#and has this horrible dawning realization

[jenanigans1207]

I just love the idea that Cas and Dean actually manage to be sneaky in the beginning of their relationship, keeping it secret not because they don’t trust Sam or are ashamed but because they need to feel solid in it themselves before they tell anyone. So they’ve actually done a spectacular job of keeping quiet and not getting caught.

And then one day Cas and Dean are sitting at the table in the bunker kitchen, half asleep while Cas sips coffee and Dean munches halfheartedly on soggy cereal, when Sam comes back from his morning run.

“There you guys are!” He says as he pulls his headphones out of his ears. “I’ve been waiting for you to get up!”

“Why?” Dean asks, dropping his spoon into his bowl and splashing a little milk over the side. “You find us a case?”

Sam shakes his head as he heads to the fridge for a bottle of water. “I think there’s something wrong with the bunker.”

“What kind of something?” Dean asks, casting a curious glance around.

The bunker had seemed fine to him. Nothing strange had happened. No weird noises, no strange smells, nothing creepy or daunting that was outside of the ordinary as far as living completely underground went.

“Well, the lights have been acting weird.” Sam begins, thinking. “And the electricity will just randomly short out. It’s like all the fuses blow at once, or something, even when nothing has changed.”

Dean, still half asleep and only a few sips into his own coffee, doesn’t immediately make the connection. But Cas seems to go incredibly still across the table from him.

“Huh.” Dean says, pushing his bowl away and reaching for his mug. “I haven’t seen any of that. When is this happening?”

Dean still hasn’t pieced it together, but Cas is sending him a solid, desperate stare over the rim of his own mug. Dean’s mind is trying to kick on, to figure it out, and then Sam says—

“Well, most recently was last night. You were already in bed. And Cas— I don’t know where you were.”

And oh. Oh. Dean understands now.

Because yeah, he had been in bed last night. It just so happens that Cas had been in his bed, too. And they were— busy, but sleeping isn’t exactly what they were doing.

Dean purposely does not meet Cas’s gaze.

“Weird.” Dean says with a shrug that he hopes is nonchalant.

“Yeah,” Cas finally manages to agree, his fingers tight around his mug. “That is strange, I haven’t noticed it, either. We’ll have to keep an eye out for it and address it if it’s an electrical issue.”

Sam, beautiful, sweet Sam, doesn’t seem to notice anything amiss. He shrugs. “Yeah, just let me know if you notice it. Maybe it’s just a weird fluke.”

And it will be awhile yet before Sam understands why this only happens when he’s alone in the bunker at night, why it never happens when Dean and Cas stay up with him to the early hours of the morning to research. Sam will live confused but peacefully oblivious for as long as they can all get away with.

[rxttenfish]

OH HOLY SHIT I JUST HAD A EPIPHANY ON HOW TO OPEN A CERTAIN STORY USING THE REDESIGN UNIVERSE AND IT IS SO HORRIFIC ALREADY AND I LOVE IT

but also holy shit i feel like i will need to hardcore remind people that. horror is my favorite genre. i love horror. i write horror. and when it comes to horror in combination with monster prom, i mean.

the violence will not be glossed over, it will not be treated as humorous, and the very real consequences and implications of that violence are going to have to be addressed.

[jarro-stan-account]

I think Bruce would start wearing his children’s merch and it would backfire horribly

He buys a whole shipment of shirts, mugs, bags, etc because he loves his kids and he’s so proud of them it hurts.

The day after it arrives, the manor dissolves into a cold war. Long held alliances snap in half, and tentative truces break down. Damian is staring hatefully at Dick. Jason’s glaring at Tim like he wants to recreate Titans Tower. Bruce has no idea what set them off.

After a week of this, Bruce is at his wit’s end. None of his kids will talk to him, so he goes to the bat computer for some well intentioned stalking. Except- what’s this? There’s an unnamed file, hidden in the depths of the computer. Bruce, having great respect for privacy and personal space, immediately starts to crack it. It’s- a spreadsheet.

The two categories are his children’s names and the type of merch (hat, pin, fridge magnet, etc). With a grim and dawning horror, Bruce realizes that his children are keeping track of how many times he wears/uses their merch and is using it as a favoritism competition. There’s a hot debate about if the yellow bat symbol should belong to batgirl or to black bat. Murder threats are sprinkled liberally in the annotations.

So Bruce comes up with a plan- he’ll create his own spreadsheet that cross-references with his calendar to ensure that he wears/uses everyone’s merch equally. No favoritism accusations if it’s a rotating schedule, right?

Bruce is too tired to change before flopping into bed one night, and comes downstairs wearing the same shirt. The breakfast table explodes.

Bruce gives up and goes back to wearing Superman merch.

[seumyo]

BAKUGOU KATSUKI ✰ 6:34

do u want to celebrate your bday, mr. great explosion murder god dynamight

Bakugou stared at your message for a while. He sits by his study desk, supposedly taking a break from his homework. His brows are contorted to one of contemplation, a pout on his lips as he types in his reply—rather quickly, too.

hell no

(ꃋᴖꃋ)

He shook his head. Bakugou turns off his phone and sets it to the side. 

If anything, he hates and genuinely gets upset with surprises, especially when celebrating his birthday. He doesn’t get it; why people celebrate another year closer to death. When he was younger, he remembered loving the attention, the gifts, and the praise. 

But now that he’s older, he’d much rather just spend time by himself. Maybe cook himself a dish or two to celebrate, but that’s it. He doesn’t need anything grand—not anymore, at the very least.

Then again, why would you be asking him a question like that as if you weren’t on the other side of Japan? He thinks it’s childish; besides, celebrating his birthday is a complete waste of time. He’s a hero-in-training, and so are you, so he’d rather use that time of celebration to either train or study (and he has the audacity to call other people nerds).

Bakugou decides to go to school earlier than normal because he doesn’t want to give those idiots (his classmates) time to even prepare for a surprise party (yes, Kaminari’s horrible at whispering and keeping secrets) for him in the dorms (and also the classroom; it just slipped from the tip of Kirishima’s tongue).

A hand holds onto his shoulder, and by instinct, he moves away from the contact and turns to the person with a scowl. If he weren’t alert, he would’ve blown said person to bits, and yet the moment he hears that familiar laugh, all raised defenses are lowered and his tense shoulders relax.

“What the fuck?”

“Surprise! I knew you’d come to school early,” you greet him with a bear hug. Bakugou scowls as he tries to push you away.

“Kats, I missed you so much! It’s been forever since we last saw each other—”

“How the hell did you get here?”

You grinned, ignoring his non-serious threats of exploding you to the skies. “Come on, Grouchy. I don’t have much time, y’know?” You dragged Bakugou toward one of the private lounge areas within the grounds of U.A., and he’s surprised you knew how to navigate your way around the campus. “Don’t worry, I asked for a bit of help from Midoriya since he’s the only one I know aside from you that goes to this school.”

“That damned—”

“Don’t get mad at him! Getting mad would make you wrinkle quicker, and don’t furrow your brows; I think I’m seeing wrinkled lines in your forehead.”

“You—”

“There’s no time for scolding me, Kats!” You held up a bento cake to him. 

He notices the two little boxes of what he assumed would be his presents behind you and the lighter you used to light up the candle. He thinks it’s wasteful when he could’ve just lit it up himself with his Quirk. Then again, he couldn’t really do anything anymore because what’s done is done.

The cake itself was thoughtful. Frosted with light orange frosting, decked out with what he assumed were mini explosions made out of fondant at the sides and a little lettering that said, “hbd dynamight,” with a little spark of red, orange, and black at the end of the sentence. 

Bakugou looks back on it, and the realization dawns on him.

This is the first time someone—aside from his parents—made the effort to give him a cake for his birthday. 

“Do you want me to sing happy birthday?” You ask when he doesn’t immediately blow out the candle.

“Fuck, no.” He rolled his eyes and took a moment before doing so.

“You didn’t have to do all this, nerd.”

“But I wanted to.”

That made Bakugou smile, even if it was only a little. “Thanks.”

“You’re seventeen now, and that is one year older than being a senior citizen,” he chuckled, “and as always, don’t smoke, drink, or do anything that would get your hero license revoked. Lessen the frown and turn it upside down; remember that I’m an awesome friend for remembering your favorite cake flavor even if you don’t eat it often—and finally, happy birthday, Kats.”

His heart is beating too quickly as he tries to play it cool by nodding to everything you said. He’s missed this, though he’d rather die than tell you that, knowing damn well you would never let him live it down.

“Whatever, you sap.” Bakugou stuck out his tongue, and you did as well.

“Well— shit, I have to go before I miss the next train.”

“Don’t have morning classes, then? Shiketsu’s a four-hour commute from here.”

“Uh huh. Remember—”

“Yeah, yeah. Cake goes in the fridge if I don’t want to eat it, and send you a video of me opening your gift. I hope it’s not ass, like last year’s mug with our picture on it.”

“Hey–! It was a very good picture,” you replied. “I have one too, just so you know,” you chuckled after finishing packing everything up. “Because it’s cool to match mugs. Really good way to strengthen our relationship. It makes you think of me whenever you have your morning coffee or tea.”

He snorts. “As if, nerd.”

Bakugou watches you leave, but not before seeing you stumble against your feet, which made him cackle obnoxiously at your misery. With the bento cake and gifts in either of his hands, he thinks this is one of his best birthdays yet. And spending it with you, even if it were only for a short moment, is surprisingly fulfilling.

He may start to enjoy surprises if they were this pleasant.

Now he just has to worry about getting back to the dorms without being seen by any of the idiots that would pester him about where he got his cake and gifts from.

SEUMYO © 2024, PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[phoneuserhana333]

.°˖✧ NSFW+SFW neighbor!doctor!abby / neighbor!producer!reader headcanons .°˖✧

tags: NSFW!!!, dom!abby, strap on, size kink, semi-public car sex, recording the deed, undefined relationship, fluff? perhaps?, hickey giving, come to brazil

:: notes; basically miscellaneous headcanons and thoughts!! hope u enjoy<3 also, part two of the story-based headcanons is in the works, but i fear that it’ll be tooooo long:(

PART1 — PART2 — PART3 — NSFWHC

• during your situationship era, just when you started to get close, abby and you would pick each other’s packages up. you both had expensive equipment shipped over often, so it was a welcome gesture.

• imagine your shocked face when you see a “nsfw, do not open in public!” stamp on one of these packages

• when you rip it open, and find a sleek black strap on (that’s way too big), you nearly cum on the spot. you could barely wrap your hand around it!

• of course, abby would make it fit, albeit with a bit of a struggle she secretly enjoyed, which is exactly why she ordered a bigger size. dr. anderson has a raging size kink!

• abby acts all cool and unbothered when you show her the love songs that you wrote about her. what you don’t see is her giggling and blushing red when she hears the same song in the hospital during her shift a few weeks later, blasting on the radio in the voice of some singer who you work with often

• on the other hand, hearing a more suggestive song she knows is about her will have the woman pulling the car over during a road trip and kissing you until you’re breathless; “backseat, on your knees”

• and suddenly you’re being fucked silly with her hand over your mouth and the other gripping your hips, as abby tries to angle the strap juuust right so that it pleases you both

• it took abby months to find out you were famous. honestly, nora probably told her.

• and she didn’t realize how famous you are until you started dating. kinda dawns upon her when you explain why people are commenting “come to brazil” on a photo of you holding hands, but she’s still pretty clueless

• she is the FIRST person to tell you that a sample or song or lyric sucks (“you know i love you but sweetheart… what is this?”), followed by a pat on the butt and a kiss on the cheek for trying

• she likes to help with lyrics but stays away from instruments and melodies, rightfully so

• accidentally pressed some random buttons when she was fucking you in your home studio once and recorded the whole thing. will send the audio to you randomly, followed by a formal “When will you be home, darling? :)”

• technologically illiterate. poor abs

• when you were still in that undefined phase of your relationship, abby would hate fuck you alll the time.

• singing loudly late into the night? she’s stuffing your red panties into your mouth to shut you up. back talking when she’s telling you off? suddenly you’re bent over her knee, spanked and edged into oblivion. having another party? abby already snuck in, trapping you in the bathroom until she’s had enough of your pussy

• abby herself has no idea why she’s hatefucking you 80% of the time. spoiler alert: it’s because of her repressed emotions towards you. abby doesn’t really date around imo and you showing up and flipping her life upside down was unexpected

• and tbh ellie doesn’t help with this; she’s a huge fan of your work, knows all the singers you work with and is always super nice to you whenever dina drags her along to your parties

• abby hates her. she becomes so much more affectionate towards you after she meets ellie: touching your shoulders and legs, wiping a crumb of food from the corner of your lips with her thumb, anything she can get away with basically

• makes you cum extra hard the night after she met ellie, making sure your neck and collarbones are bruised from her rough kisses and bites (and you’re not even dating yet, how scandalous!)

• she confessed first. horribly anxious and overdressed, abby showed up at your door with a bouquet of assorted flowers, that she chose based on their meaning, your favorite champagne and some sweets you liked. thoughtful, thoughtful gal

• if it was up to her, you would’ve u-hauled a loooog time ago, but she wants to give you space. still, you find yourself sleeping over 6 nights a week and daydreaming about matching rings. how odd!

• basically, you felt first, abby fell harder.

[imaslutforwritingshit]

Edward Cullen Imagine (XF!READER)

PART TWO

Warnings- smut, p in v, cunnilingus, faint jealousy (Jacob), passionate (lovey) sex

P.S I’ve actually never made smut where the characters actually loved each other😭 it’s mostly just desire. So this is actually kinda well written , just a foreword to the poetic shit she says.

Read PART ONE here ;)

I didn’t understand what he meant when he said that. I didn’t understand, until his cold fingers snakes down the bones of my hips, and he covered me with his strong body, like the crevices in my pelvic bone were made solely for his hands.

“You,” Edward strained, his voice gravely, unlike the normal smooth charisma he embodied. As he spoke in my ear, he pushed my shorts down with his thumbs, the cheeky underwear I had picked out this morning on a whim now on full display to him.

When Edward let his fingers graze the shape of my ass, his hand wavered on my skin, like every movement was delicate- and yet something he couldn’t contain. “You are making me lose myself. The way you sound, look, smell,” Edward inhaled sharply, grinding his hard cock across the sheer fabric of my underwear. The feeling sent shivers and tingles down the nerves of my stomach.

I wanted more. I’ve never wanted anything as much as I wanted this. His voice was amplifying my desire for him, each rough syllable a new jolt of electricity through my body.

Edward groaned as my panties rose up, his dick deeper in the planes of my ass. I could practically feel the veins of his body sliding on the skin of my ass cheeks.

He finished his sentence in a husky tone, each word getting harder for him to speak. “You make me want to do horrible things, Calypso. I want to be selfish with you. To you.” The lowness of his voice, if I didn’t know him as my boyfriend, would be straight up deadly- and terrifying.

My heart melted at the thought of Edward getting what he wanted, a strange mixture of lustful hormones and admiration for the words. Everything Edward has always been was good, and gentleman-like, and selfless.

So, yeah. I want him to be selfish. I want him to have what he wants, just for this evening.

I arched my back, pressing my entire ass against his erection. “I need you to be selfish, Edward. I want to see you lose control.”

Edward stopped moving for a second, breathing heavily over my body. I could feel his cock twitching on my underwear, and I bucked my hips backwards, urging him to keep going. He stopped my movement with a rough push on my hips, bringing my entire body to the cushion.

“Callie, Callie. I will never lose control.” he felt my body up, each grope electrifying my senses. “I desire ruining you. My body begs to. The amount of times I fantasized of killing you when I met you…You drive me insane, beautiful.” He paused, and I could almost feel a smile on his face. “But I’m not a dog. I wouldn’t eat you alive the first chance I get, for my own filthy benefit.” Edward bit his lip, tilting his head in a dangerously playful motion. “Unless, of course, you would prefer that. Canines?”

Realization dawned on me. Jacob. He was mocking me about Jacob. Where was this coming from?

“Edward, I don’t care about him. I want you.”

Edward draped his head by mine, the graceful stands of his hair falling on my cheek. “I don’t know why you enjoy that so much, Calypso. The thought of being weak. Under Jacob’s ruthless control.”

The words were true, but still irritating. I could only assume this fire of emotion was coming from his episode of lust, but my body was getting too many mixed emotions to understand how to feel about it.

Edward thumbed my panties now, sliding the strings down in a slow, taunting manner. “I know that animal would love to see you like that. Begging.” He snarled quietly at that, and took a quick breath as my underwear slid off my ass. “To see you asking him, pleading him to take control from you.”

I whimpered, a strange thrill coming from the anger in his voice. He was jealous- because he wanted me.

Maybe I’m sick for that having fueled my desire more.

But then again, maybe I’m sick for loving a vampire.

He kissed my shoulder blade, a soft contrast to the hardness of his words. “I’ve thought about tasting you for a long time.”

My blood.

A strange, unusual spike of fear entered my heart.

This was Edward. But he’s different now- fueled by emotions, unpredictable.

Is he gonna hurt me?

Edward kissed the small of my back, dragging his hands to my waist.

“I’ve thought about tasting you, Calypso. I just never said how.”

Edward grabbed my side, rolling me to be on my back. I stared at his eyes, animalistic and wild, blending in with the dark of the forest behind him.

“Spread your legs, my dove.”

My heart was pounding so fast, I could feel the pulse all over my body. Specifically throbbing in the area between my thighs, which I spread out per his orders.

Edward sucked in a breath in his teeth, the fangs in his mouth sticking out in a predatory manner. Only staring at my naked body, like the very sight was granting him vitality. He didn’t drop his frighteningly focused stare, and instead leaned over me, kissing my thighs. Each touch was tipping me over, teasing me in a painful way.

I remember what Edward had told me a month ago.

“So the lion fell in love with the lamb.”

I was indeed, a stupid lamb.

He grazed the skin below my stomach with his lips, tracing the lines of my hips with a trail of burning kisses. I was practically rocking my hips, a silent beg for more.

Edward pushed his cold, comforting hands on my hips again, forcing me down.

God, I could live in this moment forever.

This is my life now. He is my life now. I can’t see anything farther than this.

This is my past, my present, my future all encapsulated in one small, fleeting moment.

Edward stared at me, with intense, hot eyes, dragging on my breasts, my hips, and the slow trail to my clit. It would embarrass me- the heavy eye contact, with anyone else.

But Edward’s not like anyone else.

So I kept my gaze on him, as he kept his eyes on me, and let his warm tongue heat the area between my folds. I shivered from his godlike touch, unable to tear my eyes from the beautiful scene of his mouth on my body. He grasped my thighs harder, tracing circles with the perfect pressure on my clit.

As if he couldn’t control the quick movement, he snaked his tongue down to my wet opening, rolling movements inside of me. I mewled, gripping the sheets with white knuckles. My toes were already curling from the very idea of him touching me like this.

Edward bite down a little harder on the top of my pussy, licking my body like I was his last meal. Every touch was strategic, but am I surprised? He had 104 years of experience.

Orgasm was rising to my surface too quickly. I grabbed his hair, increasing the screaming thoughts of my mind, hoping he’ll understand. But the desire took over him- and he began flicking his wet tongue more, causing me to jerk my head backwards, clasping my thighs over his head.

“Please, Edward.” My gasps were filling the empty space, all of his movements sickeningly perfect.

He let go of me, the warm tongue exiting my folds, and I clenched my thighs together harder as he kneeled over me, his breath ragged and heavy. His lips were sleek with my fluid, and I felt my ears go red.

He was looking at me like I was the most beautiful thing to exist. He watched me, so intense that I could cower from his breathtaking gaze. Edward pulled his shirt over his head, the pale, shimmering color of his skin mesmerizing me.

The sun was out. Fading over the large pine trees of Forks- as if the universe had some perfectly divine idea of the first connection of our bodies.

His eyes were light brown in the sunlight, the lines of his abs sparkling in the warm orange of the sun.

“I’m crazy about you.” My confession was soft, so soft I wasn’t sure he heard it.

Edward slowly shook his head, but all I could focus on was the color of his eyes. It was the only thing tethering me from heaven.

He was a fallen angel, looking at me like I was the cure to his sin.

“Calypso. You are my destruction.” His breath quickened, his lean chest rising and falling with the pace of my own.

Edward’s mouth met mine one more time, one more soft, passionate time. I grazed my fingers over the muscles of his back, memorizing every part of this moment. Solidifying it in my nimble, mortal mind.

He let the tip of his dick slide on my wet pussy, staring at me with lustful eyes, eyes waiting for confirmation.

I nodded, biting my lip in preparation.

Edward let his thick shaft slide in my cunt, and I yelped, clenching his thick shoulders.

It hurt. His dick was so big, I was hardly prepared for it. But Edward, with the last remaining piece of willpower he had, slowed his movements, his hard body meeting the spongey, untouched area inside of me.

He hissed, dropping his body on mine, and he grazed his fingers through my hair, each thrust getting more powerful.

With that, I realized something.

Edward is a vampire.

A vampire with exceeding amounts of supernatural strength, and… stamina.

He showed no signs of reaching climax as he warmed my body with his cock, each stroke inside of me causing pleasure to shoot to my stomach.

I could faintly hear my reaction- unreal, loud moans that I assume the deers of the forest could hear. I mewled as he slowed down, pushing his forearms into the cushion. Edward let out a soft groan, stroking my face with his thumb. He repositioned his position, pushing his dick back in, and reaching new lengths of pleasure in my insides. I moaned, shamelessly, letting my fingers dig into his back.

The warm ball of nerves were heating at my core, a sign that I was reaching climax. Edward’s mouth dropped to my collarbones, sucking sharp hickeys as he thrusted inside of me, each movement rolling my eyes back.

I whimpered, stammering from the euphoria shaking my legs. “I’m-close…”

Edward moaned, a sound so beautiful I could’ve just watched him now, an artist and a masterpiece. He ground his hips to mine, hissing with the feeling of his body completely in mine. I let my hands fall over my head, closing my eyes to try to preserve the orgasm rising in my gut.

“No.” Edward’s voice was strained, the softness of his movements gone. Each thrust inside of me was hard, rough, matching his untainted desire. “Don’t close your eyes. I need to see you.”

I need to see you.

How could I love someone so much it hurt?

I opened my eyes weakly, meeting the heavy lidded, black pits of Edward’s. His abs clenched as he pushed inside of me, his hips bucking with a renounced speed. I gasped at the feeling of his dick hitting my cervix, trying to focus on his face, overwhelmed with pleasure.

“Please,” I begged one more time, the need for my climax forcing my legs to shake on his.

Edward managed a smile, and dropped his body again, fully covering mine. He rocked into me, and I whimpered in his ear, letting my hands drop over his neck.

Nothing has ever felt this good. Nothing will ever feel this good.

Edward groaned, the thrusts getting so hard it began to hurt again, with a strange, overwhelming pleasure that came with the pain.

“Callie…” His voice was soft for the jerk of his hips, a warm sensation rolling over my body.

“Edward!” I squirmed, peak taking over my nerves.

“I know, love.” Edward’s breaths were fast in my ear, the jerk of his hips creating the sounds of skin slapping throughout the room. He let a heavy groan slip from his lips, and I felt the leak of precum making the inside of my pussy even more liquid.

“I’m going to-” Edward’s voice was nothing more then a raspy groan in my ear.

“Please, please!” I whimpered again, clenching my legs around his abdomen to avoid the painful desire of climax. He had edged me on for so long, I don’t think I could’ve waited anymore.

Edward’s movements turned hard, fast, a ripple of sensation arousing my body again. He growled, our skin smacking together with new volume, and orgasm blinded my vision, making me roll my eyes back, and arch my back until my clit touched the root of his cock. I screamed, scraping my nails on his back until I could’ve been sure there was blood.

Edward didn’t protest; in fact, he thrust harder with that, each movement causing him to heave breaths, the warm air hitting my ear. He moaned, a vibration in the mess of my hair, and quickly pulled his warm, wet body from my own, shooting strings of hot white on the base of my stomach, dripping down my sensitive cunt.

Edward rolled off of me slowly, collapsing on the small couch, both of our bodies reeling the affects of the tiresome fuck. I attempted to catch my breath, feeling my heart beating so fast I couldn’t hear the birds chirping anymore. Hesitantly, I turned my body to meet his, but Edward was already staring at me, the warmth of his expression a relief to me. He bit his lip, his chest rising the similar pattern mine was.

I processed everything, opening my mouth to speak, but not understanding how to phrase it.

“Edward?”

He smiled, the soft, mesmerizing action in my peripheral. “Yes?” The melody of his voice still left me catching my breath.

I couldn’t say the words. They rung in my mind, an untamable message dancing through my heart.

Three words.

I love you.

Edward let his eyes fall on mine, hearing the silent plea of my mind.

“I love you too, Callie.” His mouth was parted, and his lips were red from before, and he read my mind and read those words. I couldn’t help it when I draped over his body, kissing him like it was the first time all over again.

He snaked his arms over my bare body, his smooth knuckles tickling my spine. His lips draped over mine as if we were two puzzle pieces, separated for too long, and now here, and alive, and in love.

I loved Edward Cullen. I had the very first day I met him. And even if I die a mortal, holding the hand of the boy who will exist forever, I know I’ll live until the day he ceases to.

I’ll live in Edward’s heart,

And he’ll live in mine.

Because that’s what love is, right? A taste of forever.

And we were forever.

Okay that’s it byeeee

I am super open to constructive criticism and feedback, as well as recs. Thanks for reading ! :> <333

[unexpectedstormy]

My thoughts on the new update

Nice double vanishing point perspective! (This is what I'm learning about in art class right now.)

So Sky WAS running all around and that's why he was out of breath going down stairs in the last comic.

Holy smoking Sonic the Hedgehog that guy is fast. Also, can confirm: running with knife-hands does in fact make you run faster.

Close up of that face ehehehe >,'C

XD this is so funny. But who do you think said it?

It looks to me like it was Legend who said it based on where Sky and Warriors are looking. Here, let me make it clearer with laser eyes:

Also Warriors is Mr. Grumpypants. He's probably in army-intel-and-strategy mode. Or he he's just irritable after getting no sleep, wrangling a bunch of hot-blooded teens, and watching his friend almost die and miraculously recover.

Eyyy! Wild's got his new sword! He was probably just showing it to Twilight. From this angle, it looks like he and Twilight are holding hands. Also, Time has humongous hands.

Loving these dark spooky forest vibes. I'll definitely be doing a panel-background repaint of one of these.

Yeah! You glow girl!

(Teeheehee I just wanted to make that joke. That's the only reason why I put this panel here tweeheehee)

My face when I saw this sword on the ground: 😳😃 because oh my Hylia I want that sword so bad. I love scimitars. In other news, you know what I don't see on the ground? The Shadow's cursed axe of Horrible Evilness. I wonder if Sky noticed.

Yup. Portal. There we go! No one's surprised except for Sky. But check out what's in the foreground. That helmet. Wasn't that the Shadow's helmet when it/he was in [giant metal knight] form? (I can't remember what the name of the monster type was. Something nut I think.)

This face. Enough said.

Oh boy. Wild's face when he realizes that he didn't 'kill' it--or it resurrected. Also Sky, you drink up that stamina potion. You deserve it.

Time looking rather fine. Or like he's in an anime title sequence. And he's speaking like he swallowed an 1850's fireside poetry book again. (I think it's endearing.)

And there we go! My first thoughts on this comic. Oh! JK! One more thought!! VV

It doesn't say 'Dawn Pt 8' so does that mean the next arc starts in the next comic? 👀

[shenanigans-and-imagines]

ANGST WARNING: How would Ace!Tav react to Astarion dying and being unable to revive him? Or vice versa -- how would Astarion react?

A/N: There is actually a lot to this, so here is a headcanon in three parts. Apologies for the length.

Warnings: Gore, Blood, Passively Suicidal Thoughts, Major Character Death, Heavy Angst

Astarion x Ace!Tav Masterlist

How Ace!Tav Would React to Astarion Dying and Unable to be Revived

In order for this to happen, it would be sudden and unexpected

There would be no preparing for his death

They always thought Astarion would outlive them, he's an immortal vampire, but, more importantly, he's a survivor, always has been

I'm thinking he'd have to be burned up in the sun or something else like it; revivify and raise dead both require a body and the sun would turn him into ash

Maybe he gets caught by surprise, maybe Tav can’t get to him in time or maybe he pushed them out of the way of a blast; the result is the same

No final words, no last touches, there’s nothing left, not even a body

Tav wouldn’t be able to move, the rest of the world going fuzzy at the edges and silent

It would take another party to get them to move, literally dragging them away from the scene like dead weight

It’s takes them several moments to come to their senses, to fight back because he can’t just be gone

There has to be something left, something they could use to bring him back

If it’s an ally with them then they’d hold them back telling them they need to get somewhere safe

They would be in full denial, trying desperately to think of something, anything, this can’t be how it ends

But there’s nothing, not a single thing they can do

Once that realization dawns, they just go numb

They spent so much of their life just surviving; they don’t want to go back to that, not when they finally had a taste of what it was to live

They’re just so tired, maybe it would be easier to just…sleep

Even the thought of revenge is too daunting, what would be the point? Astarion would still be gone. Can’t they just rest?

It would take their friends to pull them out of it

I imagine Lae’zel and Shadowheart specifically would lay into them about just giving up. What would Astarion say if he saw them like this?

Tag can well imagine, they can all but hear his voice in their ear

“And you call me dramatic,” he tells them. “Flattering as it is to know you miss me, there's still work to be done. Now get up.”

They want to ignore the words, but they have their own survival instincts to contend with

It’s a slow process

The first several months it’s an ordeal just to eat, but they do

Gale, Shadowheart, Wyll, Karlach, Lae’zel, they all take turns checking in, making sure they’re okay

Gale maybe even has them come to stay in Waterdeep just to keep a better eye on them and keep them away from the memories associated with Baldur’s Gate

It’s a kind gesture and one that slowly starts to pay off

They're able to watch a sunrise again without the urge to weep

They sometimes come in to talk during Gale's lectures, recounting some of their exploits with a smile

They never fully recover, their music isn’t quite as lively, there seems to be a spark missing behind their eyes, but they find a way to survive

They have their friends and find solace in knowing they’re not alone

Eventually they go on the road again, taking in every sight and sound, imaging Astarion seeing it with them

They never fall in love again, they knew that they never would and don’t try to force it

Still, they live; it’s brutal work, but they can’t stop now

How Astarion Would React to Ace!Tav Dying and Unable to be Revived (Dying of Old Age Edition)

Couple different options with this one

I picture Ace!Tav as human, so Astarion outliving them was part of the deal when they got together

All the same Ace!Tav dying of old age vs. dying suddenly and horribly, are going to spark two very different reactions

If they die of old age, Astarion has a much longer time to prepare

There's no hiding getting old, even if Astarion makes jokes about them being with a man four or three times their age

Tav is there to help him through it, even as they're lying on their death bed with him beside them the entire time

They don't want him to try and bring them back; they told him as much

They want him to keep going, to keep living, to find love again after they're gone

Astarion doesn't want to hear it, he doesn't want to think about them being gone even when they both know it's coming

One human life time wasn't nearly enough, he wants more, he always wants more

But the end does come and when Tav finally slips away, all he can do is weep

He wouldn't be alone though, he has friends, strange as it might have once been to admit

Gale, Wyll, Karlach, Shadowheart, and Lae'zel would all find their own way to help him as they too grieve the loss of their friend

He's not the easiest to deal with, he lashes out, he argues, he pushes, he finds himself crying at unexpected moments and mortified at himself for doing so

He wishes he could talk to Tav about all these emotions drowning him and ends up curled up on the floor all over again

But somebody is there to help him back up again

He can’t stay in their home anymore, too many memories bombard him every waking moment

Gale offers for him to come to Waterdeep for a time, but Astarion refuses

He needs to get out, go somewhere far away, someplace he’s never been before

So, one day, he packs a bag and just starts walking

The only thing of Tav’s he takes is a that damned violin, they did try so very hard to teach him how to play, but he always was a better audience

Still he can’t bring himself to leave it behind

He doesn’t know where he’s going or what he’s even doing, but he keeps going anyway

One of the nights, months into his travels, a bard plays at the inn where he's staying

He recognizes the melody, one of Tav's compositions

He had finally convinced Tav to write down some of their music, and even publish a few; this one isn't one of them

The bard plays it differently, emphasizing different words and finding a new meaning while still keeping the integrity of the song

He can all but hear Tav’s contemplative approval as they grin in that “I told you so” sort of way

The best ones live in memory after all

The bard is good, reminding him of Tav in so many different ways

He's not sure what exactly possess him to do it, but he offers them the violin, telling them that it's been a long time since he saw somebody play it properly, maybe they'd like a go

Gods do they play it,

Light and music flow from the instrument, evoking the same vivid display Tav had show him all those years ago

Astarion then leaves without a word, leaving the violin behind for the bard to take

He finally understands what Tav tried to explain to him, how much of themselves they put into their music and how even as the interpretations may change it’s still them

So, he keeps going, keeping their memory alive in what ways he can, mostly as an anonymous patron to promising young bards; he’s always been a better audience anyway

Years later he even meets that first bard, the one he gifted the violin; they turned to be a great performer and was thankful to finally track down the man who put them on that path

They form a true friendship, one that lasts years and allows Astarion to know he can form new relationships

Slowly, Tav's death doesn’t hurt the way it used to

They’ll never fully leave his heart; they were his first in so many ways

It would take him years, possibly even centuries to finally fulfill that final promise to love again, but he does

He’s a survivor by nature, but Gods does it feel good to live

How Astarion Would React to Ace!Tav Dying and Unable to be Revived (Dying Suddenly and Horribly Edition)

This can only end in blood

They're in a middle of a battle, something bigger and worse than they anticipated

Both are skilled in their own way, but they each know their strength lies in stealth and surprise, neither of which they have facing this threat

Astarion was sure they were safe, he was watching their back and vice versa as they had for years

He doesn't see exactly what happens, all he knows is one moment his love was standing in front of him and the next, they're pulp on the floor

Air leaves his lungs, the rest of the world fades as all that exist is their blood in his nose and their desecrated body and then everything goes red

He uses everything at his disposal, knives, nails, teeth; more blood fills the air, his body is covered in it to the point he can't even grip his daggers and just uses his teeth

He doesn't stop until the only thing breathing in the room is him

He then goes to Tav's body, and wraps what's left of it in any cloth he can find; he's not leaving them here, there has to be a way to fix it, to bring them back

He finds a place he can keep them, using what magic he can to preserve the remains of their body until he can find a better solution

He reaches out to any contact he has begging for help, surely their friends would come to their aid

What he gets is all but useless, no answers, no solutions, nothing but empty apologies and condolences

They even have the audacity to them him to let Tav go

They don't understand, they never could

After everything he'd been through, Tav was the first real happiness he found; 200 years of torture and just six months with them was enough to counterweight all that misery

He'd had years since then, and now they were just gone

How could anyone expect him to let that go, not when he had expected a life time with them

Their time together was already limited, he would not be cheated into giving up more; the world didn't get to do that to him

He curses his so called friends, burying himself in necromancy and tomes trying to find a solution

There may still be a way, a much darker way, one that would require sacrifice, but it would be worth it whatever the price

He knew that about himself the moment he started to fall for Tav, there was no telling what things he'd be willing to do, all for them

There is a part of him that hesitates, a little voice inside his head telling him to stop, that he can be better

It's the same voice that told him not to ascend, one he curses just as deeply as the rest of them

If he had ascended none of this would have happened; he would have been able to keep Tav safe, he could have made it so not even time could touch them

He had hesitated then, but he won't now

He'll find a way to bring them back and make sure they never leave him again

[serawritesthings]

AS FAR AS DREAMS GO, second part

Pairing | arthur morgan x fem! reader Summary | It hadn’t been a dream that night. Despite you and Arthur’s efforts to steer clear from each other, it proves futile as a horrible incident brings you to the realization that your misunderstanding that once hurt so severely paled as you realize you might lose each other forever. Tags |  sexual content 18+ minors dni, angst, fluff, smut, graphic description of violence and wounds Word Count | 17.5k A/N | Hello everyone! It’s about time I posted the second part of this fic, which will be the last part. Sorry for taking craaazy long to write it, but I have been working a lot recently, so it’s been taking me some time to put it together. I had some trouble writing this and didn't really know where I wanted to take the story, so I hope it’s still readable. Thanks for reading! Part one

You saw love for the first time in that cold, desolated cabin. However, the moment was brief when it was swept away from you, too fast for you to bask in the warmth it brought to your untouched heart. Just like the candle lit up the cold house with its all-too-quickly fading light, it had ignited something in you - something you hadn’t felt in a long time. You had been sure it was a good dream finally coming to you, a dream to heal the troubles that plagued your mind endlessly, saving you from the hold your memories have on you. Every touch of Arthur’s fingers had done that, and they had been so kind, so gentle. They grasped every part of you, filling you with a comfort that made you feel completely safe, even though it had felt like the whole world was against you outside of the wooden walls. 

Eyes have a language of their own; you were sure of it. Though it’s hard, you’re always trying to grasp that actions and thoughts may not match. It has made your perception of the world more straightforward, allowing you to see people for what they are. Just like you - but with unique experiences and thoughts. Despite all this, you failed to consider Arthur’s thoughts as you basked in the warmth and safety he emitted to you. That’s why it wounded you to see his eyes speak so differently from the words that left him. He spoke indifferently, but his eyes were angry, ever so stoic. A whisper of shame taints the memories as his now obvious disdain towards you weighs heavily on your mind. You had stepped too far, misunderstanding his signals, turning his kindness into something it wasn’t. 

It was selfish; you knew it. And now, you had to pay the price for being greedy with a man who didn’t even want you–a man who couldn’t even look at you anymore. Was his touch a momentary weakness he now regrets? You fear that in seeking refuge within his arms, you’ve shattered the already fragile bond between you. The small crack you had made in his tall, stony walls once again filled, this time sharp thorns creeping around the surface and prickling your skin as you tried to grasp the edges so you wouldn’t fall off. 

You and Arthur were just like you had been in the beginning, treading carefully around each other like the other didn’t exist - like it was inconvenient to be in each other’s presence. You ache with every second of the prolonged silence, replaying every stolen glance and shared breath. Arthur was the fire that kept you warm that night, but did you scorch his heart in return?

The night air still lingers, but now it’s wrapped in a chilling fog as the morning breeze hangs heavy with unspoken words as you prepare to leave the shelter of the cabin. Your encounter still weighed deeply on you, and although you tried to keep your mind on other things, it proved futile. With every thought of him, it was as if the ghosts of the night before hovered between, whispering secrets that danced just out of reach.  

You hadn’t slept the rest of the night; instead, you spent the small hours before dawn treading quietly through the house to distract your mind from the constant thoughts that circled in your head. The atmosphere was calm but uncanny, a lingering sense of emptiness filling you while striding through the distant memories you knew lay deep within these walls.

It was a smaller cabin, and nothing exciting hid in the dressers and side tables, as you might have hoped. You don’t know what you were looking for–maybe some letter or long-forgotten notes. Although you found nothing, everything else was in perfect shape despite the dust laying like a blanket over every surface, meaning the only person who probably knew about this place was Arthur. The house was lonely enough, and through your adrenaline-filled ride, you knew the site strayed far away from the path as only tightly grown trees surrounded you, right in the middle of the woods.

As you stepped into what looked to be the bedroom, you saw the bedside table filled with smoked cigarettes and ash surrounding it in heaps. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that Arthur often stayed here, his not-so-healthy smoking addiction being a telltale sign. 

“So, this is where he stays? And, smokes?” Your observation made you giggle through your lingering sadness at the thought. He was here more often than he had insinuated, it seems. 

There were traces of him everywhere, more than you had seen in the camp. It wasn’t often he left shirts to clean or dishes to wash, nor did he have many possessions littered around. When Arthur was out, he was gone for long periods; when he wasn’t, he kept to himself most of the time. But here, his presence was overwhelming; the warm, familiar scent of him lingered, hitting you intensely. You could even see a gun lying on the floor and his all-to-familiar, blue, worn-out shirt hanging on the chair. 

Filthy was an understatement, as the dirt and sweat on it made you scrunch your nose, a displeased noise leaving you. The amount of holes in the fabric made you want to gasp and gasp even harder when you saw the blood on it. What had Arthur done to the shirt? And what had he done to himself to leave the shirt looking like that? Striding hastily from the door, you picked it up, examining it with wide eyes. You could almost fit your entire hand through the patch. 

Judging from the blood fading to a faint brownish color, it looked like the shirt had been here for quite some time. You could see a horrible attempt at stitchwork as you examined the blue fabric, but the moment you stretched it slightly, the stitches came undone as the needle that still hung from the thread fell to the floor. 

A loud voice brought you away from your thoughts as the shirt fell from your hands. Arthur shouted your name, and suddenly, you were brought back to your current predicament. The thought made you sigh heavily as you stared out the window, now blurry with frost. Facing him right now didn’t feel entirely right, but you didn’t have a choice; if you didn’t want to walk back, of course. 

With one last glance around the room, you quickly closed the door behind you and fished up the jacket you had borrowed on your way. Stepping out on the porch, you felt heavy and aching in the brisk morning breeze, gazing beyond the trees as the warm lights of the sunrise painted your surroundings with a golden hue. In front of you, Arthur was silent as he stood tall and formidable with his back towards you, adjusting the reins of Boadicea. With a clenched jaw, the brim of his hat cast a shadow under his eyes, obscuring the thoughts that churned beneath. 

The horse shifted in front of him, restless, as if sensing the charged atmosphere. You knew he heard you step out, but he made no incantation of acknowledging your presence as anxiety filled you, words leaving you before you could stop them. 

“Do you think it’s safe to go back now?” How he heard you was beyond you as your voice was slightly above a whisper, your insecurities wrapping heavily around your words. You shamed yourself for the stupid question you asked, mentally hitting yourself on the head. 

His response was a quiet grunt, barely audible, and if you were facing him, you would see the brief flicker of uncertainty that crossed his face. It was a rare glimpse of vulnerability, a crack in his armor as his heart ached at your voice. Unbeknownst to you, of course. Seeing you so careful around him now made it seem like you had just met, your anxious gaze staring uncertainly at the outlaw in front of you like the day you met.

Hesitating momentarily, you searched for the right words, but the weight pressed against your chest, choking the words before they could form. You felt so tiny where you stood, like a small ant before a giant bear. The choking of tears waited to pour out, so you kept quiet. With briefly closed eyes, you took small steps down the porch, nearing him slowly, like he would leave if you moved too hastily.

He didn’t help you up the horse, and the action made you hesitate. Usually, Arthur would have been there, a steady presence at your side, always doing his utmost to help you. Instead, he swung onto the horse briskly and waited for you to climb on behind him. You moved tentatively; you weren’t sure if your overthinking or his daunting presence made you clumsy, but it was a challenge. 

With a shaky breath, you attempted to swing your leg over the saddle, but the simple act you’d done countless times before suddenly felt impossible. Heart pounding in your chest, you cursed how your hands seemed to have a mind of their own. 

Your foot slipped, and you stumbled, your heart skipping a beat as you fought to regain your balance. The horse shifted before you, sensing your unease, and you bit down on your lip as embarrassment burned your cheeks.

Suddenly, you heard a sigh above you, and you dared to steal a glance at Arthur. His gaze remained fixed ahead, his expression unreadable, but there was a resignation in how his shoulders sagged ever so slightly like your struggle was the last thing he had the patience for. 

Without warning, a warmth enveloped your waist. Your eyes widened as his hand gently steadied you, his touch firm yet gentle. He held onto you for a fleeting moment, his fingers warm against your skin as he helped you into the saddle. Quickly, he released his hold on you, like scorched by fire. 

Now, you were the closest to him you had been since last night, although the chasm between you felt wider than ever, a gulf of unspoken emotions that you were too afraid to bridge. With a gentle nudge from Arthur, the horse moved, the rhythm of its hooves a melancholic symphony.

You stole a glance at Arthur, his jaw still set, gaze focused on the path ahead. His unreadable expression starkly contrasted the vulnerability he’d shown you just a few hours ago. What was going through his mind, you wondered to yourself. 

You could have never guessed the shame that littered his thoughts with every move; the thought of you now acting apprehensive made him want to disappear into the ground. He had shown you a part he always kept to himself, a part he only relished when the last light of day disappeared.

 God damn it, he was so foolish to think it was a dream since you had felt more real than you had ever felt. His mind raced as he tried to wreck his sense of what he could have said in his sleep for you to wake him up suddenly in the middle of the night, wondering if he had been talking about you.

He felt embarrassed, not letting himself touch you for a moment more than necessary, as he knew it would make you uncomfortable. Now, he longed for how you acted around each other before the night came, with you blabbering adoringly on with some nonsense that seemed to always lighten his mood, even though he didn’t respond most of the time. He felt stale now, shoulders hunched and hands gripping tightly on the reins as he tried to shake the thoughts of you away from his mind, unsuccessfully as per usual.

Still wary, you soon realized you didn’t know where to put your hands, fearing to touch his rigid body that tensed at every jump and unexpected movement from the horse. With a tentative exhale, you finally rest your hands on your thighs, fingers tracing the fabric of your skirt. It was a slight gesture, a silent admission of your uncertainty. The thought saddened you, and you should have appreciated his allowance of your touch the night before when you rode with him. It had been comfortable, and it was like neither of you had minded being that close to each other. It felt like years ago, but it was only a few hours. 

As the horse’s movements continued to sway beneath you, a gust of wind tugged at your hair, sending strands dancing in the breeze. Instinctively, as if seeking an anchor, your fingers brushed against the fabric of Arthur’s shirt. The touch was unintentional, almost accidental, and your heart raced as you realized what you’d done. When Arthur didn’t react, your hands stayed there, the cotton of his shirt soft against your skin.

You didn’t exchange a single word for the rest of the way, both fear and apprehension filling the air around you as it breezed. The journey felt longer than you remembered; the anxiety and adrenaline had probably clouded your judgment last night. Although it felt longer, Arthur had set a fast pace, and you wondered if it was because he wanted it to be over and to escape your presence quickly. The thought hurt you deeply, and you wished for nothing more than to be back at camp.

-

And that’s how it went; the pair of you grew further apart the longer time went on, choosing to ignore every chance of reconciliation, instead opting to go about your day as if nothing had happened. The embarrassment inside of you should have grown into disdain for the man as you brooded at the thought of his actions. Instead, you couldn’t change your thoughts about him. You adored him, even though you know he didn’t share the same feelings. It all feels melancholy, but you can’t help how you think; your emotions always have the upper hand.

Like before, all traces of him grew faint as time passed, and to be honest with yourself, you missed him. As days stretched into weeks–an unsettling awareness that Arthur’s presence was becoming ephemeral, like a fading echo in your day-to-day life. 

It started with the little things, the subtle traces of his existence that usually wove themselves into the fabric of camp life. His worn hat resting on his bed was absent. The constant smell of tobacco that lingered in the air was no longer there, replaced by the emptiness of his absence. The worn books he used to read lay untouched, collecting dust, pages waiting for fingers that never turned them anymore. The cup of coffee he’d drink in the early morning hours as you watched him from your place by the tree was now empty, cold, and abandoned. 

Insignificant as they were, these traces spoke volumes to you. They were remnants of a man slipping away, consumed by a world that demands his attention at every turn. You had noticed how the weight on everyone’s shoulders had grown heavier recently as if treading down those mountains had unleashed an avalanche on your unsuspecting shoulders. 

The workload was severe, and it seemed more often than not that things went wrong nowadays. Although it had appeared to lighten the mood for everyone to have some distance from the law, you didn’t feel like the recent time had been doing you good. More so, the lurking shadow of Micha that now constantly lingered seemed to dampen your mood even more. 

Having to move from Horseshoe Overlook was one big reason you felt uneasy. You had grown quite fond of the place but were also used to change, which made it less arduous. However, dealing with Pinkerton’s and Cornwall’s men made your stomach turn. 

All of you appeared to be in more trouble than before, and it seemed like you only increased your danger with every turn you made. You couldn’t argue that this place was better, though; the area’s remoteness makes you feel safer than you had ever been. Enclosed by a thick forest and looking out at a bay filled with small islands, you felt as if you were miles away from the closest living person. 

Huffing to yourself, you closed your eyes momentarily as you leaned back into the makeshift chair you made from some boxes behind your tent. Although you had a bed, which you made yourself stubbornly since you refused to sleep on the ground, you found work more peaceful here. You were deathly scared of bugs, and if you slept on the floor, you were sure you would become a nest for the filthy, petty demons. 

Although not a proper bed, just a blanket over some boxes, it wasn’t too comfortable, but you had to pick your poison despite the chuckles you got from your newfound friends. Oh, how you envied the others who had a proper bed. The thought made you sulk, but to be fair, the workload on the ones with a bed was heavier than yours, naturally.

Once again, your thoughts led you to him. It was the case more often than not recently. Although you had both had some more distance between you with Arthur never being around, it had only made you think about him more than you wished. You guessed it would give you more space and room to breathe, but it made you feel cramped like the surrounding air had become tighter as the days passed. 

You had also been pondering how well you had fallen asleep in his arm that night with no hint of a nightmare following the closing of your eyes. It was strange to you, and you couldn’t help but miss the shut-eye that had made you feel more at peace than ever since you were a child. There was something so comforting about his arms around you, and you felt safer than ever knowing he was there, and you had missed it and now longed for it.

Over time, it felt like the hinting of love had been creeping towards you as you tried with all the strength you had to push it away, but your efforts remained useless as the thought of him only made your heart race. It felt hopeless to you that you had to go around pining for a man you rarely saw these days, but you couldn’t help the longing from your heart that prompted you to run into his arms whenever you caught sight of him and worry immensely when you didn’t see him return to camp. 

Without Arthur’s knowledge, you had been eying the shirt you brought back from the cabin, wondering if you should fix it. If you did, he would know you stumbled into his room. You don’t know why, but you pondered if doing so would make him mad. He would probably view it as an intrusion on his privacy, but he didn’t tell you not to go in there. You had concluded that you would stitch it up for him but not give it to him. 

The stitching proved difficult as the fabric’s tear was just as massive as you noted when you first saw it, along with some smaller holes that were easy enough. Apart from your troubles with it, you were pretty proud of your handiwork, and the shirt now looked wearable again. Well, it’s wearable enough for a cowboy, at least. With a sigh, you let the fabric fall on your lap and ran your hand through your hair as you gazed into the tightly grown forest towering before you. 

“I didn’t take you for the lovesick type.” A giggling voice reached your ear, and when you turned your head to look beside you, a smiling Mary Beth filled your vision. Your brows arched at her words, surprised. “Lovesick? I’m not lovesick.” You said calmly, feigning innocence. You knew indeed what she meant, but you were not lovesick. The guilt from that night still filled your every thought, just like the embarrassment at your actions rose in you every time you heard his name. You didn’t know your actions mirrored your feelings, but to be fair, Mary Beth was always reading those romance books that probably gave her a picture of the signs of being in love.

“But maybe you are, seeing as you’re mending his shirt for him. It’ll make him happy, you know. He wore it an awful lot before.” A faint blush spread on your cheeks as you made no move to hide the shirt; the damage was already done. She was more observant than she looked; you had to give her that. 

“Mending a shirt is hardly a sign of love, Mary-Beth. If that were the case, we’d all be married by now.” Your words grew into a giggle, the thought amusing you and your romance-obsessed friend. 

“Could you imagine? I married to Bill? Or worse, Uncle?!” You erupted in a loud laughing fit after Mary-Beth whispered the words to you when she sat beside you, eyes around you now observing you. Putting her arm against your back, you both gossiped the evening away enthusiastically as you hid away from the rest of the camp, cheerfully blabbing til the darkness filled your surroundings. It was nice, the conversation you kept keeping your thoughts away from the sadness that had lodged itself in your chest, a now constant reminder. 

In moments like this, you appreciated having a close friend like Mary–Beth around, for she was incredibly clever and better at knowing when you needed distraction. You hoped she thought the same of you, knowing her life wasn’t exactly rainbows and sunshine. You also knew she valued Arthur greatly and knew him well, much more than you did. The questions churned underneath, as you had to stop yourself from spilling your situation to her as you laid all the cards on the table, begging her to make sense of your emotions. You weren’t familiar with relying your feelings on others. Instead, you took pride in your extraordinary listening abilities.

He appeared in the corner of your eyes as you glanced up amidst your hushed voices. Menacing, he looked where he sat tall on his mount, body slumped backward as he lazily swayed with the horse’s movements, leaning back in the saddle. A sigh left you as he appeared unharmed, and the slight fluttering that spread in your body made you feel like throwing up. A sharp shiver rushed through you when his blue eyes met yours, the distance doing nothing to reduce the coil that twisted your stomach at his gaze. They were fiercely soft when they met yours, dark even through their vibrant shine. He looked intimidating; there was no doubt about that, and you cowered under his stare, eyes flickering between his and the dirtied ground before you as he disappeared into camp.

It reminded you heavily of the day of the robbery and how his gaze had pierced dangerously into the poor man’s frame. Somehow, you had convinced yourself that despite the severity of his actions, he was a good man. You were unsure if it was to justify the feelings you harbored for him or the will to think of everyone as good-natured that made that the case. 

It had made you second guess what you were doing here, wondering if it did you any good to stay, but every time you pondered walking out, you found yourself unable to. You didn’t want to admit that Arthur was the reason for your staying, but somehow, the thought seemed to linger in your mind, reminding you of it every so often. 

You felt Mary-Beth’s hand circle your forearm as she waved at the other men coming back, although glancing at you as she did. Straightening your back, you looked away. This time, you kept it that way as his eyes did more damage than good to you, a warmth having spread low in your stomach at the look of him.

Clearing your throat, you raised from your spot beside Mary-Beth and gave her a tight-knit smile. “Let’s get something to eat, yeah?” Nodding, she dusted off her lap slightly before hooking arms with you, humming as you walked off. You headed deeper into camp, finding Arthur’s eyes examining you as he spoke to a beaming Mr. Pearson, joined by a pessimistic Dutch. 

Scratching his beard with his thumb, he looked deep in thought, like he wasn’t even recognizing that he was looking at you. For the first time, his eyes didn’t avoid you; instead, he looked at you shamelessly as your frame grew closer. Staring ahead, you felt your heartbeat pick up–it felt nice to have him looking at you again, although you couldn’t quite figure out what could be the reason for his stare. 

You found yourself in a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts, the questions tumbling through your mind like a storm. Mary-Beth’s voice grew into background noise, her words a distant echo as you tried to steady your racing heart that only grew faster as the world became stifling. 

The atmosphere had shifted, charged with a tension that seemed to envelop everything. As you continued the short distance, you couldn’t help but steal glances in his direction, each filled with curiosity and uncertainty despite you telling yourself to pay him no mind. God, you felt like a teenager again with no self-restriction.

“Hey.” A deep rumble traveled through camp as the distinctive voice reached you, your mind going numb at the possibility of him speaking to you. Mary-Beth turned her head towards you in confusion while you raised your shoulder slightly in uncertainty, head turning towards the ground as you came to a halt. You heard the clanking of footsteps draw near as the conversation between the three men ended.

“I’ll let you speak in private. Join me later?” Nodding slightly, you kept your head down, wishing you could shrink and run out of sight of the man towering behind you as your friend left you to your demise. You cursed at her under your breath as she half-ran to grab a bite to eat, probably to watch the entertainment before her unfold. 

A short, rough cough brought you out of your thoughts, and straightening your spine, you turned around to face Arthur, motioning for him to speak as a slight smile graced your lips politely. 

“I- we brought Ada back. I’m sorry we couldn’t get her until now, but roaming around there could get us into quite the trouble.” Scratching his neck slightly, he grabbed his belt buckle like he always did when he didn’t know where to put his hands. 

You almost gaped at him when he spoke to you, used to him ignoring you, but recovered quickly by nodding slowly to show him you heard him. Eyes flickered up to yours soon before they faltered just as fast, sniffling before continuing.

“She seems alright, so you don’t gotta worry about that.” Suddenly, his words sunk in, your mind too focused on seeming indifferent to realize. Relief washed over you as you glanced towards the trees, and there she was, unhurt and now safe. Your legs began moving towards her before you could stop them, but before you got too far, you turned to the man who had brought her back to you.

“Thank you, Arthur, really. I know you have a lot on your shoulders right now, so…” You wanted to continue, but your mind grew blank as his blue eyes stared straight into yours. Nodding hastily, he told you not to worry about it and left you with Ada. 

Smiling broadly, you ran up to her to thread your fingers through her mane, soft as it was when you last saw her. 

“Welcome home, Ada.”

-

After your small interaction, the days passed, the slight contentment you felt bled into settled panic nestling in your stomach. Dread filled you as you walked towards the men saddling their horses, not giving you a second glance as your quick steps grew closer. 

“I rarely involve myself in your business, as it’s not my place. But I and many others deem this to be a set-up!” Panic laced your words even though you tried to hide it, hoping they couldn’t detect it as you tried to keep a steady voice. Abigail trailed behind you, putting her hand calmly on your back. 

She had seen the unsteadiness on your face when she told you of their recently planned actions to make up a deal with Colm O’Driscoll and end the year-long feud between them; worry also heavy on her face as she told you of her doubts about the situation. 

“Now, now, my dear girl. You have nothing to worry about. We are just going to chat with old Colm, nothing more, nothing less!” Dutch’s ardent voice was loud as he spoke confidently, patting your shoulder as he walked past you, not failing to give you a reassuring smile only he could give in a situation like this. You felt like rolling your eyes at him but decided against it; the action was not like you and most definitely disrespectful towards the man.

“I get I might not know much about his character, but from what I’ve heard, he’s not the most reliable man. I’m asking you to consider instead of hasting through it.” Chuckling slightly, the man raised himself into his saddle expertly, beckoning Micha to do the same as Arthur stayed firmly on the ground as you spoke, staring indescribably at you. You could see the thoughts that ran through his mind. Who did you think you were to talk to in Dutch like that? With shame long forgotten, you stood your ground.

“My, my. You could give a man the wrong idea by worrying like that.” Sneering down at you with a sleazy smile, Micha crouched his form down towards you as he pulled on the reins. “I’ll return to you in one piece, darling.” 

His offensive breath reached your nose as he leaned in close to you, and with an appalled face, you stepped back quickly to put some distance between you, back-hitting Arthur’s chest by accident, unaware he stood so close. His hand closed around your upper arm to pull you away from Micha. Sending him an unimpressed look, he grabbed your shoulders and turned you around as he stared you down with raised eyebrows.

“Listen, we know what we’re doin-” Before he could continue, Dutch interrupted him. 

“Just a talk, darling.” Flashing you a suave smile, he beckoned the horse forward with Micha on the trail. “Come on, Arthur. We got a deal to make!” Hands left your shoulder as you closed your eyes and took a deep breath. 

“Arthur, please listen to me. I have a bad feeling about this! What if you get hurt?” Your tries of reasoning grew into pleading as you trailed behind him, grabbing onto his leg as the horse, who kept a slow trot, rose still, huffing at the abrupt standstill. Staring up at Arthur with begging eyes, you thought you might have seen a slight hesitation deep within them.

“Hey, we’ll be alright, darlin’.” Leaning down, he grabbed your hand firmly on his thigh with a tight squeeze. “I wouldn’t dare get a scratch on the shirt you fixed for me, so I’ll have no choice but to return unharmed, do I?” With that, his warm hands left yours as the dirt swirled around him, gazing ahead with a small smile you failed to see amidst your confusion.

Shirt, you pondered for a second. Glancing behind you, you now noticed a few more had walked up a few meters away as they watched the men leave, Abigail pulling you back towards the camp with a sad gaze. Amidst them, you found a smug Mary-Beth shrugging her shoulders as you gave her an accusatory look, shrinking away quickly before you could question her.

A palpable tension stayed after their departure; it had continued into a sleepless night as anxious whispers and worried glances punctuated each passing hour cast toward the horizon. 

Ultimately, it turned out that they all had been wrong, and you had been right. Despite this, Micha and Dutch returned in one piece, but Arthur did not. Arthur was the reason you were worried about this meeting from the start. Whenever you thought about the severity of the situation, your heart picked up, and the feeling of having to do something filled you but being held back by various gang members. 

“We can’t just sit here! What if they have Arthur!?” You walked around restlessly with your hands trembling slightly in worry. 

“And they might not have him. We don’t know. If we don’t see him back before tomorrow, we’ll go out after him.” Charles’ calm voice did nothing to ease your stress. Glancing up at Dutch in the distance, you grew weary as you didn’t see a trace of worry on his features. “This happens sometimes; we have to wait it out for a while. Arthur would have said the same thing.”

The only response Charles got was a clear view of your back as you stalked off to your tent, restlessness coursing through you amidst your slight panic. How they could be so aloof about this made no sense to you. From the moment when Dutch and Micha returned to camp, it was as if everything had returned to normal, with only a few inquiries about Arthur’s whereabouts. 

Were you overreacting? They had been exposed to these situations for much longer than you had, so was your worrying unnecessary? Charles might have been right. Maybe you should give it some time before the worrying was justified, choosing to believe he was safe and sound. It would be the more logical thing to do, which didn’t surprise you since the thought came from Charles, but your head refused to work with it. 

As night and day passed, your thoughts were consumed by the man now absent, everything you did useless since you couldn’t focus. It blurred past you, a fog-like cloud covering your mind. 

Only when the moon cast a silver sheen over the camp could you hear it—a distant, solitary set of hoofbeats approaching. Your heart leaped into your throat as you swirled around with the half-packed bag. It was the unmistakable cadence of Arthur’s horse you had grown to remember. 

With a sense of urgency, you rushed to the camp’s perimeter, your eyes fixed on the approaching silhouette. Arthur’s unmistakable figure emerged from the shadows, hunched over in pain, one arm clenched tightly to his side. He looked battered and bruised, the soft glow from camp revealing the weariness on his battered face.

As he drew nearer, your heart constricted in your chest, the relief of seeing him again, nothing against the fear now flooding your senses. The world seemed to slow to a crawl as you watched him approach, his usually steely resolve replaced by a weary vulnerability. The sight of him wounded and weakened, stirred emotions within you that you struggled to put into words. All you could do was stand in shock, frozen in time, as he emerged.

Arthur’s horse carried him closer, but his strength gave out, and he tumbled from the saddle to the ground with a painful thud. You felt a shiver of anguish as the impact sent you rushing forward, and others from the camp alerted by the commotion joined you. In the dim moonlight, you could see the strained lines of Arthur’s face, the sweat that clung to his brow, and the pallor of his skin being drained of its usual color. His clothing was stained with dirt and dried blood, and his breaths came in ragged, pained gasps.

Amidst the concerned voices and hurried footsteps surrounding him, Arthur summoned the strength to speak. His words were laden with exhaustion and a grim determination as he recounted the treacherous encounter with Colm O’Driscoll. His suspicions about betrayal were tragically confirmed that he had relied on Dutch before despite his reassurance to you. 

“Ah, I told you they would betray us, Dutch!” His voice was strained as he spoke, his eyes shut tight. Your hands trembled as you knelt beside him, your fingers itching to reach and touch him, to reassure yourself that he was here and not a figment of your imagination. The fear that had been gnawing at you during his absence, the dread that he might never return, had taken a toll on your nerves, and now that he was back, it threatened to spill over.

“We were comin’ for you, Arthur,” Dutch shouted as he made his way over, his voice tinged with relief. “But you made it back. That’s what matters.” As he spoke, your gaze remained locked onto Arthur’s face, your heart aching as you ignored his words. The sight of him, usually the epitome of strength and resilience, brought low by his injuries, shook you to your core. 

The campfire’s flickering light cast eerie shadows on his battered form, accentuating the wounds and weariness on his face as his eyes stayed on you. Pain and exhaustion dimmed his usually vibrant eyes. Beads of sweat glistened on his forehead as his face scrunched up in pain, and your heart ached at the sight of him in such agony.

You moved closer to Arthur, inspecting his injuries as discreetly as possible. His injuries were rough, and the gun wound in his shoulder was cauterized. Instantly, you grew worried when you realized he had sealed the wound on his own, but you shook the thoughts away for now. 

Leaning closer to Arthur, your fingers moved carefully; you swept away the sweat-dampened strands of hair that clung to his forehead, your touch a soothing caress against his heated skin. The sensation of his sweat-slicked hair sliding through your fingertips sent a shiver down your spine, but you pressed on, driven by an irresistible need to provide him with some relief.

“You’ll be all right, Arthur. Just hang in there.” You whispered, your voice filled with warmth and worry, trying to discern his pain despite knowing words wouldn’t do the job. Your fingertips traced a path down to his cheek, where the roughness of his stubble met your touch. 

Miss Grimshaw’s voice cut through the tense atmosphere of the camp like a whip crack, her stern tone leaving no room for argument. “Enough of this dawdling!” she barked, her eyes blazing with authority as she glared at the men gathered around Arthur. “Get him to his cot, now!” The urgency in her command left no room for hesitation, and the men scrambled into action, realizing the gravity of the situation. They carefully lifted Arthur, who winced in pain and carried him to his cot.

“Miss, you know what to do?” Her stern voice grew softer as she looked at you, already gathering materials you kept by your tent in a calm frenzy. You stilled as you looked at her, absentmindedly nodding as you pondered how to keep the man alive.

As you set to work, the camp grew into a tense silence; you preparing to tend to Arthur’s wounds when everyone had finally left you alone. Despite this, you could almost feel the tent vibrate with the heaviness of the other’s curious and worried eyes, closed flaps not helping.

Cauterized. That’s what Arthur had done. You closed your eyes momentarily at the horrifying thought. “What a fool you are, Arthur Morgan.” As the anger-rid panic spread through you, the loud buzzing in your ears grew louder. The flickering glow of the campfire cast shifting shadows across his worn face, highlighting the pain etched there. With anger and concern fueling your determination, you gathered the supplies, each movement deliberate.

As you sat on the chair beside the bed, the scent of smoke and charred flesh lingered in the air, a haunting reminder of what he had done to survive. Hastily, you unbuttoned the top of his union suit–the once white material a dark red, wet with blood. The wound was now exposed, the charred edges and angry redness a testament to the dangerousness of his actions. Your heart ached at the sight, emotions swirling within you as your fingers traced the contours of the wound with gentle reverence, feeling the heat that radiated from his skin. 

“Why in the world does it look like that?” Miss Grimshaw had crept up hurriedly behind you through the closed flaps of the tent but stopped when she was presented with the sight before her. Her gaze was set straight on where the bullet had dislodged from his right shoulder. The flesh was both burned and black. A gruesome sight, indeed. 

She handed you a clean cloth, her hand hovering over her mouth as you dipped it in the cold water Pearson had handed you. Gently, you cleaned the wound, the fabric stained with a mixture of dirt, ash, and dried blood. You made sure the touch of the cloth against his skin was tender as you glanced up at his still contorting face, pain heightening as time passed now that the adrenaline had lessened. 

“Cauterization.” You told the woman, disbelief still brimming through your mind. “It’s not a very common practice, and many aren’t aware of it. A good thing, though, I would say. It’s only used when there is no other way to survive.” The thought made you hesitate as you wondered what could have happened to Arthur for him to think that was the only way. 

You got a confused look as you peered up at Miss. Grimshaw. Sighing lightly, you continued. “To avoid bleeding to death, you remove the bullet lodged in your skin from your wound and then blow up the skin with gunpowder to seal it. While it theoretically works, gunpowder is unpredictable, meaning you could get into more damage than you first were. When you blow up the skin like that, the skin tissue dies–and the immune system doesn’t work on that area since the skin is dead, essentially.” You glanced at him again as you shook your head, finding his eyes already on yours. 

“With no immune system, the infections you can get are severe. There’s no way for your body to help protect that skin. In the end, it leads to death, most of the time.”

With a steadying breath, you reached for a bottle of alcohol salvaged from the camp’s supplies. Soaking the cloth in the liquid, the potent scent fills the surrounding air. “If the fever doesn’t take him, the infections will, Susan. How in the world did he think this was a good idea?” Though steady at hand, your voice shook as you found it increasingly difficult to speak. 

You placed one hand on his forehead that felt worryingly warm under your palm as you glanced around to see if you had brought a wet cloth. Catching your drift, Grimshaw handed you one she got from the bedside table. Giving her an appreciative smile, you place it on his forehead. 

“I can hear you, you know.” Gritting the words through his teeth, he spoke in a slur amidst the sharp pain, keeping his gaze locked on you. As you stared at each other, a silent exchange passed before you gently pressed the alcohol-dosed cloth against the wound. His inhale was sharp, a flinch betraying his efforts to remain composed, and you couldn’t help but feel a pang of empathy for the suffering he endured.

Looking at you, Grimshaw shook her head slightly as appreciation shone in her sharp eyes. “Well, good thing we have you here, miss. God knows how he would have fared if that weren’t the case.”

 For the first time since you met her, Miss Grimshaw appeared wildly unsure of herself, uneasiness coating her every move. If not for the severity of the situation, you would have found humor in her now ghostly pale face contradicting her ever-so-harsh interior. She probably felt so, too, for she put her hand on your shoulder encouragingly and left you to tend to Arthur, promising to call for her if you needed anything.

Her words were encouraging, yet the fear stayed persistent. What if you couldn’t help Arthur? Trying to stray from the thoughts consuming you, you focused on keeping a delicate balance of care and caution in your hands. The alcohol someone handed you before served as an antiseptic. Although not as valuable as a legitimate antiseptic, you had to make it work to sterilize the wound and ward off the threat of infection. 

Arthur’s eyes remained fixed on yours throughout—a gaze that seemed intense and challenging to describe yet unwavering in its focus as they grew tired. In another instance, it might have rendered you nervous about being so heavily observed, but the adrenaline that still coursed through you made your focus solely on his wound. When everything appeared clean, you grabbed the bandage you brought to wrap it around his shoulder cautiously.

After some time, you carefully withdrew as nothing more could be done, but your fingers lingered against his skin for a moment longer than necessary. Despite his fatal injuries, feeling his skin under your hands had been an immense comfort–a constant reminder that he was still with you for the time being. 

The moonlight glows gently over you, soft shadows dancing across his features as you gaze over his form. He appeared to be knocked out now, eyes closed and breathing even. Indeed, this was a common enough occurrence in this gang as you thought back to all the other misfortunes they had to be saved from, but the thought of Arthur being the one at the receiving end of it made your chest cramp slightly tighter. Sure, he had been in scrapes before, but never this bad.

Shaking your head, you tried to get rid of the thoughts bothering you and instead worried about how you were about to keep his fever down. He was still burning up, face red and layered with sweat. As you glanced at Arthur again, pity settled low in your stomach. His expression was laden with discomfort and pain, even though sleep had rendered him motionless on the bed. 

Bringing your hands away from his smoldering skin, you quietly threaded over the ground to the bedside table to grab the supplies, now soaked in blood and ash. Preparing to leave, you took what remained of the alcohol so you could sterilize the small portion of materials that were still usable. 

That’s when you heard a barely audible, hoarse grunt piercing through the night’s stillness. Surprised, you looked behind you, and staring at you were a pair of blue eyes, half-shut with exhaust coating them amidst a desperation you had never witnessed before. Your breath hitched as the moment suffocated your lungs, the air around you growing thicker. 

“Don’t go.” Arthur’s words were a whisper, laced with a quiet vulnerability that made your heartbeat pick up its pace. As you looked down at your blood-soaked hands to avoid his gaze, a calm moment passed where you assessed where the following string of actions would lead you, but ultimately, you sat back in the chair beside him.

Gently, you brought your still trembling fingers through his hair, combing it away from the cloth covering his forehead. His half-closed eyes watched you, and the warmth lodged in them almost made your breath stop. 

Humming slightly, you remained beside him until your soothing caress lulled him closer to sleep. His breathing gradually slowed, the pain-filled haze lulling him into a fitful slumber. Features relaxed, his body finally succumbing to the desperately needed rest.

–

The camp grew shrouded in quietness. Arthur was still lying in his fever-induced haze, features now softened by the gentle pull of slumber. By his side, you sat with a tired mind, a flickering lantern casting a warm light that danced across your features. You had been awake for a few hours, watching over him in hopes his fever would stay down. Although your eyes showed intense fatigue, you combated sleep with determination and worry. How could you possibly leave him now? 

Frankly, you were just as terrified now as when he stumbled into camp. As told before, if a severe infection took hold of his body, you had no way to help or treat him like you would if you had the suitable materials and not in the middle of nowhere. It was severe, not the usual gashes and bruises you were used to tending to with your time with the gang. 

As you gently switched the damp cloth on his forehead for a new one, its cool touch contrasted his heated skin greatly. Arthur’s eyelids fluttered open slightly, revealing eyes clouded with fever and something else–perhaps even warmer amidst the haze. Chastising yourself for not being careful enough, you stroked his cheek softly with the back of your fingers, cooing at him calmly.

“Go back to sleep.” Your voice was calm, praying that he would fall back asleep. He didn’t answer you, only looking at you in that indescribable way. A fleeting vulnerability had seemed to wash over him in the quiet space between wakefulness and dreams as his fingers stirred.

Before you could fully grasp his intentions, his trembling hand found the one you had been resting on his cheek, his touch warm. A rough thumb brushed against your inner palm in a tender caress as he brought the soft skin of your hand to graze it over his lips. Your heart raced a tumultuous rhythm as his action surprised you tremendously.

Despite your attempts to stay strong, the weariness that washed over you and the toll of the day’s events fell from your shoulders when his eyes stared so tenderly into yours. The fear that had knotted your chest when you first saw him writhing in pain, the nagging anxiety that had gnawed at your insides during those uncertain hours of tending to his wounds, and the overwhelming relief that he was now here, still with you—all surged to the surface at once. 

Silent tears welled in your eyes, their shimmering trails tracing the contours of your red cheeks. Your breath quivered, and your shoulders shook with the sheer intensity of the emotions building inside you. It was as though a dam had burst, releasing the pent-up feelings that had threatened to overwhelm you throughout the night. In the soft, dark tent, you surrendered to this moment of vulnerability, letting your tears flow freely.

​​Arthur’s lips, usually quick with wit or stern in resolve, now held a slight parting as if he wanted to speak but found himself at a loss for words. Witnessing him in such a state was rare, his gaze carrying a depth of emotion without explanation. Though trembling with the lingering pain of his injuries, his fingers maintained an unwavering hold on your hand as he pulled on it, beckoning you closer to him. 

“No.” You mumbled through your tears, eyes clouded with a panic-induced frenzy when you understood what he wanted from you. “I need to watch over your fever.” Sobs mingled with your words, shaking your voice as tears glided down your skin, hand leaving in hesitation as you tried to create distance between you. A sigh escapes Arthur as he stretches his arm towards you and grabs your hand yet again, pulling you closer to him. 

Although the pull was weak, it didn’t require much strength to succumb you to his will. Your determination disappeared instantaneously as your mind longed to be comforted despite the man before you in more need of it, leaving the chair to be embraced by his scorching body, the smell of sweat and blood filling your nostrils when you felt him underneath you. You didn’t care, though, the feeling of his bare skin against your cheek letting you know he was alive as you rested in the crook of his neck.

In the peaceful silence, you could hear the labored rhythm of his breaths, still showing signs of pain and the toll his injuries had taken on him. His heartbeat remained steady, though, a reassuring cadence that echoed in your ears like a comforting lullaby as you rested your hand on it. You grew aware of the rise and fall of his chest, the gentle thud of his pulse against your ear. Your heartbeat slowed as his cradle unconsciously calmed you, the tears not as persistent as they once were. 

His uninjured hand found sanction on your waist as he gently stroked it with his thumb, the action comforting. If that meant he was alright or not, you could not tell, but likewise, you basked in the moment of having him close to you.

You looked up at him and stroked his temple soothingly as you wiped away the sweat that ran down his face. Arthur was already observing you when you met his gaze, the look in his eyes making you warmer than you already were, as the stifling air in the closed tent made no way for the chilly breeze to come through.

“You scared me, Arthur.” As the moment grew more intense, your eyes fell to the scruff on his neck as you spoke, fearing to look at him after your revelation. You felt the coarseness of his hand land on your cheeks in a gentle motion, the pads of his fingers gliding across your skin thoughtfully.

“You ain’t got to be scared anymore,” His raspy voice spoke out as his touch slowly caressed your lips, eyes zoned in on the soft curves. “I’m right here.” 

Then, as if guided by an impulse deep within him, he raised on his unhurt arm and leaned forward as the back of your head found sanction in the crevice in his arm, his lips finding yours in a kiss as delicate as it was poignant. 

The world seemed to recede in that instant, time slowing to a standstill as the feeling of his lips against yours sent a jolt of emotions coursing through your veins. The exchange was not fleeting; it was a lingering dance of lips and breath, a dance that ignited embers that had been smoldering between you for longer than you dared to admit. 

When he pulled back, his eyes locked on yours with a blend of sleepiness and an ember of awareness that pierced through the fog of his haze. You grabbed his shoulders softly, beckoning him to lie down again and rest on his already shaking body, quivering from the power of trying to stay upright. His fingers retreated to the bed, his gaze unwavering, as if he was etching you into his memory. A hand came to rest in your hair when he softly brought you to his lips again, your breath hitching as you fell into his arms again, your legs on either side of him when he pulled you closer.

His lips moved with more fervor this time, the arm holding you tighter against him as a deep hum left his throat at the feeling of your hands on his neck. His eyes were half-open as he kissed you, gazing softly into yours as the candle beside you flickered its light deep into his eyes. Together, your lips massaged one another, now desperate, as your hands gripped the strands of his hair at the nape of his neck. 

The feeling of him gripping your hips against his middle made you squirm, the bed creaking underneath you as you moved your legs further up his sides to reach him better. You didn’t give yourself a chance to ponder what you were doing, feeling delirious and too exhausted to question your actions.

“Arthur.” His name came out in a breathless whine; though desperate, it was quiet. There was no reaction as his lips barely left yours to breathe, then once again warming your insides as you felt his tongues slip into your warm cavern, a nonsensical rumble deep in his chest going through him.

“Arthur,” Once again, you whispered; this time, despite your will to keep falling into him, you removed your hands as you tried pulling away. “You need to rest.” He placed his hand on your back and pushed you back towards him, stroking down to your waist as his palm caressed your curves.

“I’m serious!” Yet again, another whine left you, words contradicting your body as your hips moved hesitantly above his. Biting the bottom of your lip at the pleasant feeling creeping up your stomach, you returned to him with an urgency that rendered both of you merciless as you found comfort in each other’s arms. 

“I thought I’d never see you again.” It took a while to process the words he spoke as the moment you shared filled your every sense, but when you did, you froze in his arms. Blinking your eyes slowly, you soaked up his words, and when you glanced up at him, his eyes were shut tight in pain. Your once beating heart slowed down as his confession squeezed it tightly, your breath now heavy as it grew loud through the quiet of the night.

“When, when I…” His forehead creased in frustration as he tried to get the words out. “When I got shot, all I could see was you.” The last few words he groaned out in strained breaths, teeth gritting as his hand flew to his shoulder. “And I, I could see you in front of me like you were right there. You felt so real as you fell into my arms, and I thought that was it.” A long pause endured before he let out a sigh and spoke. “I thought I’d gone to heaven, ya know.”

With now strained, open eyes, he looked into yours, and for the first time, you felt like you could see straight through the thorny walls of his soul as he bared himself to you. He had always been a man of few words, the last couple of days a firm reminder of that, but the way he spoke now filled you with a shock that made your blood run cold despite the scorching heat that surrounded you. 

A long moment passed, and your breathing was barely audible as it mingled with Arthur’s. Despite being the words you have wanted to hear for a long time, they weren’t what you expected. The warm feeling in your stomach turned into a slight prickling as it rose in your chest, and you had to lean back as it spread through you.

“Now, I know.” A loud breath left him, the world growing blurry before your eyes as he continued, stress evident in his words as you put some distance between you. “It’s selfish of me to tell you this, to burden you with having a man like me love you. But I had to feel you one last time, in case I,” A slight hesitation filled his voice as he kept his eyes shut, fearing the look on your face as his hand squeezed your thigh. “Won’t make it tonight.”

The heavy stones resting on his shoulders for a long time fell, and relief shot through him as he finally found himself telling you what he never imagined he would. Could is a more fitting word; if not for the fever-induced haze he found himself in and the near-death experience he had just witnessed, he wouldn’t have spoken a word. He would leave you none the wiser than you were before, still having to live with loving a man who didn’t love you while he would dream of you forever, within a distance but still so far away—a light in his forever darkness.

Now, he was telling the truth. Aware of the fatality of his wound, he was sure dying was a possibility in the coming hours. After all the bad things he had done in life, the man down below had chased him for a long time, and Arthur always escaped him with pure luck. 

To have you one more time as he did in the cabin was his dying wish, to once in his life feel the embrace of someone he loved in the bleak world he had lived in. He felt pathetic as he begged you to stay with him, rest his hands on you, and listen to the pitiful words that made him feel more like a beggar than a man. 

He thought it was for the best when you didn’t speak up. He didn’t want to hear the words that he always imagined you would tell him were he to voice his feelings to you. Instead, he wished to live in blissful ignorance, to hear your breath in his ear as your hands touched him in pity for his pining and longing with eyes filled with anything but love. That’s where his heart had brought him now, craving your touch; whether it was filled with hatred or sadness, he would take it all as he lived his last moments. He would let you do anything to him, only if you stayed close to him.

When he had returned to you at the table in the cabin, the look in your eyes left his heart cold, filled with sadness as you gazed at him. A look that reeked of regret, wishing that you had never let him put his hands on you. He didn’t need you to tell him, for he already knew. To leave you in silence had been the best way for him to protect the small part of his dignity he had left. 

He had wanted so badly for you to keep laughing then, beckoning him to return to your embrace as the monumental fright turned into a laughable memory and a loving one as you held each other warm for the remainder of the night. The thought had brought chills up his spine, and as he longed to return to you, he knew it wasn’t possible. If he put another hand on you, your words would burn his heart into ash on the wooden floor. He was sure of it.

As Arthur’s thoughts raced, yours stood still. What could you say that would make sense? You thought it had to be a dream, for you were sure you would never hear those types of words coming from Arthur. You brought your hands up to his cheeks with your palms against his warm, wet skin as you focused your gaze on his, finding his eyes now looking at you. 

“What?” That’s all you could manage to let out, voice small and confused at his sudden confession. You felt a hand engulf your own, holding it against him as his gaze faltered when you leaned back toward him. You brought your forehead against his cloth-covered one and closed your eyes, soaking up his presence.

Loved you? He loved you? The thought rose fast, and your blood that had run cold earlier was replaced with a warmth that shook you through and through. Had you been so wrong to mistake his love for you with hatred and regret? Looking at him now, you could see that every word he spoke was accurate as he opened up to you and how glad you were that he did; for now, you wished to hear those words leave him forever. Amidst your tear-filled eyes, a toothy smile grazed your lips as you pressed them against his unexpected ones. 

They were warm and inviting, fitting perfectly against yours, as if they had always belonged there, and as your mouths melded together, a profound sense of happiness surged within you. His hand, which had been so gentle with you, cradled your face, thumb brushing against your cheek in a tender caress that sent shivers down your spine. Leaning into the crook of his neck, you shut your eyes as a surge of tears broke through your eyelids from the emotions that wrecked through you.

“Hey now, I thought I told you not to cry.” Arthur shushed you as a choked sound left you, frowning as you let tears fall. You found it unbelievable to imagine that this was why he withdrew from you, and at this moment, you felt the stupidest you had ever felt. 

Why had his thoughts led him so astray? Thinking that you would pity and loath him for the feelings he harbored for you? A damn outstanding actor, he was, for he had you a complete fool. You were sure he regretted everything.

“I thought you hated me.” As you murmured the words meekly against his skin, a scoff shook your body when Arthur glanced at you in disbelief. 

“Now, how in the hell did you get an idea like that?” Even though his words grew harsh, his tone remained soft. He was surprised that that’s how you had perceived him lately. He held no contempt for you in his whole body and wasn’t sure he could, even if he had all the right to. 

“I just, you.” Stammering, you found it hard to explain yourself, now realizing how easily this could have been if you weren’t so stubborn. “I thought you regretted being with me. You know, that night. And I, I thought I’d taken advantage of you and that you didn’t want to see me anymore.”

You were greeted with silence as Arthur let your words sink in, the quietness deafening. You waited for an answer with your head still cowering under his neck. His hand left its place on your waist and covered your cheek under its rough palm. Lifting your head, he forced you to look at him, an incomprehension visible in his expression.

“I’d be a fool if I even considered, even for a second, to regret being with you. More of a fool than I already am.” He saw that his sentence only confused you; a painstakingly labored breath left him before he continued. “Jesus, woman. You should be the one to regret being with me. A man like me should never put his hands on a woman like you, you know.”

“No, Arthur.” You mumbled as you stared at his chest in defiance. So this was why he had been acting like this? Was all that ignoring and indifference just a facade because he thought he didn’t deserve you? You almost wanted to laugh at the thought, but the worry you felt for him for his poor view of himself grew.

“Listen, I can’t be that for you, even if you wanted me to.” Shaking your head, you began to silence him.

“No-.”

“No, you listen to me. Today was a perfect example of who I am and what I do.” He shook your head to get you to look at him as he craned his neck to look deeper into your eyes. “You shouldn’t even be here, for your own sake. You could be safe, married, and live away from all this shit. Every time I see you, I see that you’re too good for us; you’re too kind, too warm.” He stroked your wet cheek with his rough palm as he murmured. “It ain’t something an outlaw like me deserves, alright?”

How do you even respond to that? You had no choice but to gaze into his eyes, the warmth deep within the blue orbs rendering you silent. So you didn’t answer him, lowering your lips closer to his. Your breaths mingled, the enticing distance speaking volumes at the want for each other still lingering in the air. 

Arthur’s breathing grew unstable, and the already heavy strain his body was going through grew bolder as your enticing lips appeared so close to his, both mouths opening slightly as hazy eyes adorned your blushed faces. Everything that had just been said between the two of you disappeared from his mind; the only thing making sense to him now was your plump lips barely touching his.

You heard him rumble your name soundlessly, but it turned into nonsense in your ears as they buzzed, your heart beating so heavily in your chest you were sure you could feel it rattle your whole body when his lips finally touched your own. The first few seconds felt like a song, his fingers on you, picking at the strings of your heart as your breaths turned into a beautiful melody. Your caress was delicate as it ran over his shoulders, avoiding his bandages as they traced over the soft skin of his arms. 

“You’re not dying tonight. You’re staying here with me whether you like it or not.” You let your lips connect again before he could speak, the desire in the kiss growing heavier, electricity zapping in the surrounding air. Now that you had him, you felt your heart soar at the revelation. Arthur loved you. Oh, how stupid you had been to think he despised you and regretted being with you.

You turn your head to the side to catch your breath, but as you do, Arthur takes the chance to place small, loving kisses against the corner of your mouth. Now that he had you on top of him, he only grew desperate for more, even though he knew the meaning behind your willingness was pity seeping through you from his words. 

As you gasped for breath, his wet trail descended from your chin to your neck, sloppily massaging his tongue against your soft skin. Despite your attempts, his touch made it harder for you to regain your composure as a pitiful, quiet whine left you when you felt his teeth gently scrape on the already blushing skin. 

His hand that never left the swell of your hips felt increasingly more lewd now than before, the broadness of his palms kneading the doughy swell of your curves as he spread your cheeks with fingers that grew closer to the warmth of your lower region. Your hands found sanction in his hair yet again, bringing your lips to his as your hips moved against the motion of his hands restlessly. 

“You don’t need to do this.” Arthur’s voice was dangerously low when he spoke through your lips pressed firmly against his, and although laced with want, the uncertainty was noticeable. A suppressed moan left you as his finger accidentally ran over the delicate part of your lower region through your skirt, your face contorting at both the muted pleasure and confusing words he spewed.

“Hmm?” Once more, you zoned out for a minute, completely forgetting his injured state that had only been brought back to camp a few hours ago, and ran your hands down his neck and over the broadness of his shoulders, muscles tensing at your sensual caress. 

“I know you pity me, but-” Barely listening to him, your eyes remain closed as you memorize the curves of his upper body. “-but you ain’t got to do this. I know what I said about having you one last time, but that was just wishful thinking, sweetheart.” Feeling the air thicken as you breathe, you gaze at him with clouded eyes, brows furrowing with bewilderment. “You ain’t got to do this just because you feel bad for me, alright?” 

Raising, you sit down on his middle as you inhale deeply. “What are you talking about, Arthur?” A moment passed when his eyes closed, bringing his uninjured hands to his face to remove the cloth still covering his forehead as he let out a curse word under his breath. “You think I’m doing this in pity? No.” 

Leaning forward slightly as you shook your head, you grabbed his cheeks with both hands to make him look at you. “Ever since you left me in that cold cabin, I thought you despised me, Arthur. I felt so ashamed and didn’t know what to do, but I couldn’t hate you because I love you too much.” Silence followed your words as he stared at you like they had gone in the other ear and disappeared through the other. “Trust me, this is not pity, Arthur.” Softly, you kissed his forehead, lingering there for a while as you didn’t, even for a second, ponder over what you just said. 

You felt two arms circle around your waist tightly as a gasp left your unsuspecting body when you fell on your back towards the sheets, the large body of Arthur encasing you as your lips connected in a hurried kiss. Shocked at the sudden change of events, you grab onto his arms to find stability, the fabric of his bandages reminding you of his state.

With your eyes shooting open, you try to push at the man above you so he would lie down again, the thought of him over-exerting himself a horror in the back of your mind as the severity of his wounds was apparent. This wasn’t good; you shouldn’t have let him move a single muscle when he rose from sleep; instead, prompt him to go back to sleep so he could rest his defeated body. Your emotions had gained the upper hand, and with every stroke from his broad hands, they threatened to take over again, surrendering you to his want.

You were tapping his chest in despair, but he didn’t let a single word leave your mouth as he almost swallowed you whole, a deep rumble going through his chest as he thought your moans of protest were from pleasure. Shivers wrecked through you when you felt his hands drag their way up your sides, thumbs resting just under your bosom as they stroked tenderly, ghosting over your sensitive nipples, the touch electrifying despite the layer of clothing separating you. 

“Arthur! What do you think you’re doing!?” Managing to get ahold of yourself amidst his adamant touch, you find a moment to escape the onset of his lips left on you. Your hushed words didn’t seem to phase him as a lazy grin grew on his lips, staring at you with lidded eyes; no sadness in his gaze, but a deep longing that spread like a fog over his blue orbs. Ignoring you, his mouth enveloped you as a warmth radiated through your whole body, melting like butter in his embrace.

“Say it again.” Caught up in your lips, he begged you to say the three words that fell so beautifully out of your mouth–a sense of euphoria filling his body as he basked in the moment that just passed.

“What? Come on, Arthur, you’re hur-” A had found its way into your hair, tugging slightly as the other held you from squirming against the mattress. “Please, sweetheart. Tell me you love me again.” Your breath hitched when you heard what he called you, something so fiercely pinching your heart at him, yearning for you. You never thought you would have Arthur Morgan, known for his bullheadedness and unyielding ways, begging for you. Yet here you were. 

“Say it.” His words were heavy with a desperation so fierce it backtracked you for a moment, his resilience rendering you motionless for some time. His otherwise calculating eyes grew darker with a deep want, your toes curling tightly as the hold he kept on your hair grew tighter, although not firm enough to hurt you. 

Your body felt afire at his sudden desperation, not understanding how he had the energy to hold you this intensely when his whole body was trembling. The worry you held for him in this moment paled as he rendered you completely willful in his arms, the constant nagging about his state that always seemed to stay in the corner of your mind being washed away by his loving caress.

“I love you.” Succumbing to him like you always seemed to do, the three words fell from your lips earnestly, face contorted as your mouth fell ajar. Your heart beat wildly against your chest like you had just run a marathon and only increased when a loud groan left the man perched on top of you, burying his head in your neck, face now concealed by your hair that was displayed wildly on the pillow. 

“God.” A strangled sound left him as he sucked in a sharp breath, hands coming down to lift your legs to rest by your side so he could fit his hips against your delicious warmth, skirt falling around you as he pushed your plump thighs apart. “Again.” Arthur’s voice grew firmer, not begging now but demanding it of you. Lost in pleasure, you didn’t hesitate to answer him, though this time softer as you observed the frustration filling his expression. 

“I love you, Arthur.” His stomach churned at the warmth that swirled in your eyes when you spoke, feeling like the only thing keeping his miserable being alive was your words as they pierced through his heart. It wasn’t enough, though; every time you told him you loved him, a more profound urge to hear you say it grew, urging him to leave you screaming the words. It would only be enough when he had captured your entire body and soul in the prison of his hands, the only name left in your mind his. Just like it always should be.

Caught up in his intoxicating lips, it felt like there was nothing but the two of you in the entire world, everything having been pushed away by the intensity of the desire now burning within you. Eager to be even closer to you, he sought any friction to alleviate the sharp pleasure he felt spreading in his lower stomach. The hips nestled between yours sunk further so they fit snugly against yours, now unable to escape the blissful sensation that left your mouth open in a silent moan.

“Again.” Almost all his weight was against you now, your body pressed firmly on the mattress as he almost seemed to melt into your grasp when your hands gripped his shoulder blades in wavering suspense.

“Oh, Arthur. I love you so much.” You whimper out, finding it more challenging to keep quiet as he now ruts his hips against yours like in a trance, heavy puffs of breath leaving him as he struggles against the force of his actions.

His head fell limp on your shoulder as his arms circled your waist tight, sweat dampening the cloth of your blouse immensely, seemingly having trouble breathing as he panted loudly. 

God, it felt so good, but seeing his arms shake in exhaustion showed you it was certainly taking a toll on his body. It took much of your self-control to try to get the rugged man off you, but the mere thought of him falling dead on top of you didn’t appeal to you even though every fiber of your being longed for him to continue despite his state.

“Arthur.” You got no response even though you ran your fingers through his hair to coax him away from you, whining when he rubbed against that one spot that made you jerk slightly. “Arthur, listen to me. We shouldn’t be doing this right now.”

 You weren’t even sure he had heard you as the groans leaving him made your voice a distant reminder, but it proved to have gotten to him as the pressure of his body lifted from yours. Seeing he was out of your face, you felt your mind clear when you took a deep breath, though the pleasure he warmed your body with still left you in shambles, your voice shaking every time you spoke.

Grunting, he rolled over beside you on his back, eyes closed as he tried to regain his composure. As you looked him over, his whole body was covered in a deep blush, muscles flexing in exhaust. 

“Arthur.” You sighed as you saw his appearance, still high on his touch, that left your whole body sensitive. “Why won’t you listen to me?” As he opened his half-lidded eyes, the determination you had failed to see before shone brightly in them as he raised his shaking arm toward you. 

“Ah, come here, sweetheart.” He cooed at you, his voice irresistible even though it came out in a slur, speaking like he didn’t understand why you were so resilient. “Let me take care of you.” 

Your eyes shot open as he spoke, growing speechless as the obscenity of his words backtracked you. A blush covered your face, and you grabbed your hands on your chest as you shied away from his poignant stare; suddenly, the embarrassing motion of clenching around nothing made you whimper out a no. Although your words contradicted your actions, Arthur knew, and an acknowledging grin spread lazily on his lips. 

“I’m alright, darlin’, promise. I’ve got in worse scrapes before; this is nothing. Now come here.” He said, patting his thighs as he coaxed you closer. That was a lie. Never in his life had he been so close to death as he was today, and never had he been gripped by a fever that seemed to shake up his whole body as bad as it was now. The world around him was blurry as the slightest motion made him dizzy, every fiber begging him to rest, as he could feel his psyche and body hanging on a thread. 

So, he understood where your hesitation came from, but he’d rise from the dead again and take you if he passed away without having you. Especially now that he knew you loved him. So it didn’t matter to him if he was half alive as he pounded you; he would see it through and ruin you for every man you came across.

“You’re lying to me.” You exclaimed aghast, remaining seated on your knees beside him as you gave him a concerned look. It was easy to see, for he looked more dead than alive, and while every fiber of your being begged you to force him to rest, you knew you had no chance against him. You have never had the strength to stay away from him.

When he realized you weren’t giving up, he pushed himself up on his elbows, eyes set heavily on you like you were his prey. It made you feel small in his poignant gaze, breath hitching slightly as you felt like backing away, only to be dragged closer to him. He winced as his shoulder sent a searing pain through his body at the pressure, so you had no choice but to crawl towards him in panic and push him back on the bed as he resigned, trying to put his bandage that had slipped back in place. 

Ignoring your worrying tendencies, Arthur grabbed your more petite frame in contentment when finally having you closer again, hoisting you up on his lap as his arms pushed you to lie on him, hands resting on his chest.

Choosing to resign when you realized you couldn’t get your way, you placed a few nimble kisses on his neck under his ear where a gash had been reopened, now a deep red running down his side. He pushed you flush against him, knees raising suddenly to pull you further up his body so he could gather your skirt above your waist. Arthur’s rough hands ran over the softness of your behind before wandering up to grab your underpants. Gasping at the sudden tug, you felt the material slink down your legs, the sudden exposure covering your face in a deep blush as you kicked the material off your ankles. 

“Rest your arm, Arthur.” You reminded him quietly, feeling both his arms at work as they ran over the flesh of your inner thigh tenderly. If you were going to do this, you had to ensure at least he wouldn’t hurt himself more than he already was. 

Pleased when you saw him put his arm to his side, you raised on your knees so you could start unbuttoning your blouse. It was too warm here as the night air could not enter the tent, and you hadn’t realized how scorching it left your body until now. The material clung to your wet skin as you removed the buttons, sighing in relief as you grew more exposed.

That’s when you felt him rise, helping you remove the blouse over your head as you stared at him with a bemused expression because he didn’t listen. He didn’t pay you any mind, though, burying his face in your chest as his hands ghosted over your inner thighs. Trying to stay quiet, a hushed whisper of his name left you when you felt his cheek rub against your nipple when he placed a few kisses between your breasts. Your body was running in anticipation, already on high alert, as you had gone too long without feeling his hands on you, remembering how he had touched you before.

You gasped as his tongue circled your nipple, the wet touch gliding effortlessly along your sensitive skin. Immediately, your face contorted into pleasure as your hands tangled themselves in his hair while you gripped tight on the strands, back arching as his fingers ghosted over the wet lips underneath your skirt.

God, it felt like he was eating you alive as he let his mouth feast on the soft skin, hearing your attempts at quieting your small noises with your plush thighs pushing against his sides. One of his arms travels to your hip, trapping you in the enclosure of his hand as he grinds you down further onto the bulge, erection straining painfully against his pants. 

An audible whine leaves you amidst your panting as you bring one hand to your mouth, chastising yourself for being unable to be quiet. It was impossible, though, when you could feel his clothed bulge under your exposed cunt that grew moist–slick now, rubbing against the fabric. 

He helped you drag yourself back and forth as his hand fell to the side in resignation to the pain, his movement slow as he savored the feeling of having you entirely at his mercy. You felt him mumble something against your skin as he rolled the sensitive bud on his tongue, huffing as he felt your hands grip tighter on his roots. The sudden drag of his finger against your slit made a whine leave you, pulling his head closer against you as the pleasure now running through you rendered you unable to control your body. 

“Good?” He mumbled as he massaged your clit with his fingers, although not adding enough pressure as you tried to move your hips against his hand. A quick nod left you as he planted his mouth at the juncture of your neck, wheezing as he felt your body go limp in his arms. He brought his thumb lower to feel how wet you were, the rough pads of his fingers so good against your heat as they made warmth spread through your whole body, toes curling when he suddenly spread your lips and pushed his middle and index finger into your entrance. 

Gazing down from your shoulder, he grabbed the fabric that had pooled around you and lifted it up hastily so he could see more of you. The sight of your bottom moving against his hands made him want to scrunch his eyes tight if he didn’t try to memorize the sight in front of him. The soft plumpness of your thighs looked so beautiful against his bloodied and dirty clothes, skin clean and soft. Ignoring the pain growing harsher, his other hand raised so he could run his hands along the warm skin, your back arching slightly as you rose on your knees. 

Placing soft kisses against the side of your waist that was now presented in front of his face, his hand trailed over to your bum as he slowly pumped his fingers into you, kneading the flesh roughly as he pushed your middle against him.

“Arthur.” Your quiet whining made his vision blurry, adding one more finger into your clenching hole as your nails marked half-moons into his skin. The tent was becoming scorching hot as you could feel the fever emitting heat from Arthur’s body, but his touch made you forget all about it, as you could only see white pleasure when his fingers massaged your inner walls. 

Grabbing his shoulders, you tried to push him down, but your protests were in vain as he slowly withdrew his fingers from you and gently laid you down on the mattress. For a moment, he stopped in his actions and stared at you, your blouse discarded on the floor as your plump breast had grown red from his assault and the skirt resting on your waist exposing your heat as slickness from your arousal covered your cunt and the sides of your thighs. 

But your face grabbed most of his attention as your eyes, which he had grown to love, stared back at him lovingly amidst the pleasure and want. A blush covered your face and ran down to your chest, which raced with your breath, hands restless as they seemed to almost reach out for him again. God, never had he thought you would actually look at him like this. 

An appreciative rumble left his throat as he grabbed your skirt and hoisted it down your legs, casting it hurriedly to his side as he grabbed your ankles and pushed you towards him, where he sat before you. To you, he didn’t move quick enough. Instead, he placed small, tender kisses on your ankles as he stared you down, seemingly etching you into his memory. Growing shy under his intense gaze, you try to push your legs together as he runs a finger down your slick heat, suddenly feeling very exposed without your skirt and the thought of someone entering the tent lingering in the back of your mind.

“Shh, shh, shh,” Arthur cooed at you as he pushed your thighs apart gently, your strength nothing against his as he did it with ease. “It’s okay.” A short moan left you at his words, staring at him through lidded eyes as your hands gripped the pillow under your head, not knowing where to put them. “Come ‘ere,” He whispered as he lowered himself over you, pressing his weight slightly against you as his bare skin against your nipples made your body jump, another moan leaving you from the pleasure. 

“Easy now, sweetheart,” As he rested his arms on either side of your face, he lowered his lips to yours as he pressed them against the soft skin, humming when he felt your legs wrap around his waist automatically. “You gonna be a good girl for me, hmm?” He asked when another blissful whine left you as his hand stroked up the softness of your stomach to your breast, gently rubbing your nipple with his thumb. 

“I will.” The words left you breathless as you suppressed the moans that wanted to escape you, your body growing restless against his teasing as your legs tightened against his waist, prompting him closer to you. The friction against your core felt incredibly good, but only lasted so long for Arthur to raise his hips to remove what was left of his union suit. 

As he pushed the fabric down to rest on his thighs hurriedly, your hands crept over his shoulders to run over his back, the skin still wet from the sweat running down his body under your fingers as they grew filthy from the dirt covering him and blood that had dried on his skin earlier. Grunting at your actions as you momentarily distracted him, he returned his hands to rest under your back so he could grip your shoulders. He’s probably going to get killed shortly, and if not from his injuries, from the sweet, hazy memory of you planted underneath him, staring at him like he was the only man in the world. 

You were his obsession, if not a full-fledged addict, after tonight, and he had trouble keeping his hands off you even though he knew he shouldn’t have you. Although, those thoughts were far gone now, for he yearned after you. Craved to bury himself into you–like injecting himself with that sweet high only you could bring him. 

Unable to help himself, he captures your lips again as he feels you giggle when his beard scratches your skin–a stark contrast in texture. The sound made him smile amidst his desperate actions as he tickled your waist slightly to feel you squirm against him. God, he had become soft. 

You are interrupted by the slow drag of his cock running over your puffy lips that glisten with want, eyes scrunching together as the anticipation of feeling him inside you grows more intense. He prods it around as it slips between your cheeks; you’re so slippery that it drives him right through and slides smoothly between your thighs, coating his hardness with your wetness.

Your eyes are blown wide as you look at Arthur through hazy eyes, gazing at his heaving chest as his whole body trembles. You could almost taste his desperation as the same one course through you when he grabs your hips and bends his own so he can find you–holding the weight of his cock as he slips it right in.

A gasp leaves your mouth, and he swallows the noises by planting his lips over yours. Immediately, he feels you clasp around him as you clench, the spongy, slippery walls hugging him tightly as he curses. It felt painful to press something so ugly into someone as beautiful and kind as you, but he was far too selfish to care; the need to keep the end of his promise of fucking you good was not something he was going to break, even though he could feel the lingering exhaustion threatening to make him pass out any second from the pain littering his shoulder.

Gritting through his teeth, the combined feeling of pain and pleasure coarse through his body as he slowly dragged himself out before sheathing himself into you fully. You welcomed him openly as your hands gripped his shoulders, his hands hustling your thighs up to rest beside your body as he almost folded you in half. 

Your mouth opens wider, lids dropping to cover half your eyes, with no hint of pain on your face. It leaves Arthur satisfied as he reminds himself to be gentle with you, his cock throbbing as his gaze flickers between your breast bouncing with each thrust and eyes hazy with pleasure–pleasure he was bringing you.

The lewd sound of him entering you fills the tent, and while he hopes it’s not audible outside, he isn’t sure he cares now. Although your quiet whimpers that you couldn’t help but let out, he wanted to keep to himself, pressing his hand against your mouth as he pounded into you harder.

“Tell me, sweetheart. Tell me how I make you feel.” He fails to conceal the possessiveness in his words as he mumbles out without thinking, too drunk in the feeling of your moans vibrating against his hands and pussy fluttering around his thick cock. He grits the words through clenched teeth, lifting his hands from your mouth so you can answer him. 

You look at him as he keeps thrusting, eyes glistening with unshed tears as you swallow him more profoundly into your cunt. “Arthur.” His name comes out in a broken, almost nonsensical voice as you find it hard to speak amidst his harsh thrusts that push you further up the bed every time. “Please, so good.” 

Your confession makes his eyes roll back, uninjured arm gripping the headboard as he repositions his hips, suddenly plowing into you harder as his face rests on your neck, body trapping you to the mattress to keep you in place. A slight sound left you from the sudden force, biting into your hand in desperation so you wouldn’t make a sound.

“Arthur!” A quiet gasp left you as he only groaned into your skin, breathing in your scent as his hips stayed relentless. “Ah, Arthur! Be careful!” Amidst your pleasure, you couldn’t help but worry when his arms extended limp beside you, and his weight grew even heavier on top of you as he almost laid down entirely if it wasn’t for his legs keeping him going. He was far too gone to comprehend what you were saying, though, as he fucks you hard but sweetly amidst his pain. 

You shudder with every thrust now, his uninjured arm on the bed circling around your waist as he pulls you tighter against him. You weren’t going anywhere from him as he planted a wet kiss against your pulse, the sweet sound of your pleas from both pleasure and worry surrounding him. God, if he didn’t know any better, this felt like a dream, your soothing hands caressing his skin as he panted above you, sweat running off him like a river and soaking the bed underneath you. You made a sound through your broken whines like he was torturing you with his cock, even though you were offering your cunt to him so willingly, the thought making his body grow taut.

Arthur’s hair was soaked entirely as you gripped it, hand looking for something to hold on to as your legs tightened around his waist. You couldn’t even move with his thrusts now–only able to lie there and let him take you. 

“Arthur–god!” You tighten around him one more time, and all you can see is white as he buries his head in your neck, groaning desperately as he ruts into your heat at a pace you didn’t think was possible in his state. Raising himself up on his knees, with the last ounce of his strength, he grabs your hips and lifts up your lower half as he rams his throbbing cock into you, balls unbearably tight as they slap against your skin.

“Jesus- that’s it, hold on to me,” He grits out as your cry is muted by his hands when your walls flutter around him as you come, shattering all over him through broken sobs. Your tender hands, made to mend people, both heart and skin, grip onto his rough ones, created instead to destroy. The feeling of them running so softly over his battered body made him feel like the most undeserving man alive. Despite this, he reveled in the thought of being the one to feel your hands on him.

When you came, it became the final straw for him as he could finally feel the pressure release into a sharp pleasure that nearly blinds him. Falling helplessly into your arms, he pushed your lower half into his as he ruts mercilessly into you, walking you through your own orgasm as the first spurt of cum seeps into you.

He almost felt like a dog as you pulled him deeper into you, unable to help the way his hips pushed against yours as he thrusts into you, a white ring of his cum seeping out from your hole as your hands gripped his waist tightly. His cock still moves slightly even when there’s nothing left as the high still courses through both of you, you lying limp and frail underneath his weight. 

Arthur knew he should move, but he spent all his strength, noticeably as the black dots that had filled his vision for some time grew bigger, panting like he had run a hundred miles into your skin as his body grew heavy on yours. 

Every dream he had of you could go to hell because this was the only remedy needed in his unlawful life. Now that he had a taste of you, you grew into his own brand of morphine as the haze Arthur found himself in would erupt his whole being into an addiction. It was heaven, unfiltered and raw and so beautiful to be inside you, and he knew that if he died now, heaven would be no match for what he had in his arms.

As your high lessened and your mind grew more apparent, you cradled Arthur’s head. You nuzzled your face into his hair, rubbing his shoulders tenderly as you basked in the aftermath, finally having him in your arms after months of uncertainty and pining. You rested your heels back on the mattress, sighing as his now softening member moved inside you, leaving you both satisfied and full. You stay like that for a while, basking in the afterglow, until you notice his whole body shaking terribly as he struggles to breathe.

“Oh, Arthur!” A worried expression filled your face as you tried sitting up, although his weight made it difficult for you to move him. “Arthur, I can’t move you on my own.” Resting your hand on his cheek, you try to examine his face as he buries it further in your neck, forehead scorching under your palm.

“Shit.” You rarely swore, but now you chastised yourself for letting this progress, although you knew you did at least put up a fair fight against the headstrong man. Strained breaths left him as he rose slightly from you and rolled on his back, a short gasp leaving you as he pulled out of your suddenly too-empty walls. 

Shaking away the feeling, you turn towards him as you realize his shoulder is bare, the bandage discarded on the bed. His wound looks wildly irritated and inflamed as a harsh redness surrounds his injury. “So stubborn.” You whispered as you threw the bandage down the bed, crawling over him to grab some fresh ones you had planned to take with you when you had tended to his wounds before. “You should be resting, but instead, you think it’s the perfect moment to have sex?”

As you looked over at him while redressing his shoulder, you found him gazing at you with humor in his weary eyes. You couldn’t help but lift the corner of your mouth as the reality of the situation dawned on you, chuckling as he poked your sides–your hand coming to slap his away jokingly. 

“God, you’re so beautiful.” His voice came out in a shudder as he stared at you, tripping over his words as a groan of pain left Arthur, having not let his body take the rest it desperately needed. Setting into motion, you swing your legs over the bed and grab the bottle of alcohol. 

“Here, drink up.” He raised his eyebrow as a strained smirk played in the corner of his lips. He got a bemused look at his attempt at lightening the heavy mood that had washed over you. 

“You try’na get me drunk?” Sighing at him, wondering how he had the energy to make jokes, you brought the bottle closer to his lips. Hesitating, though, you questioned yourself if Arthur waking up with a hangover tomorrow amidst his pain was a good idea, but there was no other way to dull his pain. 

“Do you want me to knock you out instead so you won’t feel the pain from overexerting your body?” Feigning horror, he still complied as he chugged the bottle empty. You grabbed it from his hand when he was done.

“You already did, darlin’,” He rumbled as he beckoned you to lay down with him, your head resting on his outstretched arm as you stared up at him. You grew quiet for a while; the only sound audible was your shared breathing as you traced circles on his stomach. Despite you worrying to death, you felt more content now than you had ever been. His confession had filled you with more happiness than you had ever thought possible, and now, as you lay in his arms, you felt dumb for ever thinking he despised you. 

You had been so stupid, but you also pointed some of your anger at Arthur for being such a brickhead and thinking you felt less of him for who he was and what he did. Well aware of who he was, you weren’t so innocent either to be too good for him, but you knew he didn’t see it that way. You could never leave him now that you had tasted how wonderful love could feel, especially after the scare he had brought you tonight. 

“I dreamed of you, ya know.” You turn your head to look at him as you are brought from your thoughts, hand ceasing its motion on his skin as it rests on his hand. Leaning his head down to the top of your hair, he kissed against it as he breathed in. You were like raw whiskey straight to an empty stomach. The way his mind goes blank from sliding his nose over the softness of your hair.

“What? Me?” 

“Mmh.” He rumbled out, chest shaking as the indistinct sound of his voice vibrated through his body. “Every night, you came to me like a goddamn angel or somethin’.” He knew he wasn’t good with words, and as the words left him, Arthur realized they didn’t do his clumsy confession justice, but the way you looked at him like he was the most wondrous thing you had ever seen made him believe it wasn’t too bad.

“Every night, I dreamed of you. Your eyes when you stare at me in that way you always manage to do, your hands that are always so unknowingly soft-” His eyes glint with mischief as he continues. “-your round ass pressed against me-” 

Gasping, you motion to hit him, but retract your hand when you remember his injuries. “Arthur!” You whisper harshly. “-your big words that make you look smarter than you are-” Raising onto your elbow, you give him an unamused look as he chuckles slightly at your reaction to his blatant teasing.

“If you’re planning on being so funny all the time, maybe you should have become a jester instead of an outlaw.” Squinting your eyes at him, he only brings his arm around your back to push your body against his once more, still shaking slightly from laughing. Settling down, he continued. 

“Christ, I longed for you in ways you couldn’t even imagine, sweetheart.” As his voice grew low, he returned his half-lidded eyes to you while stroking your hair softly. You felt a lump in your throat forming at his words. The sweet words that felt so unfamiliar coming from his mouth did nothing short of making you putty in his hand, now finding it hard to be mad at him for the apparent strain he had put his body through.

“Every night felt easier when I had you to dream about, but that was all I let it be, for we both know I really don’t deserve you.” This was unmistakably true to Arthur, for even though he had you in his arms right now, he knew you shouldn’t be. 

“Don’t stop, Arthur.” As you whispered, you gazed into his eyes, a fluttering erupting in your stomach as you wrapped your arms around his neck, hugging him slightly as he pulled the blanket over your naked body. “Never stop dreaming of me.” Your voice trembled slightly.

“Why would I dream now that I have you?”

[coriolanuswhore]

Get her back!!! | Coriolanus Snow x Reader (part II)

------------------------✧-------------------------

Coriolanus walked out of his room, he seemed very eager to see you even as he tried his best to hide it. He hates to admit it, but he's horrible without you. You're like the air he breathes, his very life, half of his soul.

How he loathes to admit it all, but he needs you in every way there is.

Coriolanus make his way into the living room, seeing the view of your back filled him with excitement. He greeted his grandma'am with a kiss on the side of her head before taking a seat on the opposite side of the couch they're sitting on.

His eyes immediately settled in your body, his gaze darkened with lust as he looks up and down your body. He can feel his arousal growing even more as his eyes focused on the skirt that you're wearing. He wants to tear it off, to spread your legs open before burying his face on your cunt. He wants to feel your thighs tightening around his head, choking the life out of him as he eats you out. To feel your fingers curling up to his locks as you pushed his head deeper, urging him and feeding his desires for you.

"Coriolanus?" Grandma'am called to him with worry as she noticed the way her grandson has been staring at you. Snapping Coriolanus out of his lustful haze, he immediately sat straight before clearing his throat. His face turned flushed as he feels embarrassed of getting caught on staring.

"Grandma'am, I came here to visit and to tell you all about my engagement." The young woman said, a joyful smile on her face and her gaze seems to glimmer with love and happiness. Her words are enough to send Coriolanus to a spiraling madness.

Engagement? The fool who proposed to her must be mad with his delusions. They do not deserve her, Y/n is made for him. Only for him.

Coriolanus swallowed down the rage that he's feeling, his hands clenched into a tight fist as he holds himself back from lashing out as the news of her engagement finally dawned upon him.

"Congratulations, Y/n. I'm happy for you." Coriolanus said with gritted teeth and a small smile on her face, suppressing all the anger and rage that he's feeling at the moment. Keeping a calm composure in front of his grandma'am, cousin, and of course, his sweetheart.

"Thank you, Coriolanus." Y/n said, reaching her hand out and placing it on his shoulder. "You're all invited to the wedding. Well, I'm sure that you're already invited since Sejanus is planning to make you his best man for our wedding."

Coriolanus froze under your touch, his eyes widened at your words and he wanted to deny it so badly. But he can't.

No. No. It's impossible. How can this be?

That district scum.

Sejanus Plinth and his beloved Y/n? Engaged? To be married?

His blood boils even more as he realizes that you're engaged to Sejanus. He's seething with rage, he wants to march right up to the Plinth residence and beat him up.

Coriolanus cleared his throat and nodded, trying his best to keep a friendly facade and holding your hand gently in his.

"I'll have a talk with Sejanus later. I really am happy for you both, my l— I mean, Y/n." Coriolanus spoke calmly, though the hold he has on your hand seems to get tighter. He let go as he noticed your discomfort and he found himself liking it. The way you feel small and uncomfortable in his presence makes him feel aroused.

"Perhaps you can talk to him some other time. His family and I will be having a private dinner later at their residence." The young woman spoke with a grin, mocking Coriolanus with the happiness that she's displaying.

Coriolanus is seething in anger, he managed to swallow down his temper as he keep a calm posture. Tigris looks at him with worry and with a hint of fear as she senses what he's feeling, it makes her uneasy to see her sweet cousin to act this way.

Y/n bid her farewell to the three of them as the sun begins to set, giving a fresh basketful of fruits for grandma'am before she left. And once she's gone, Coriolanus stormed off to his room. Leaving his grandmother and his dear cousin completely startled by his reaction.

------------------------✧-------------------------

Coriolanus paces back and forth as he continues to think about the engagement. It's so sudden, very sudden. He hates it, the thought of another man taking you away from him is too much. It's so unbearable, it is even worse when he thinks that a district scum will be the one to marry you and not him, a Capitol-born man who came from a well-known family.

He hates to admit it but he envies Sejanus. He hates to think that Sejanus is wealthy enough to provide the life that you deserve and not him. It should be him to have your hand in marriage, it should be him you should spend the rest of your life with, not Sejanus. Not that good for nothing bastard, he's nothing without his dearest daddy's wealth.

Suddenly, Coriolanus halted on his steps as he thought of a plan. He barely tolerates Sejanus and his stupid rants about his hatred towards the Hunger Games. But he can surely act like he actually likes him, then he will take everything that he has.

Especially, his Y/n. His beloved girl, Y/n.

He will do whatever it takes to get it.

Money. Wealth. Power.

And his most priced possession, Y/n.

------------------------✧-------------------------

A/N : Apologies for the delay, I was very busy with my finals lately and my enrollment for the second semester. I'm currently editing the third part of this story, I'll probably post it soon. I hope you guys enjoyed the update, thank you!! <33

[uselessmicrowave]

For something angsty, how about HCs for TFP Dreadwing, TFP Predaking, and TFP Starscream reacting to their human s/o revealing their lifespan? How short it is compared to Cybertronians?

dreadwing

He knows that good things cannot last forever, but he’s still saddened.

Dreadwing will make sure to spend every bit of waking free time with you, and make sure you feel loved and comfortable.

When the time eventually comes, he feels like a part of his spark has been ripped out.

predaking

What do you mean you won’t live as long as he does? Oh! Oh.

He feels horrible, but manages to keep it from you long enough. You catch him silently crying while you pretend to sleep and will have to comfort him until dawn.

There will be so many times he’ll ask for you to go flying with him and watch the sunrise.

He’ll probably keep your remains after you die, they’ll be his prized possession, he keeps your bones close.

starscream

He freezes. That can’t be true, you said you’d stay with him forever! You liar.

He’s pissed. Starscream realizes pretty quickly that he can’t say sorry for his outburst if you’re dead, so he’ll sit next to you and awkwardly apologize. Starscream eventually becomes very emotional about it, he’ll hold onto you like you’re going to disappear and cry while you try to calm him down.

He’ll secretly look for a way to cheat death.

[llondonfog]

No pls 😭 i hate the idea that raising Silver was a fun experiment out of curiosity to see if he could love a human or not, and that the answer still isnt clear. I hate the idea of Silver, the son of their enemy, being raised to be nothing but a soldier to serve Malleus in some poetic irony. I feel there’s love there but I’ve almost been transported into Silver’s mind where everything is melancholy and unclear. Does he matter as much as I believe he does 😭😭😭 or is it just a cruel tale of some foundling human always meant to be put somewhere else when the fairies are done with them

The thing is, is Silver capable of accepting the fact that Lilia's happiest moment is Malleus' hatching? Yeah, of course, who wouldn't. The man suffered for years, absolutely driven mad with guilt over Meleanor's death and the fear that he wouldn't be able to keep his promise and hatch the one thing that remained of her, the proof of her existence and love. He had to hatch Malleus, because Meleanor believed that he could, that he somehow carried enough love in those tired, aching, and emptied bones, a love that she saw in him when he couldn't even believe it of himself. If he couldn't, it would be one more insult to her name, a failure yet again, a last betrayal of her trust that he couldn't afford and wouldn't survive.

So that weeping? He's so damn dizzy with relief and love and affection for this silly creature inside that's a symbol of the love of the most important people in his life, how could one react in any other way? How fragile and vulnerable, to know that the happiest moment in Lilia's life is to realize after hundreds of years, he was capable of that love all along.

And Silver sees this— he sees the lengths that Lilia went to in order to hatch Malleus, the horrible abuse he stoically suffered from the Senate, the massive disrespect for all that he had lost and sacrificed. Of course he'd accept that this is Lilia's pivotal moment, the bittersweet reward for centuries of despair.

But on the other hand, Silver; a boy who has lost equally, if not more. He's been cast out of his own time, four hundred years into the future, where everyone and anyone who might have known him or his family (save for Lilia) has been long since dead, the kingdom he might have ruled long crumbled to dust. Is it even a footnote in the history textbook he reads? Is there any mention of the Knight of Dawn, of Princess Leia? Anything at all besides the ring in his hand and Lilia's memories to prove that they existed, that they were real, that they loved and wanted him as much as Meleanor had loved Malleus?

All he has, all he's known, is Lilia. Lilia, who found him, who woke him from the spell as the one fated to truly love him. Lilia who thought of killing him upon learning who had sired him, Lilia who raised him to be a guard, to serve those his father once stood against. Lilia who wondered if he could ever love a human, a question that I agree hasn't fully been answered (or acknowledged by Lilia himself) if we are to associate the fact Silver still bears the effects of the sleeping curse with the belief that either Lilia hasn't called him his son and confessed his love, or if Silver still struggles with self-love himself (and we can get into a whole debate over his self-worth and his view as a sacrificial tool, that's an endless discussion).

Lilia . . . whose happiest moment has nothing to do with the boy who calls himself Lilia's one and only son.

And regardless of how I fully understand why Malleus' hatching is that moment, it's still so fucking sad to me.

Your whole life is centered around this one person whom you love more than anyone else— your short, human life— and in reality, you didn't even feature in that person's dream. We only saw Silver's past due to the blot, memories that were completely out of order and not in sync with Lilia's true dream at all.

And Silver will never harbor resentment over this, he will always place his family and loved ones first, but damn it, I can be a little miserable about it. All that trauma we went through with the last update, and now we learn that finding Silver and learning to love the son of his greatest enemy (the son of the person that killed Meleanor!) wasn't Lilia's happiest moment?

Was it just for the poetic irony? I really hope not. I really hope that TWST gives the conversation that Lilia and Silver need to have the due gravity it deserves, because Lilia needs, whether Silver realizes it or not, to look that boy in the eye and tell him that he loves him, he's always been his son, and no matter what their pasts may show, he's been Silver Vanrouge all along.

[aziraphales-library]

first off TYSM FOR THIS ACC AHH ITS BEEN SO HELPFULL <3

do you know any fics with touch-starved Crowley struggling to get used to the amount of affection Aziraphale shows him?

anyways love you all byee

We have a #touch starved tag that you will want to check out! Here are more fics to add to the collection...

Demons need hugs too by apeiiron (NR)

The thought of losing Aziraphale, his one constant, his one love, his everything, is too much to bear. Crowley wants to hold him more than anything, but he's too intimidated by the what-ifs to try. Aziraphale did it for him.

My Dear and Only Love by Sarah_hadeschild (G)

“I like your hands,” he said, plainly. Aziraphale huffed out a laugh. “Do you?” “‘Always have.” Aziraphale regarded him for a moment as recognition dawned on him. The things was, Crowley loved to grandstand. He loved to act braver than he was— more callous. That way, when things went awry, he had no one to blame for it but himself. Aziraphale knew this. And because of it, he knew that if he didn’t look out for Crowley’s heart, then no one would. AKA Thanks to a well-timed Valentine's gift, a touch-starved Crowley is about to get everything he desires. Well, almost everything.

Charred Feathers by KannaOphelia (T)

The wings burst through, a flurry of feathers and ripping fabric. “Damn. Thought they’d be enough room. That was a Tom Ford under-vest, would have cost me eighty quid if I’d actually bought it.” “Of course you stole it, you vile fiend,” Aziraphale said automatically, staring at Crowley’s well-groomed wings. They were black, and tidy, but it wasn’t a pure, midnight black. More a very dark, almost shabby grey, for all their beautiful condition. He was beginning to have a horrible suspicion about those wings. He reached out, and very gently brushed his fingertips through one, not letting any healing power through yet. “Made it. Y’know.” Crowley mimed snapping his fingers. “You’re wearing knock-off flannels?” Aziraphale demanded, tone high with outrage. He let his other hand come to the other wing, stepping closer, as Crowley snorted with laughter. Aziraphale had been right. Crowley’s feathers were smooth and perfect and undamaged, and at the same time, they were charred black by fire.

The Touch of Your Hand by EdosianOrchids901 (T)

After a moment of casual contact in Rome, Crowley realizes that he’s touch-starved. He dreams about holding Aziraphale’s hand or—even better—hugging him. But Aziraphale is an angel, and Crowley is a demon. And demons don’t deserve hand holding or hugs…do they?

Velocity by dragon_with_a_teacup (T)

Aziraphale can sense Affection whenever that emotion is near. Yet he has never looked for it within himself whenever Crowley is near. It should be impossible, an angel feeling such things for a demon; why, then, would it have occurred to him to look? Why would he have thought to analyze his bond with Crowley—a bond forged throughout the centuries through a convenient work arrangement—for anything beyond mere camaraderie? Yet now, his favorite angelic ability turns inward for the first time, and at last, he sees: He’s been such a fool.

An Exercise In Trust by organizechaos (T)

It’s been eleven years since Armageddon and Heaven and Hell have been conspiring to restart it. Meanwhile, Aziraphale and Crowley moved in together, got married, and are overall really happy. When their former bosses finally confront them — attacking with an object that will take centuries worth of memories from the ineffable pair — something goes a little wrong in the process… Crowley takes the full hit. (Basically, it’s just about +37,000 words worth of Crowley being a confused mess at why Aziraphale’s finally reciprocating his love)

- Mod D

[forestshadow-wolf]

Projecting onto soap again because it's been a while I've decided it's time... love ya, shampoo :)

Everyone looks at soap and slaps a label on him. He's arrogant l. He's air-headed. He's an idiot. He's horrible at following orders. He's stupid. He's here out of sheer luck. He's a loudmouth.

And he doesn't do anything to fight them. Just lets them think what they want, maybe even leans into it a bit.

Could he prove all of those statements wrong? Sure, easily. But it's not worth it. Not to him. Plus it's so much easier to flaunt displaced disappointed than it is to hide the real thing.

And maybe he kinda likes it. Like it's his own little secret that nobody knows about. If everyone wants to think a load of gobshite about him then fine, who is he to say otherwise, right? If they want to talk or laugh about him behind his back, then who is he to stop them? If it ruins his reputation, well, it doesn't matter because he's still where he is, right?

Maybe ghost notices. Slowly but surely. At first he thinks all the same things that everyone else does. Mactavish is loud, arrogant, doesn't know when to shut up, oblivious, irritating.

But the longer he observes soap, the more he sees. That sometimes when he smiles it doesn't quite reach where it should. How sometimes the beams of light that seems to project off the man, serves to shadow his eyes. How when he talks it all just that. Nothing of importance, just to fill the silence. Always the worst after a harsh mission with too many greenies. At first he thinks it's because soap needs it, then he sees the dead look in his eyes and he knows that all he wants to do is shut up. It dawns on him that it's for the greenies.

He realizes that soap isn't arrogant, just that there's always that one person that nobody wants to be. There's always that one that grabs attention, that distracts. It's all an act to soap.

Sure soap is irritating, but ghost sees soap do it on purpose. When tensions are high, and all anyone wants to doo it yell or hist someone to pet it out. He's seen soap do it plenty of times. Hell, he's had soap walk up to him, and spark a fight on the mats.

He sees in the dead of night how soap stays up scribbling furiously in his journal, watched him tear pages out. Watched him be anything but what everyone sees him as.

He wonders why. Why offer yourself up to the world as something so unlikable, when there was someone else underneath?

Ghost has noticed. Those are almost the exact words he thinks to himself when the brit walks into the rec room at ass crack o'clock in the morning. Ghost has noticed. But he won't say anything... he thinks thought.

"Why do you do it?"

Play dumb. Play dumb, Mactavish. "Do what?" Wooow so smooth.

"You know what."

"Why not."

"People might like you more."

"They should like what I show them. I'm not exactly hiding."

"Why do you do it?" Ghost asks again. Soap doesn't know what he's getting at here, why does he want to know?

"Because it's easy." It's the truth... depending on perspective.

"That's not why. And it isn't easy." Ghost shakes his head. Ghost knows. It cycles through his mind.

"It is. It's easy for me." He means that. Just maybe not in the way ghost takes it. It's easy enough to ignore the talking and whispers, and the looks. It's easy enough to 'yes and' the rumors. But that's not what he means. He means it's easier to accept the disappointment when he knows it's what people already expect of him. It not so easy to let everyone down because they put him on a pedestal. It's easy to ignore false accusations, when he know that it doesn't say anything about who he actually is. It's not so easy to have someone see you for who you are and say you're not enough, or that they don't like you. So, yea, it's just easier.

[defectivevillain]

rest for the weary

pairing: Bigby Wolf/Reader

reader's race & gender are ambiguous; no pronouns or physical descriptors used.

summary: There is silence for far too long. You’re intently focused on wiping his skin clean of the dried bloodstains, making sweeping gestures with infinite care. Bigby wants to reassure you that you don’t have to be so careful, that he’s used to cruelty and maleficent gazes and bloodied knuckles. But the words feel caught in his throat. This compassion is so foreign to him; he can’t help but instinctively wonder if there’s something you’re getting out of this.

word count: 2.3k | ao3 version

warnings: canon-typical blood and violence, exhaustion/fatigue

After his long patrol, Bigby wants nothing more than to fall asleep and never wake up. He manages to get to his apartment, albeit with a bit more clumsiness and lethargy than usual. When he finally opens the door, he’s greeted with Colin’s irritated expression. The annoyed look on his face fades when he evidently gets a full glimpse of Bigby’s injuries. The wolf knows he must look horrible; he doesn’t have to look in the mirror to know there are dark circles under his eyes and dried bloodstains on his clothes. 

“You look like shit,” Colin remarks helpfully. 

“Thanks.” Bigby responds tiredly, limping towards his armchair. Colin is merciful today, and doesn’t even utter a word of argument as he gives up the seat and moves to sit on the floor. Bigby sinks into the armchair and just barely holds back a pained hiss. He tilts his head back and stares up at the ceiling, still reeling from the events that occurred on his patrol today. His adrenaline carried him through multiple fights, and it isn’t until quiet moments like these that the gravity of what he’s been through dawns on him. 

Bigby’s eyes are slipping closed when he hears a harsh knock on his door. He groans and shuts his eyes again, wincing at the pain concentrated in his temple that is gradually migrating to his jaw. A nasty headache on top of his injuries—somehow, that tracks. Bigby waits to hear the sound of footsteps gradually growing further away. 

Instead, there’s another knock—even louder than the previous one. Bigby groans again and Colin raises an eyebrow, as if to ask if he’s going to answer the door. 

“Bigby.” The wolf’s heart skips a beat as he recognizes your voice. You live in the apartment below his: 104. You’re one of the only people who is nice to him, aside from Snow and Beauty. You never seemed to be afraid of him, which was refreshing. Selfishly speaking, Bigby doesn’t want you to see him in this state—doesn’t want you to start thinking of him as the Big Bad Wolf. You continue, immune to his internal dilemma. “I know you’re in there. Open up.” You say insistently. 

Bigby doesn’t make a move to get up. He doesn’t think he can get to his feet and walk over to the door, even if he wanted to. Exhaustion is settling in his bones and he is close to drifting off into unconsciousness once he realizes that the knocking has stopped. 

Suddenly, there’s a loud crash. Bigby is mercilessly tugged back from the throes of sleep as his front door swings open and crashes into the adjacent wall. He blinks slowly and pushes himself up in the chair, glancing at the front door to find you stumbling forward with uneasy balance. The two of you exchange looks and Bigby sees a flicker of regret and guilt appear on your face, before the emotions are replaced with a mischievous grin. 

“That was fun,” you remark with a look of surprise. Then you glance around the room, murmuring a quick greeting to Colin, before looking back at him once more. The wolf stares at you in disbelief. “I can see why you do it so often.”

“What the hell are you doing?” Bigby asks, once he manages to process everything that just happened. He’s usually the one kicking doors down—he’s never been on the other side of the situation before. Bigby can’t say he likes it much. 

“Checking in on you, obviously,” you answer, crossing your arms over your chest. Bigby realizes that this is the first time you’ve been in his apartment; typically, he visits you at yours or the two of you meet in the lobby. He’s mildly embarrassed by the dirty clothes and empty bottles laying around. The pain makes it easy to forget any potential humiliation, though. “I can see I was right to be worried.” You say as you study him, your lips pressed in a thin line. 

“How did you-” Bigby chokes out. 

“You were a bit louder than normal,” you respond easily. You’re looking at him with a scrutinizing gaze, as if you’re able to see straight through him. Bigby feels strangely exposed. “And your footsteps were… uneven.”

That’s it? Bigby thinks to himself. While he doesn’t utter the question, the sentiment must be clear on his face. 

“I just knew something was wrong, okay?” You say defensively. You take a step forward and look him up and down, evidently concerned for his wellbeing. Bigby wants to remark that he’s suffered worse, but he knows that wouldn’t reassure you.

“Well, I’m fine,” Bigby remembers to say moments later. It’s getting a bit hard to breathe around his bruised ribs and he has to put conscious effort towards inhaling slowly.  

You don’t seem to believe him for a moment. “You sound like a broken record,” you huff, rolling your eyes. “Come on.” You act as if you own the place, pacing past the entryway and moving towards the bathroom. Bigby watches you for several moments, before giving in with a sigh and pushing himself off the armchair. Every small movement sends pain shooting through him. He takes an uneasy step forward and stumbles, but Colin wordlessly pushes against his left leg and corrects his balance before he can fall. Bigby murmurs a word of thanks and heads to the bathroom. 

When he finally makes it to his far too-small bathroom, you’re waiting for him. You gesture for him to sit on the toilet seat, which he does after a moment of hesitation. You have a damp cloth in hand and, once he sits, you’re washing the blood and dirt from his face with a gentle touch. Bigby flinches at how cold the water is, and you murmur a quick apology before continuing. 

There is silence for far too long. You’re intently focused on his skin beneath the cloth, making sweeping gestures with infinite care. Bigby wants to reassure you that you don’t have to be so careful, that he’s used to cruelty and maleficent gazes and bloodied knuckles. But the words feel caught in his throat. This compassion is so foreign to him; he can’t help but instinctively wonder if there’s something you’re getting out of this. 

Eventually, you finish with his face and begin cleaning his forearms. You push up his sleeves, wiping away the blood before staring at him with an unreadable expression. When you break the silence, Bigby notices that you’re suddenly averting your gaze. “You may need to… take off your shirt.”

Bigby stares at you for a moment, before comprehending the question. “Right,” he mutters, moving to unbutton his shirt with trembling hands. You don’t comment on how long the effort takes him, but Bigby does hear the stifled intake of breath that escapes your lips as your eyes rove up and down his torso. He looks down, finding the gaping wound at his side that you can’t seem to look away from. 

You almost look sick to your stomach. But Bigby knows it can’t be from the grotesque nature of his wound—he knows you’ve seen your fair share of blood and violence. You live in the Fables, after all. Violence is an everyday occurrence. The wolf watches as you take a slow breath, as if to steady yourself, before grabbing the cloth and bending down to dab at the wound. Your equilibrium seems to be off, as you lurch forward with the movement. Bigby steadies you with a hand on your shoulder and you place your free hand on his side to steady yourself. He promptly ignores the heat that spreads across his skin at the casual touch. 

A seemingly endless time later, you lean back and Bigby can breathe again. You assess his wound once more, eyebrows furrowing. “Do you have bandages?” Bigby shakes his head imperceptibly. You seem to be expecting that answer, as you sigh exasperatedly. “I’ll be right back.”

In the blink of an eye, you’re standing in front of him once more—holding a nondescript tube of ointment and a roll of bandages. At his questioning look, you explain that the ointment will prevent infection; you then apply a small amount on his wound, before placing the bandage on his skin and slowly wrapping it around his chest. Bigby remains silent the entire time, at a loss for words. Admittedly, this feels like a dream. He wouldn’t be surprised if he woke in a few minutes, staring up at the ceiling from his armchair in his bloodstained clothes. 

But this is no dream. Your touch is all too real. Bigby feels as if his skin is doused in flames. Time seems to drag on with unrushed lethargy, trapping him in this horrible, incredible feeling. You step away too soon and too late. 

“Sorry, I’m afraid that’s the best I can do,” you say with a frown. Bigby looks down at the bandage. His gaze returns to you. This is more than anyone has ever done for him. He has never been treated so delicately before. The warmth of your skin still lingers and Bigby thinks he wants it back. Your eyes are bright in the dim lighting of his bathroom and the realization comes crashing down on him. He thinks he wouldn’t mind if every day were to go like this, if he could return home to you every day. Indulgently, selfishly, he wants to drown in this very moment. 

Bigby doesn’t know how it happens. One moment, you’re breathing a question he never imagined he would hear—not even in his wildest dreams. The next, he’s tugging you closer by the collar and kissing you. You lurch forward and place a hand on his shoulder to steady yourself. Bigby pulls you impossibly closer, relishing in the surprised sound that wrenches its way out of your throat. Your fingers run through his hair and goosebumps prickle along his forearms. 

“I’m still here,” Colin announces from the living room. The moment is immediately broken, and Bigby regretfully lets his hands fall from your face. Your hands slip from the nape of his neck and the wolf feels a shiver roll down his spine. You’re staring at him again.

“I should get you some clothes,” you then announce, stepping out of the bathroom. He hears you pacing around the apartment until you find his closet; you return moments later with a shirt and sweatpants in hand. Admittedly, Bigby hasn’t worn that pair of sweatpants in years—he forgot he owned them. You then close the door and leave him to change. The effort isn’t painless, but within a few minutes, he’s in infinitely more comfortable clothing. Bigby gets to his feet and opens the door, walking out to the living room. 

You look over from where you’d been speaking to Colin. “Now you should rest,” you order, walking towards him. “Let me get you to bed.” You place a reassuring hand on his shoulder and start looking around the space. 

A maelstrom of unsavory emotions hits him all at once. “I don’t have a bed.” Bigby blurts out within moments. Your gaze snaps to him and your eyes are blown wide. 

“What?” You exclaim. “You don’t have a bed?” You then look to Colin for assistance, as if waiting for him to disagree. Colin makes a gesture similar to a shrug. Bigby tries to explain that he simply never needed one, but he fears it’s too late—your eyes are already gleaming with resolve. “Then you’re coming downstairs with me.” You assert, taking a few steps towards the front door before turning back around. “It was nice talking to you, Colin.” You say with a small smile. 

“See you,” Colin murmurs, sending Bigby an unreadable look when you turn your back. Bigby just shrugs and follows after you, knowing there’s no point in arguing. This is not a debate he would win and, frankly, he’s too tired to refuse the offer of a soft mattress. The wolf closes his apartment door and heads down the hallway after you. Now that his adrenaline has died down, he feels his exhaustion setting in. When the two of you make it to the elevator, Bigby grasps at the railings and closes his eyes. 

“Almost there,” you say, breaking him from his thoughts. Somehow, the elevator is on the first floor already. The wolf takes a deep breath and manages to summon enough energy to make it to your door. You unlock it quickly and push it open. From there, you guide him to your bed. Bigby doesn’t have the awareness to think anything of sleeping in your bed at the present moment, but he’s sure it’ll dominate his thoughts in the morning. 

He reclines in your bed and is abruptly thrown back into the past, into a different bed in a cabin in the woods and a different identity— 

“Rest,” you remark, breaking him out of his thoughts. You step back and, for a fraction of a moment, Bigby thinks you’re leaving. But you simply walk around to the other side of the bed and turn on the small deskside lamp, grabbing a book from the nightstand. “I’ll be here.”

The knowledge that you’re watching over him makes him feel… cared for; valued; appreciated; and seen for who he truly is. Bigby takes a shuddering breath, pretending his heart isn’t racing out of his chest. He feels incredibly vulnerable. His throat is burning with unshed tears. A small part of him still fundamentally distrusts your kindness, no matter how much of it you have shown him. That small part of him beckons him back to the shadows, proclaiming that no one will ever love him, that he isn’t worth loving.  As if sensing his spiraling thoughts, you reach out and clasp his hand. “It’s alright.” You speak with such certainty that Bigby finds himself instantaneously relaxing, his shoulders loosening as he practically sinks into the mattress. For the first time, he wholeheartedly believes that maybe, just maybe, everything will actually be alright.

[obligatory bigby wolf playlist]

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[blacklegsanjiii]

•°♤°• Any Zosan Fic Recommendeds?

Here's some! (And one ZoLuSan because i'm me) Some are unfinished, some are classics. Either way these are the ones I always go back to!

Learning to Listen by three_days_late

Teen and Up

No Archive Warnings Apply

For as long as Zoro's felt his soulmate echoes he's hated them. He doesn't know why Sanji, or the rest of his crew mates, care so damn much.

Broke the Yolk by 3oClockSnacc (TobiSterling)

Teen and Up

No Archive Warnings Apply

Sanji has a nasty habit of denying himself little luxuries. Sleeping in, hot food, the unconditional love of his crew. He's used to it though; used to getting up at the crack of dawn to prepare breakfast, used to working on an empty stomach to ensure everyone else is fed, used to serving up pieces of himself and getting nothing in return. He can't afford those luxuries. Not even on his birthday.

Digital Footprint 100 Miles Wide by yellowrubberboots

Teen and Up

No Archive Warnings Apply

[Profile Picture Description: A MS Paint drawing of a cartoon skull. The skull is wearing a yellow straw hat with a red band around the base.] TheStrawhats Last live 2 days ago video games and other random shit // we stream when we stream. 6.2M followers

Unwritten Recipes by aririnas

Teen and Up

No Archive Warnings Apply

Ingredients 2 fat garlic cloves, crushed 2 red chillies, deseeded and finely chopped 150ml white wine (not optional) 175g dried spaghetti 140g mussels, washed and beards removed 140g clams, washed chilli oil or olive oil, for drizzling ½ small pack parsley, roughly chopped (..) or Sanji writes everyone's favourite food in a recipe book

You'll Whisper Lies to Me (and One of Them Will be True) by Veto_power_over_clocks

Teen and Up

No Archive Warnings Apply

Sanji introduces Zoro to Two Truths and a Lie. He only ever plays with Zoro, and all his lies are shit. (Alternatively: Sanji subjects himself to the mortifying ordeal of being known by Zoro. He does everything in his power to ensure Zoro doesn't realize that's what's happening.)

Green with Envy Blues by adietxt

General Audiences

No Archive Warnings Apply

Zoro thinks he’s a pretty loyal person. All things considered, he’s a faithful crewmember and swordsman of the Strawhat Pirates. Zoro looks up just in time to see Luffy launching himself at Sanji, wrapping his stretched limbs all over Sanji’s body. Sanji has just walked out of the galley carrying a plate full of fancy-looking drinks and he’s extending his arm as far away as possible from Luffy’s grasp, and Luffy leans over his shoulder, their cheeks pressed against each other’s, their lips almost touching — Zoro is seriously considering mutiny.

Switching Places by TranqilChaos

Mature

Graphic Depictions of Violence

All it takes is one desperate battle in the jungle for Zoro to finally be on the other side. For him to be the one worrying at a bedside. For him to be the one waiting hours for the slightest sign of anything. For him to be the one missing meals and skipping showers and sleeping in the infirmary chair. Or Luffy, Zoro, and Sanji fight a tough battle in the forest that leaves all, but Zoro, horribly injured.

Your Eyes are Liquor, Your Body is Gold by Astauria

Not Rated

Creator Chose Not to Use Archive Warnings

It was a stupid idea, Zoro had known it all along and now he was really wondering why he had accepted such a proposal. No amount of alcohol in the world could ever be worth the decomposition he would see in Sanji's eyes when he learned the truth. Zoro had bet on him, for one fucking drink.

Rewind (Be Kind) by donutsandcoffee

Teen and Up

No Archive Warnings Apply

What should be a run-of-the-mill skirmish with a devil fruit user turned Sanji into an eight-year-old, and the Strawhats are suddenly faced with a version of Sanji they have never met before: a Sanji before the Strawhats, before the floating restaurant, but after—something. Zoro observes, learns, and relearns.