCOUNT: 2k

WARNING: kissing scene towards the end!

A/N: Inspired by KISS ME RIGHT by Keshi -- the song is finally out! i've been waiting ever since his last tour ,, this song reminds of jaehyun’s flirty personality so ENJOY!

The double doors of the library swung open with an exaggerated flair, and every head inside turned like it was a reflex. There he was again—Jaehyun, in all his glory. Hair tousled like he'd just come from the gym, a hoodie slung over his shoulder, and that ridiculous smile that could charm the paint off the walls. He strutted into the library like it was the hottest club on campus, and not the quietest place within a ten-mile radius.

Whispers buzzed through the aisles.

"Is that Jaehyun again?"

"Does he even know what a book is?"

"Bro, he’s here every day now. Do you think he lost a bet?"

But Jaehyun didn’t care. He barely noticed the stares anymore. All he cared about was making his way to the front desk, where Y/n sat. She looked calm, focused, her fingers flying over the keyboard, the glow from her computer screen highlighting her face. She didn’t even look up as he approached.

Jaehyun cleared his throat a little too loudly, startling a student reading in the corner.

"Yo, uh... hey," he said, trying to sound casual, like he hadn’t spent the last twenty minutes rehearsing those two words in his head.

She finally glanced up, her brow furrowed in mild confusion. It was like she was wondering why this human embodiment of a golden retriever was trying to infiltrate her serene library world.

"You’re here again?" she asked, her voice neutral but with a hint of amusement.

Jaehyun rubbed the back of his neck, his usual swagger deflating slightly under her gaze. But he quickly recovered, flashing that winning smile that got him into any party, out of any trouble, and, hopefully, into her good graces.

"Yeah, you know... studying and stuff."

She raised an eyebrow, glancing at the completely empty table he had staked out for himself behind her. No books. No laptop. Not even a notebook. Just him, spinning a pen between his fingers like he was preparing for the next big test in... nothing.

"Studying?" she echoed, clearly unconvinced.

"Yeah, you know... brushing up on... the Dewey Decimal System." He threw in a dramatic wink, like it was the cleverest thing anyone had ever said about libraries.

She didn’t laugh, but there was a tiny, almost imperceptible quirk of her lips. Success.

"Right. Well, let me know if you need help finding a book... or learning how to read." Her voice was dry, and Jaehyun's grin widened.

"Ouch, brutal," he chuckled, his face lighting up like she had just complimented him.

She turned back to her screen, though he could tell she wasn’t entirely brushing him off. That was all the encouragement he needed. Without another word, he made his way to his usual table—smack in the middle of her line of sight. He didn’t sit like a regular person. He flopped down with a dramatic sigh, then spread out across the chair like he was getting ready for a nap, not a study session.

୧ ‧₊˚ 🍵 ⋅

From her seat, Y/n could feel his presence, like a beam of sunshine she wasn’t sure she needed right now. Every time she glanced up, there he was, pretending to flip through the pages of some random book he’d grabbed. Every few minutes, he'd peek over the top of the pages to check if she was looking.

At one point, Taesan and Leehan walked by and nearly stopped in their tracks when they saw Jaehyun actually holding a book. Leehan nudged Taesan, eyes wide in disbelief.

"Dude, I think he’s... reading?"

Taesan snorted. "Nah, he's definitely planning something. Probably trying to get out of doing chores at the frat house."

Jaehyun pretended not to hear them, but he couldn’t help shooting a quick grin their way. Let them talk. He was on a mission—a mission that involved far more staring at Y/n than reading anything resembling words.

୧ ‧₊˚ 🍵 ⋅

As the library’s closing time approached, the once-crowded space thinned out. Y/n was busy packing up her things behind the desk, when she noticed Jaehyun still lounging in his seat, scrolling through his phone. Everyone else had left, but he lingered like he had all the time in the world.

She walked over, standing at his table, crossing her arms with a bemused expression. "You know we’re closing, right?"

He glanced up, his puppy-like enthusiasm returning as if she’d just thrown him a bone. "Oh, yeah, totally. Just waiting for the right moment to—" He glanced down at the book in front of him and then looked back up, suddenly sheepish. "—check this out. For... studying. You know, tomorrow."

She shook her head, but this time, the smile she’d been holding back all day finally broke through.

"You’re hopeless."

He stood up, grinning ear-to-ear. "Nah, just... committed."

She raised an eyebrow, a challenge in her eyes. "To studying?"

He stepped closer, playful but serious. "To you."

For a second, there was nothing but the sound of the quiet, empty library around them. Then she laughed—soft, real. And in that moment, he knew every second of pretending to study had been worth it.

୧ ‧₊˚ 🍵 ⋅

The bass from the speakers thumped through the walls of the frat house as Jaehyun stood near the kitchen, laughing with his friends. Red Solo cups in hand, they exchanged stories from the week, loud banter filling the air. Jaehyun was mid-sentence when something—or rather, someone—caught his eye.

Out of the corner of his vision, Y/n stepped through the front door, her figure silhouetted against the dim lights of the hallway. She was wearing a sleek black dress that hugged her frame just right, her hair falling in waves over her shoulders. The noise of the party seemed to dull in his ears. He froze, his eyes locked onto her as if the world had slowed down just for a moment.

His friends continued chatting around him, oblivious to his trance.

"Yo, bro... hello?" Sungho waved a hand in front of his face. Jaehyun blinked but didn’t move.

"Earth to Jaehyun! What are you staring at, man?" Sohee nudged him, noticing where his eyes were glued.

His heart pounded in his chest, his mind still trying to process how she—Y/n—was here, in this chaos of beer pong and blaring music. She didn’t belong here, but she looked so effortlessly out of place, it was almost unfair.

"Bro, you good?" Hanbin laughed, realizing why he was distracted. "Dude’s done for, he’s totally smitten."

Jaehyun shook his head, snapping out of it. He chuckled awkwardly, trying to act nonchalant. "Yeah, uh, I’ll catch you guys later." He set his cup down on the counter and started weaving his way through the crowd toward her, his pulse quickening with every step.

୧ ‧₊˚ 🍵 ⋅

As he neared her, she looked around the room, clearly unfamiliar with the party vibe. Her eyes landed on him, and she smiled, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. He stopped a few feet away, his voice unsteady.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, more confused than anything. "Who invited you?"

She raised an eyebrow at his tone, folding her arms over her chest. "Jake invited me. I thought it might be fun." Her voice was cool, as if his question wasn’t welcome.

A flare of jealousy twisted in his gut, and he frowned, glancing around the room, wondering why Jake had to ask her. "You should’ve said no to him. This isn't your scene." His voice came out sharper than he intended, his frustration laced in every word.

Y/n scoffed, clearly annoyed. "Excuse me? You don’t get to tell me what I should or shouldn’t do." She took a step closer, her gaze hardening. "I didn’t come here for Jake. I came because I wanted to see you. But if this is how you're gonna act, maybe it was a mistake." Her voice cut through the noise, her disappointment evident.

Before he could even respond, she turned on her heel, moving deeper into the house, disappearing into the crowd of bodies and flashing lights. He stood there, dumbfounded, replaying her words in his head. She came to see him.

୧ ‧₊˚ 🍵 ⋅

His heart sank. He felt like an idiot. Without wasting another second, he pushed his way through the throng of people, his mind racing. How could he have messed up so badly in just one conversation?

"Hey, have you seen—" he asked one person, cutting himself off as he realized they didn’t know who he was talking about. He scanned the dance floor, the kitchen, even outside by the keg, but she was nowhere in sight. His frustration grew with every passing second.

He was a guy who could read a room, crack a joke, keep the vibe light. But right now? He was frantic. His friends slapped him on the back as he passed, asking him what was up, but he brushed them off. He couldn’t let her leave thinking that was all he had to say—that she wasn’t welcome here, when in reality, she was the only person he wanted to be around.

Finally, after what felt like hours but was really just a few intense minutes, he spotted her standing near the back patio, her arms crossed as she talked with a couple of people. She looked frustrated, her foot tapping lightly against the ground.

Jaehyun took a deep breath, steeling himself, and made his way over to her, determined to make things right.

୧ ‧₊˚ 🍵 ⋅

Jaehyun took a deep breath, steeling himself, and made his way over to her, determined to make things right. 

As he approached, the people around her seemed to sense the tension, exchanging glances before slowly stepping back, leaving the two of them alone in the middle of the patio. The noise around them faded into the background.

Jaehyun opened his mouth, but nothing came out at first. Then the words just spilled out.

"I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to freak out earlier. I was just... I don’t know, I saw you in that dress and... and then when you said you came to see me and not because of Jake, I just—" He paused, his hands gesturing wildly as he tried to find the right words. "I got jealous. It was dumb. I shouldn’t have said you shouldn’t be here, because I want you here. Like, I always want you here, not just at parties, but anywhere, and I—" He was rambling now, his thoughts tripping over each other in his rush to explain.

"—I just, I like you. A lot. And I don’t know how to deal with that sometimes. You’re... you’re like this amazing person, and I’m just the guy who’s pretending to study just so I can see you, and that probably sounds stupid, but—" He was talking faster, his words stumbling over each other. His heart was pounding in his chest, and he wasn’t even sure if he was making sense anymore.

Suddenly, Y/n stepped closer, cutting him off mid-sentence. Without saying a word, she stood on her tiptoes, leaning in.

Before he could process what was happening, her lips met his.

Time seemed to stop. His heart did a somersault, and his thoughts went blank. Her kiss was soft, brief, but it left him utterly frozen, like his brain couldn’t catch up with what just happened.

When she pulled back, Jaehyun stood there, completely stunned, his eyes wide and mouth slightly open as he tried to make sense of reality. For a moment, it was as though his whole world had paused.

Y/n looked at him and burst into laughter—an easy, melodic sound that broke through the tension. "You should see your face right now," she teased.

Her laughter snapped him out of his trance. His shocked expression melted into a grin, his heart racing for an entirely different reason now.

"Wait, you—" he started, his voice trailing off in disbelief.

She smiled, stepping closer again, her gaze soft but teasing. "Yeah, I like you too. Even if you pretend to read at the library every day." She gave him a playful nudge.

A flood of relief and pure happiness washed over him, and without thinking, he closed the gap between them, gently cupping her face and bringing his lips to hers once more. This time, the kiss was slower, more deliberate, like he wanted to savor every second of it. He could feel the smile on her lips, and it made him grin into the kiss.

୧ ‧₊˚ 🍵 ⋅

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