#because the top of the shutter came loose from the wall

[tj-crochets]

I felt like doing some hand sewing today and still had a few of those “some assembly required” mini embroidered plushie kits, so here’s a little starry rainbow cat!

I did not do the embroidery, I’ll add the link to the etsy shop I got it from in a minute once I find it again

[veritas-scribblings]

grey - @bartylusmicrofic - words: 840

Regulus carefully steps his way across the lawn. Over the years, with the lack of maintenance, Riddle House has fallen into a state of disrepair. The weather and the elements have eaten away at the window shutters. Loose, broken tiles, which have fallen from the roof, have been stacked neatly along the outside of the house. Ivy continues to grow unchecked up all facades, threatening to swallow the manor house entirely. There’s something unnerving about the stark contrast between how well-kept the grounds are compared to how dilapidated the house is.

‘The groundskeeper still lives here,’ Evan explains, casting his torch light low so they can creep up the drive and towards the front door. ‘But he never goes inside, so we should be fine.’

The front door opens easily and Evan leads them inside. The entrance hall is grand, though it is blanketed in dust and spiderwebs, which trail upwards to the rusted, dirty chandelier.

‘Apparently,’ explains Evan, shining his torch around the room, ‘Lord Riddle’s son ran away with some local girl, Merope Gaunt, but then had an affair and abandoned her while she was with child. So her brother came to the manor in the dead of the night and butchered the entire family for the offence. Right carved them up. They say the house is haunted. Violent, sudden deaths normally lead to hauntings.’

‘And we’re here because you’re hoping to find the dead bodies?’ Barty asks sceptically. ‘I hate to break it to you, but we’re not going to be smuggling dead bodies out in your backpack.’

Regulus rolls his eyes, trailing after Evan who takes them through what looks like a sitting room. The wallpaper is peeling. There’s graffiti on the walls. Piles of books scattered on the floor. They’re here twenty, maybe thirty years too late if Evan’s looking for fun artefacts.

‘No one’s smuggling any dead bodies out,’ Regulus snaps. ‘They were cleaned up by the police, dumbass. Do you really think they just left them laying about?’

‘Not dead bodies,’ Evan says with a shrug, peering at a photo frame that lays on the rug in the middle of the room. The glass is shattered and the picture is so faded and dusty that Regulus can’t make who is in it. ‘Maybe ghosts. I wouldn’t mind seeing a ghost. For, you know, educational purposes..’

‘Evan’s talking about ghosts!’ Barty frowns and asks, sulkily, ‘Why am I a dumbass, but Evan isn’t?’

‘Because he loves me more,’ Evan snickers. He leads them through a winding pathway of abandoned rooms, evidently searching for something.

‘He does not! Tell him, Reg.’ Barty must pull a face behind Regulus, because Evan cackles again. ‘Yeah, well, Reg has sex with me, so obviously he loves me most.’

‘That’s your determinant for love? Who Regulus has sex with?’ Evan turns around slightly to give Barty a pitying look. And then, a little more playfully menacing, ‘Hey, Reg, how would you fancy a quick shag in a haunted house? We can traumatise the ghosts.’

‘Absolutely not!’ Barty throws his arms around Regulus from behind, pulling Regulus backwards into a fierce, possessive embrace. He rests a cheek against the top of Regulus’s head, using his free hand to flip Evan off. ‘Mine, bitch.��

Barty tugs Regulus back even more, pivots slightly so he can kiss Regulus. It’s a firm, aggressive kiss that’s a little bit teeth. Regulus does have half a mind to struggle and pull away just to see how Barty will react. Because Evan, Regulus knows, is baiting Barty for the fun of it, and Barty will never not get territorial where Regulus is involved. There’s something so very endearing about it that Regulus can’t help but humour Barty.

‘And for the record, Barty,’ Evan says, scoffing and walking off, ‘I will not be standing guard while you and Reg shag for revenge in Lady Riddle’s bedroom, or whatever idea you’re currently entertaining.’

‘Aw.’ Barty pouts a little, looking down at Regulus pitifully. ‘You wouldn’t, would you?’ he asks, because Barty is your proverbial only child who has never learnt to share.

‘I’m not having sex with either of you in a haunted house,’ Regulus retorts, following Evan to what he presumes will be the drawing room where the Riddles were ‘carved up’. ‘It’s disgusting in here. We’d be liable to catch a disease.’

They come to a stop, approaching the drawing room, when there’s a thunk in the distance. It’s a slightly metallic sound, like someone whacking the ground with something heavy.

thunk. thunk.

Evan, the absolute freak, looks excited, whirling around towards the direction of the sound.

‘Groundskeeper?’ Regulus mouths silently as Barty sidles up beside him so he can drape an arm around his shoulders. In what Regulus assumes Barty thinks is a ‘protective’ sort of way.

Evan shrugs. Shining his torch ahead of him, he takes a few steps forwards. Because obviously he has never seen a horror movie in his life: you never follow the sound, you never seek it out.

[ventus-the-story]

Prologue

It was a trembling thing. Its burnt festering skin contrasted with the cool pure white of the temple floor.  It curled around itself in a fetal position, limbs unsure of their placement as a newborn foal. It was a gangling thing, all bony joints and delicate skin that seeped infection. It rolled its head in a jittering movement, something similar to a puppet, red eyes looked up to the figure above it. It hissed a rattled breath, trying to form some sounds but it was barely anything more than a whisper.

"How do you plead, imp?" Ashtad, the Pillar of Justice and Righteousness, stood before this thing... a small vessel, so delicate yet firing at all cylinders, even in this fragile state.

Their faces were stone cold. Ashtad had suspected they already knew the answer to their question… but they waited anyway, for even now they felt bad for it. Sorrowful. Regretful. "How do you plead?"

The creature planted its hands, and 5 fingers splayed across the marble. Red blood -mortal blood, dribbled down its arms and it traced its veins. Its head hung low, hunched over as it worked its jaw open. The joints popped and cracked, "`Hou- How do you Plead? Imp.`"  The creature mimicked, not perfectly but close enough to cause a flinch in the observers. "Nothing- I plead nothing, I am nothing, in—" It took a shuttered breath, catching in the hollow of its throat.  "In your eyes? nothing new, something blue, something old, took hold, what a—" It gasped," what a desolate end? Hm? *just some fun" the creature rambled, spitting the coagulated blood from its throat.

Ashtad stepped back, disgusted and displeased with the naked thing. They turned to Hayat-Bás, Pillar of Life and Death, who was standing to their right.

Ashtad watched intently as they folded fabrics of reality into a small, tight sphere. Sounds similar to whispers cried out every time a new fold fell over top of the last. The imp responded to each fold, growing more and more human-like. It was not a sight for the weak of heart. The crackling of joints, the grunts, it was grotesque, to say the least.

"I'm disappointed in you, Imp. You have failed us."

Bás spoke with two voices, "The end is the beginning, and so will you return to the cycle that encompasses." They raised their hands towards the imp. One hand was made from a human skeleton, and the other hand was light green with colorful feathers, scales, and moss decorating it. In unison, they layered their gift-curse, the one of soul and body. To chain the creature to walk upon the earth it so recklessly doomed and free it from the awful power of divinity. The two watched impassively as the youngest pillar curled into a human form.

It felt pain, pain, pain. Its form- it was too tight and too loose, it grated-burned-soothed. Oh, it was pain. It nearly wanted to laugh instead of cry, because how else could this scenario be, but a comedy? Unconsciously, the tips of its mouth spread into a demented smile. A light corrupted feeling bubbled inside its chest. It climbed through it and came out as a giggle. The sound drew itself like the wind, biting and chilling, a remnant from its position.

Ashtad stomped on foot on the ground three times in rhythm and after the third time, the temple floor started to crack under the imp. The walls crumbled, and the ceiling caved in.

Human. To Elders, a fate worse than death. Ashatd felt sorry for the imp. But there was nothing more left to say, they knew that this thing would have to learn. They turned away and headed towards the back wall, where a set of runes lit up and opened a stone doorway leading to a bright light. Opposite that doorway, another opening crackled wide, but this one was dark and pooling. It was similar to a Black hole, sucking in everything it could.

Ashtad could hear the cries. Their pleas. They shed a single tear and left through the lightened doorway.

The imp screamed and screeched with the emphasis of a roaring hurricane, and the shards of the temple fell and it fell with it. It tumbled down down down, twisting and turning, get picked up and pushed down. Broken marble and stone scratched against him, bruising the already hurt skin. It turned, staring up at the sky.

The beautiful sky, gentle in its baby blue and cotton clouds. It could taste freedom on its tongue, faint as a kiss.

[puff-poff]

The Culture of the Demon World

One part of The Promised Neverland that I always wanted to learn more about was the demons and their culture. Demons are a whole new race with their own language, religions, traditions, food, and history, and I want to learn more about their society. So, I decided to do a bit of research on a few specific aspects of the demon world. After writing everything down and connecting the pieces while trying to remain true to canon, I finally have something clear enough to share with you all.

Without further ado, I present to you my analysis of demon culture.

Part One: Clothing Just like in real life, the clothing demons wear depends on their social status and wealth. The middle and lower-class demons wear loose, flowing clothes with wide collars and sleeves. They most likely do this just in case they aren’t able to eat human meat and maintain their form; baggy clothes won’t tear if the demons start to degenerate. This is why the wealthy demons wear tighter clothing. Tight-fitting outfits show that you can afford plenty of human meat and that you aren’t worried about degenerating.

Many demons, both poor and rich, wear long, layered clothing, but it’s hard to tell if this is a societal standard or a byproduct of cold weather. Almost all of the demons we see are wearing long-sleeved tops and ankle-length bottoms, as well as a jacket, shawl, cape, or scarf. However, the feet and hands are almost always uncovered.

A major part of demon clothing is, of course, their masks. This extra page explains the styles and functionality of the Goldy Pond demon’s masks:

Like the rest of their clothing, wealth plays a part in demon’s masks as well. Detailed masks with large horns, like Luce’s, are worn by rich demons who want to flaunt their wealth, while lower-class demons wear simple, paneled masks with short horns. Demons who want a more functional mask might choose one without horns so they don’t get in their way. The aristocrat demons also have a unifying feature between their territory’s masks to differentiate themselves from the leaders of other territories. Whether or not your mask shows your mouth appears to be a personal preference since Legravalima, Mujika, Sonju, Awla, and Mawla all have uncovered mouths despite the character’s drastic differences.

Another detail I would like to point out is the material of the masks. Most demon masks are likely made of a material similar to clay, but there are a few demons with special masks that appear to be made out of something else. Nous and Nouma, for example, have athletic masks coated with shiny material that’s probably similar to polyester. However, it was Legravalima and Sonju’s masks that interested me the most. Legravalima’s mask is smooth, glossy, and seemingly made out of metal. A metallic mask is likely a sign of royal status and immense wealth. This explains why Sonju had a metallic mask as a child, and why he doesn’t have one now. When he was a prince, Sonju wore a shiny mask with a design similar to Legravalima’s. After running away with Mujika, he grew out of his mask and now wears a clay one of the same design.

This might just be the art style of the series changing over time, but I also find it interesting that Sonju’s mask suddenly becomes glossy in chapter 156 during the battle at the royal capital. It’s his first time stepping foot in the palace since he ran away, and it’s as if his mask is suggesting that returning to the palace has given Sonju his royal status back.

Part Two: Architecture In many ways, the architecture in the demon world reminds me of places like the Sant Francesc Church in Spain and Royal Ontario Museum in Canada. As time goes on, old buildings are expanded and improved with modern additions to accommodate the changing world. This can be seen in the paradise hideout, where a newer building was constructed next to the original settlement.

The old, traditional demon buildings are made of clay and other types of stones. They don’t appear to have many windows, and the few windows they do have are holes without window panes. Many of the older buildings were carved out of mountains or trees, or at least rest atop a mountain with steps carved into the side. This traditional style of demon architecture is similar to old Pueblo architecture and adobe homes.

The newer demon architecture likely came into style sometime before Goldy Pond was built, seeing as Goldy Pond has buildings similar to those in modern demon villages. It resembles the European Tudor style with its grid window panes, timber frames, and sloped roofs. The walls were probably made using the wattle and daub technique and painted white or cream. Some of the buildings have stone foundations, but unlike the old style of architecture, the stones are laid like bricks. Buildings made using the new style of architecture also have shutters, awnings, and Juliet balconies.

This picture of the royal capital’s streets perfectly shows the mixing of the old and new architectural styles:

Here, you can see the original clay buildings with the balconies, awnings, and wooden frames of the new style added on. The buildings in the foreground have open windows while the ones further back have grid panes. One of the structures on the right is built in the style of the older demon homes, but it uses modern stone bricks and balconies. This blend of architecture helps show the development of the demon society through the years.

Part Three: Food Human meat is the most important food in demon culture since it’s what keeps the majority of demons from degenerating. I won’t be talking a lot about the farms and human meat in this post since it’s already been explored by the manga and people smarter than me. If you want to read more about demons and human meat, I recommend this post by the-silliest-idiot and this translation of the fanbook, particularly the Q&A sections.

As explained in the manga, the appearance of demons changes depending on the type of meat they eat. The aristocrat demons eat human meat, Parvus eats monkey meat, and the demon horse Sonju rides eats horse meat. As explained in the fanbook, humanoid demons will lose their human appearance if they don’t eat human meat, but monkey demons like Parvus can retain their appearance for a while. To keep themselves from degenerating or changing forms, humanoid demons don’t eat a lot of meat other than the human meat from the farms. When the demons do eat other meats, they eat bugs, fish, and birds, probably because those animals are difficult to change into.

While it’s unclear if demons eat the plants in the forest, we know that there are plenty of edible berries, nuts, fungi, and other plants that the human escapees eat during their travels. Demons also have a variety of fruits, vegetables, and nuts that they grow and harvest. In just these two panels, we can see that the demons have their own versions of pears, hazelnuts, pineapples, kiwi, and mangos (the mangos seem to be popular in the royal capital).

All demons, regardless of wealth or social status, appear to have equal access to all food except human meat. Lower-class demons get low-quality meat, but the same berries and nuts being sold at street markets are present in the Tifari offering.

Part Four: Language Unfortunately, I’m not smart enough to decode the old demon language. In the words of the fanbook, “Sugita created demon god's name, but every other text from the demon language that appeared afterward was Posuka's creation.” The language was made up by Posuka, and I’m not sure if there’s enough dialogue to translate a full alphabet. The old demon language looks like a combination of Japanese and Enochian, but that’s all I can gather from it. It’s also unclear if the language has a written form. 

However, the old demon language isn’t used anymore. The language died out for two major reasons; a general lack of knowledge and to separate language from the old faith. The aristocratic demons know the language well enough, but we don’t see many commoner demons speaking it. The modern demon society writes in English, as shown by the signs at Goldy Pond, and it’s likely that they also speak English despite the story being written in Japanese. There's also a chance that the demons speak Old English since the promise was forged during medieval times. If this is true, then the aristocrats and heads of the farms could have a more modern accent because they often talk to people from the human world.

Part Five: The Arts Sadly, we don't know much about art in the demon world. The promise was made around the 11th century, so art in the demon world is likely reflective of that time. I can only assume they have their own literature, art movements, and music, but it's mostly speculation. One thing I noticed is that the demon world has a lot of embroideries, whether it be on the edges of a cape or banners inside the palace. This fits with my theory of medieval Europe-inspired art and languages. During medieval times, top layer garments such as coats and cloaks were commonly embroidered along the hemline and cuffs. This kind of embroidered clothing is worn by many demons throughout the series.

Banners, tapestries, and flags were also commonly created by artists during medieval times. Lines of flags are seen throughout the demon world, and a few buildings in the capital have banners hanging outside. The palace has a few banners of its own, though they're fancier than the ones in the capital streets.

Damask fabric is another example of demon artistry being influenced by medieval Europe. Damask is a reversible fabric created by weaving. The royal demons seem to have jumped on the damask train before the promise was sealed because it can be found in many places throughout the palace. Most notably, Legravalima's dress is partially made of damask, though the silhouette is very different from that of a medieval damask evening gown. Damask was commonly used to make curtains as well, like the ones draped around the Tifari offering.

We don’t know much about literature in the demon world. The books we see were written in the human world and sent to the farms, but surely the demons have their own books and stories. Seeing as the rest of the arts in the demon world were inspired by medieval Europe, I can only assume that their books, fables, and plays are as well. Much of medieval literature was based on religion and chivalry. There were also many fables and myths derived from old stories and religious texts. Demon children probably read many stories about the Evil Blooded, the runaway prince, and heroic knights who protect the demons from harm. There likely are many stories written in the old demon language as well. Similar to Latin and Old English in the Middle Ages, the old demon language was probably the main written language until the 11th century, when the demons began using English as a primary language.

I imagine that Anglo Saxon, Byzantine, and Norman (ha get it) art heavily inspired art in the demon world. The palace is likely covered in tapestries and murals depicting historic events. Metal and tilework were probably once a major part of demon artistry, but the practices died out over time. Instead, many demon artists practice painting and embroidery. Pieces of art in the demon world would be very vibrant and colorful, especially the works displayed in the palace.

When it comes to music in the demon world, there isn’t much to go off of. We know that the farms have access to instruments and sheet music because of Leslie and Nat. Barbara also sings a Japanese children’s song in chapter 113. Unfortunately, we don’t get much information about music in the demon world outside of the farms. I assume that demons primarily play string instruments and piano because of their long fingers. They also have more fingers than humans, meaning they can make a variety of chords that humans can’t. More fingers also allow demons to add more strings to their instruments. Even though it’s possible that demons have their own special instruments, we know that they also have human instruments like cellos, trumpets, and pianos.

Conclusion: There’s a lot more I wish I could talk about (mainly the elements of culture), but I’m stopping for now so this doesn’t get any longer. Feel free to correct me or add on anything I missed. If you made it this far, thank you for reading this incredibly long analysis of demon culture and I hope you have a great day.

[chokemeanakin]

could i pls request smth where the reader gets hurt on a mission or smth and hides it from anakin until it gets really bad? that trope is my favorite alskdfjk

Sister u have singlehandedly reawakened my whump side. Here you go, with a side of smut in part two ;)

A Helping Hand (part one) - Anakin Skywalker x gn Reader (whump + smut)

Masterlist

Read it on ao3

Wc: 3.4k

At first, you thought you had just slept on it weird. 

The pain had come out of nowhere one day, when you went to go throw your knife at the dummy’s head like usual. A sudden burst of fire erupted from your wrist, and the knife clattered to the floor as you cradled your arm to your chest. You rolled your wrist a couple times, willing the ache to go away. You thought you might have thrown the knife at an odd angle, and maybe sprained your wrist a little from exertion. You picked up your knife and resumed, but a constant sparking pain remained. 

An injured wrist wasn’t good-- especially since that was your good arm, your knife-throwing arm. That was your talent, after all; your skills were so precise, the Republic Army recruited you to help out in the war. You were thrust into the thick of things with the clones, serving alongside the Jedi Generals, which was how you met Anakin. Without your arm, you were useless.

You set aside time every night to ice it, and when that didn’t help, you switched to soaking it in warm water and stretching it. When there was no improvement after a week, you debated going to see someone for it. It certainly didn’t help that you were using it every day, training like normal and using it for daily activities. Twisting or bending your wrist in any way sent shooting sparks of pain up your arm, but you managed to hide it around everyone… including Anakin.

It’s not that you didn’t want help-- you just didn’t need it. You had seen clones blown to bits by blaster cannons in battle, members of the Republic Army drag themselves up a bank of debris with two broken legs to continue shooting at Separatist droids, friends that served alongside you shot down fighting until their last breath. You would hate yourself forever if you made a fuss out of a simple sprained wrist.

You were a little surprised when Anakin didn’t catch on, honestly. You began switching to your other hand to complete daily tasks, and you were clumsier and slower because of it. But Anakin was so bogged down by current war efforts you barely had time to see each other, and when you did, it was very quickly just in passing. He had other things to worry about than you, and you were okay with that. However, it didn’t stop the burst of excitement after receiving the order that deployed you to Ecadus-Z, a moon off the planet Leona, where a grand Separatist droid factory was in the making and had to be destroyed-- the same mission Anakin was being deployed on as well.

You were grateful for the time you would get to spend together, even if it was in the midst of a battle. But beggars can’t be choosers, so you met him at the transport ship in the starfighter bay bright and early the day of departure. 

He was just as happy to see you, and you sat together in the cabin on the way to Ecadus-Z. It was hard holding yourself back, as it had been far too long since you had gotten to be together alone. As in, really be together. You looked forward to when you got back, as the Council was talking about giving Anakin a short break.

For now, you felt content just being by his side-- even if most of the 501st was there as well.

Once the pilot came over the coms saying you were about to touch down, everyone got out of their seats and began to ready themselves for battle. You would be dropped off in the thick of battle, so you had to come out running if you wanted to make it. 

You slung the bag of explosives over your shoulder and clipped your belt around your waist, making sure you had all of your knives, as well as one already clasped in each of your fists. The ache of your bad wrist was dulled by the adrenaline coursing through your veins as the transport ship shuttered, scraping the ground, the clones bringing their blasters to their shoulders. Explosions and screams of dying clones could be heard outside, and Anakin activated his lightsaber, looking at you.

“See you on the other side.”

The doors opened, light spilling into the cabin. You didn’t think, just ran, and prayed with everything in your heart that you would see Anakin after this was all said and done. That you would both get out alive, and that his sidelong glance in the transport ship wasn’t the last you would see of him.

Thoughts like that were only a distraction. You pushed them to the furthest corners of your mind, zigzagging around blaster shots as you made your way to the factory. Your job was to plant the bombs all around the factory as Anakin and his troops cleared the way for you, and then you would meet at the bank of the surrounding river where you would watch the factory go up in flames from a distance. There, Republic ships would be waiting to take you back to Coruscant.

With that goal in your mind, you made it past the Dead Zone in a flat out sprint-- the space between Republic warships and the Separatist factory, where both sides met in a constant spray of fire. You jumped over fallen clones and coughed smoke out of your lungs, making it to the factory in one piece. You used one of your bombs to blow a hole in the east wall, bypassing the entrance where the blaster-fire was heaviest.

Of course, you climbed through the hole in the wall only to be met with a group of freshly manufactured droids. Your knife buried itself in the closest droid's head without hesitation, followed by another and another. The droids dropped to the ground around you like ants, a single blaster shot missing you by an inch. Your arm screamed with each snap of your wrist, but you pushed through the pain as you yanked your steel blades out of the metal of the droids, planting bombs as you hurried along the hallway.

This is the way it went for a while, steadying yourself against the walls as blaster-cannons shook the ground outside, sticking bombs to the structure every few feet, and running into the occasional group of droids that you took out in a similar way to the first batch.

By the time you finished the east wing and were heading to the south, your wrist was pounding with a vengeance. Every step travelled up your arm, intensifying the pain to the point where it was becoming overwhelming-- distracting. You secured another bomb to the wall, but your grasp on the other ones in your bad arm failed, and scattered all over the ground. You cursed and chased them around the hall, picking them up and shoving them back into your bag. 

As you reached the last one, something caught hold of your arm, yanking you forward. You landed on the ground, right on top of that arm, and you were sure you could hear something pop. You cried out in agony as white hot pain blinded your senses, rolling on the ground as tears were forced out of your eyes. A blaster shot skimmed your shoulder, and you used your non-injured arm to send a knife flying in the droids direction from your place on the ground. 

The throw was off. It hit the droid on the head with the butt of the knife, clinking off and clattering to the ground uselessly. You rolled to the side as another shot missed you by a hair, sweeping the droids legs out from underneath. You grasped its blaster in your uninjured hand, but it fought back, and you forced yourself to use your bad arm to join the other as you turned the blaster in on itself, shooting its head off. 

Gasping in pain, you allowed yourself to stumble backward until you hit the wall, sliding to the ground. Your breathing thickened as you assessed the damage, realizing just how bad the damage had gotten. Your entire arm was on fire, from your shoulder to the tips of your fingers. Angry red and purple splotches bloomed from the place you fell on it, swelling to the size of a baseball. You tried to roll your wrist, stretch it out, but even the slightest movement sent searing bursts of lightning through you, unwelcome tears pricking at your eyes. 

You blinked your sight clear, yanking the blaster from the droids grasp and hooking it into your belt before heading off again. You couldn’t believe the damn thing had grabbed you. Now, your arm was hurt to the point where you couldn’t ignore it. You clutched your wrist to your chest as you stuck more bombs to the walls, finishing off the south wing and heading toward the west wing. You could hear commotion from far away, and prepared yourself for a mess.

All hell had broken loose. There was barely a west wing to speak of anymore, as the walls had been blown out and droids and clones were fighting elbow to elbow within the carcass of the hall. You were sure that’s where all the explosions had come from, and now you weren’t sure where to even put the rest of the bombs. 

A blaster shot landed between your feet, kicking debris up into your eyes. You wrenched yourself out of your standstill, unclasping the blaster from your belt and dropping droids as you hurried to the blue light at the end of the hall. Anakin was being swarmed with droids, dozens of them targeting him from every direction. He was deflecting the shots sent toward him at lightning speed, but you knew he couldn’t keep it up forever. He sent a force pulse out, knocking the droids back into each other, but more replaced them.

The clones were preoccupied with their own battles, and no one was coming to the General’s aid. You fought your way to him, heart pounding in your ears, the pain in your arm pulsing with each beat. If something happened to Anakin before you could reach him--

“Y/n, no!” Anakin caught your eye from behind the swarm. He waved you back. “Don’t worry about me, finish the mission!”

He ducked right before a blast shot could catch him in the head, slashing away at the droids. They crumpled before him in masses, but there were so many. Your blaster shots joined his saber, crippling the droids in heaps around you. In the commotion, the blaster got knocked out of your hands, so you had to go back to your knives. It hurt beyond anything comparable, but you grit your teeth and forced yourself to throw the knives from your injured arm. There was barely any thinking put into it-- you’d rather go through this pain now than deal with a future without Anakin.

You were slow and clumsy, and quite honestly you were doing awful. Only about half of your throws did any damage, and your vision was beginning to spot with pain. Not to mention, your eyes were clouded with tears and smoke, so even if you could throw right, you couldn’t see in order to do so. You lashed out at random, setting knives loose in every direction, hoping they would provide at least some help. As you reached the end of your supply of knives, you couldn’t help but feel like you were failing Anakin. He needed help, but you were too weak to do anything. 

A droid’s arm caught on the bag around your shoulder, and you cried out, crumpling to the ground against your will. The pain was making you nauseous, and your vision swam as you forced yourself to breath. You could feel Anakin’s panic and fury as he sent another pulsing wave around him, droids flying back in every direction including the one that had gotten caught on you. Broken and splintered bits of droid whizzed past you as they collided with each other. The bombs from your bag had spilt out all around you again, when suddenly through your swimming head, you had an idea.

You scrambled to set each bomb to manual detonation, and then sent them flying into the crowds gathered around Anakin. They exploded, knocking dozens out at a time. You sent them forward, one after another, until you ran out and the pulsing in your arm had you clutching at your wrist in vain, praying for something to relieve the pain.

As the dust settled, you saw the blue light disappear. Anakin appeared from out of the smoke, covered in ash and dust. A few new cuts on his face bled freely, but he ignored them as he knelt beside you.

“What was that all about?” he scanned your body, deciding whether or not to move you. You couldn’t tell if he was angry or concerned, and the thought of him being unhappy with you was paralyzing. You had tried so hard, and you knew it wasn’t enough. Your arm had messed everything up, but at this point the pain outweighed any fears you had, and you really just needed help.

“I’m sorry Anakin, I hurt my arm and I think it’s really bad. I didn’t mean to mess up, I’m sorry--,” you choked. Anakin didn’t wait for you to finish before he was pulling you to your feet, a new wave of blaster shots speeding past your heads, and you realized he was trying to get you out of the line of fire. 

He supported most of your weight with his flesh arm, reactivating and deflecting blaster shots with his lightsaber in the other. You stumbled alongside him, legs ready to give out again at any moment. You’re sure that without his help, you wouldn’t have made it out.

As soon as you breached the Dead Zone, Anakin reached for his com and ordered the 501st back to the ships. He ushered you into the first one you saw, a simple model of a Republic cruiser, and helped you into the passenger’s chair before standing before the window, surveying the damage outside. 

Hands clasped behind his back, he stood in silence before the window for a long while. Your arm screamed at you, but you watched from your place in the seat as a swarm of clones broke out of the smoke from the droid factory, trickling into transport ships and taking off into the air. Anakin waited until he got word from Rex that everyone was out, and then reached for the detonator in his belt. With the press of a button, the entire factory as well as all of the droids inside erupted in flame, the explosion mushrooming up and out. You shielded your eyes from the brightness of the fire, shaking in your seat as the force of the explosion rattled the cruiser. 

Anakin didn’t stick around to watch. He got in the pilot’s seat, lifting the cruiser into the air and out into space. Once he was sure you were safe, surrounded by stars and darkness, he turned to you.

His face was grim, tired, and covered in blood and ash. He paid it no mind as he extended his arm out to you, wordlessy requesting your injured wrist. 

You hoped he wouldn’t notice its trembling as you forced yourself to release it from your death-grasp, the one that had sort of stuck to your chest as you ran through the Dead Zone with him. Fireworks erupted behind your eyes as your wrist made contact with his gloved hand. You’re sure he was trying his hardest to be gentle, especially while holding it in his metal hand, but any point of contact was going to hurt like a bitch.

You gnawed at your bottom lip as he carefully turned it this way and that, assessing the damage. His face was drawn down in concentration, that same angry-concerned pout on his face sparking a fear in the pit of your stomach. Was he mad at you?

He brought his other hand up, meaning to skim his fingers over the swelling of your wrist to gage your response. 

“Don’t touch it--” you snatched your wrist back to your chest, shrinking away from his touch. 

“That bad?” Anakin sighed quietly, meeting your eyes for the first time. Your lip wobbled as you lowered your head in shame. 

“I’m sorry.”

You felt his hand come up to cradle your cheek, rubbing some dirt away with his thumb. His voice was soft. “You have nothing to be sorry for; it’s not your fault. Just let me see what’s wrong with it.”

He reached for you again, but you flinched away.

“I promise I won’t hurt you.”

Your trembling was noticeable this time as you lowered your wrist into his waiting hand again. He gently took each finger and wiggled them, asking if it hurt each time. You bit back your whimpers, hitching your breath sharply as sparks of pain travelled up your arm with each movement. He let go and asked if you could make a fist, but even that was too excruciating. 

You desperately blinked the new tears out of your eyes. It was beginning to annoy you, but you couldn’t help it. The ugly look of your wrist sat deranged and pathetic in Anakin’s gentle palm, and you could see the bad news in his eyes.

Yup. Definitely broken.

“How did all this happen?” he reached behind you to grab an emergency blanket from the shelf. He wrapped your arm in it and then carefully set it back on your lap. Then, he got to work peeling back the shirt from your shoulder where the blaster had skimmed you.

“My shoulder, I got shot,” you admitted, wincing as he pulled a bit of cloth back that was stuck to dried blood. “My wrist… well it’s been hurting for a while. But then a droid pulled on my arm and I fell on top of it.”

Anakin pulled back to look at you. “It’s been hurting for a while? Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

“I had it under control.”

He sighed again, fingertips ghosting over the skin of your shoulder. 

“You got burned pretty bad, but it’s nothing some bacta can’t fix,” he said. His voice was reserved again, eyes not meeting yours. “The wrist, well, that’ll be a different story.”

“You’re mad at me.”

He was quiet, looking at the bundled wrist in your lap. You could see the conflict in his eyes-- he wanted to be mad, but he didn’t want to direct it toward you. He was searching for a way to figure out in his own head before saying something to you that he didn’t mean, something he’d regret.

“I’m not mad,” he chose his words carefully, then shook his head. “I just… I told you to leave me.”

“How could I have? You wouldn’t have left me if the roles were switched.”

“It’s different.”

“How is it different?” Anakin’s responding gaze was weary. You both knew what he wanted to say, but he knew it would hurt you. “I can handle myself.”

“I know you can,” he tucked some flyaway hairs behind your ear, letting his hand linger. “Let’s just drop this. I don’t want to argue.”

“As long as you’re not mad,” you made him promise.

“I’m not mad at you.”

You didn’t miss the last part he added. ‘At you.’ Of course, he’d be directing this at himself. You could see the guilt in his eyes, but it didn’t make any sense. You had chosen to stay behind and help him fight the droids off, and it was you who had broken your own damn wrist. In fact, he had saved your life today when he dragged you out of the crossfire. He had nothing to be guilty for, but you knew he was beating himself up for not doing more, for not getting to you faster, for not noticing your pain. 

“I’m not mad at you, either.” If your wrist wasn’t a huge site of concern, you would have hugged him. For now, you settled with gripping his flesh hand in yours and squeezing. He gave you the tiniest smile, and then returned his focus to piloting.

[twilightdruig]

andante, andante

pairing: george weasley x fem!reader , george weasley x angelina johnson, bill weasley x fem!reader

summary: (part iii of mamma mia! series) after arriving on the island of kalokairi, she’s met with a storm, a horse and another very attractive ginger man.

warnings: mamma mia!au, muggle!au, angst, fluff, au where george isn’t that close with his family, mentions of storms, thunder, lightning, mentions of an abandoned house, broken stairs and windows, etc.

words: 3.7k

a/n: i mentioned in the first two parts of this that this was an au where the weasleys aren’t siblings but i decided they were so… yeah :)

y/n explored the small secluded island.

she found a large abandoned house. she could really make something out of it, she thought.

she saw something in it, a hotel maybe or a restaurant. an attraction for tourists and newcomers. sure, the place had broken windows and moldy floors but with the right motivation, what could stop her?

the place had a blue tone to it. aquamarine doors and shutters. the white walls and destroyed rooms. there were vines all over the place, intoxicating the beauty of home.

she tried sliding down the railing of the beautifully made staircase, she ended up destroying it.

she heard thunder from a distance, a few short minutes later, rain started pouring down with lightning. but, she still continues exploring the abandoned house.

faint noises of neighing can be heard in the distance. she steps down on unstable looking stairs, to what looks like a basement. the walls were made out of rocks and there was rainwater coming inbetween the loose floorboards from upstairs.

“hello?!” she yelled.

she found a tall brown horse tied down to piece of plywood. y/n could barely see anything.

the horse panicked, he jumped and broke the piece of wood. the floorboards from above collapsed due to the horse’s sudden movements. y/n yelped and jumped back.

the piece of wood the horse was tied to now under the debris. the rain was pouring, she was soaked from head to toe.

y/n thought for a moment ‘what could she do?’ she thought of calling for help. “wait there, okay? i’ll be back, yeah?” she ran back up to look for any bystanders or passerby’s.

she ran down a gravelly road until she was met with a man driving a motorcycle.

“stop! stop!” she stood right in front of the moving vehicle to catch the rider’s attention.

the rider had bright ginger hair and freckles just like the other two men she’s been with in the past week. the man stopped his motorcycle looking concerned and scared.

“can i help?”

she dragged him out of his bike and back to the house. she led him down to the basement, trying to avoid all the damage they could cause.

they prodded across all the broken floorboards in front of the horse.

“you have a plan?” she panted.

“oh, absolutely, i’m a trained veterinarian.” he uttered.

“really?” she looked up at him, a little hope enflaming in her heart.

“no. no, i’m a businessman but don’t tell this guy that” the small hope in her heart died out. how could he be joking at a time like this?

he lifted her over another piece of debris before marching over to the panicked animal. the horse jumped and the stepped back.

“woah! okay!”

“i’ll distract him, you grab the halter” she offered.

“good plan,” he looked at her “what’s the halter?” he asked, confused.

she did a double take at him until forming a new plan “just — just talk calmly.”

“easier when i’m calm” he expressed “alright, my friend.” he climbed over the fence

“storms are scary,” he started “and i wish i was home and dry right now, too, but believe me,” y/n climbed over the fence too but going over to the horse’s behind.

“it came down to a choice between leaving you and helping you,” he looked at y/n then back at the horse.

“there’s no choice at all.” the two of them stepped closer to the horse and grabbed his forehead, calming him down. y/n was clinging onto his gear and rope.

“good boy, good boy” she rubbed the horse’s forehead.

—

the two became quite acquainted. she’s noticed a type since she’s departed off to explore the world. tall gingers with freckled faces. she’s also noticed that only ron’s mentioned his last name. for all she knows they could all be siblings.

he introduced himself as george. he mentioned he lived, in the exact words, ‘in a shack on a hill’.

“ha! and what the hell were you doing there?” she laughed at his answer. they were exploring the seaside while getting to know each other.

“uh… i don’t know, running away i guess.” he stammered “everything at home was lined up for me. a great job and just, you know, my whole life mapped out. i wanted to take a break before i signed up to it” he sighed.

“how ‘bout you?” he nodded over to her.

all she did was purse her lips and shrug. “i have absolutely nothing mapped out. and no clue about what the future holds.”

she walked forward “enough walking. let’s ride.” he smiled at her and followed.

—

he brought her to the town. she went shopping for her new wardrobe. george just thought it would be fun to go with her.

right now, she was in a changing room trying on all her different outfits.

“so, how come you’re here all alone, saving horses?” he asked right outside the curtain.

“uh,” she stammered “i’ve been traveling my whole life. my dad was never in the picture, and my mum’s always on tour.”

“oh. she sings?”

“sweet as sugarcane.”

“you know, there’s some great stuff here. this dress would look very pretty on-“ he was holding up a very tacky blue dress that looked like a nighty. he turned away from the hats and dresses as she emerged from the curtains in a whole new outfit.

she was wearing denim dungarees with a floral yellow top. she was barefoot and spinning around to show him to full outfit.

“you don’t know me at all do you?” she noticed the dress he was holding. the two just laughed it off.

—

once again they found themselves somewhere else. this time a small restaurant, pub, bar whatever you could call it.

there was a live bad and the lead singer was obviously drunk and absolutely horrible.

“god! this whole place is incredible” she exclaimed as george came back with their drinks “i am definitely staying here forever.”

“yeah? your mum wouldn’t miss you?”

“no, she’s not that kind of mom” she brushed it off and laughed.

“oh, i’m sorry. i didn’t…”

“oh! oh, this isn’t a sob story, i’m fine!” she furrowed her brows and assured him.

“and it’s not easy being a mother. if it was, fathers would do it” she continued.

“well, i wish i could stay here, too.” he absorbed everything happening around him. a chaotic love band in front of him and a very pretty lady right next to him.

“oh, when do you go back?” she sipped her drink “to your fully programmed, good job, short haircut life?”

they both let out a small laugh “i have a week”.

“oh!” she cleared her throat and her focus went back to the band.

“listen, about what’s waiting for me back home.”

“yeah, hang on, hang on” she cheered for the band as they ended a song.

she was laughing and cheering and having the time of her life. “i am definitely staying here.”

he forgot what he was about to say and just laughed at her antics.

she raised her hand at the short lady behind the bar. “excuse me. are you the owner?” she inquired.

“my son the owner. he had to buy bar because no other place he let his band play.”

“hello!” the lead singer, the lady’s son sat down on their table “so, how can i help you?”

“well, firstly, you’re all awesome” this was the thing about y/n. even if he was horrible and drunkenly singing, she loved that he was having fun and enjoying what he was doing. that should be the purpose if everything in life.

“oh!” his eyes lit up at the compliment.,”and second,” she placed her hands on his “i’d like to sing here sometime with my group.” she offered.

“you have a good voice” the owner raised his eyebrow.

“oh, sweet as sugarcane” george affirmed and winked back at y/n.

“okay… then let us hear.” he gave the mic to y/n.

“oh, no. not just like that.” she leaned back on her chair and chuckled nervously.

“here on island, everything just like that. it’s the path of happiness. you think too much, you get unhappy” the man exaggerated, stood up and offered his hand to y/n.

she stood up from her chair, silently asking george for help. all he did was shrug in response.

“thinking at all is pretty much… a mistake.” he lead her to the stage and twirled her around.

“well, in that case,” she sighed “uh… okay.”

she started humming, then singing andante, andante by abba, capella.

everyone was shocked to say the least. george, the owner’s mother, the few customers all paid attention to the stage.

the instruments started platinum in the background while a disco ball softly spun. she chuckled nervously before continuing.

she walked off the stage while singing.

“you are hired!” the owner excitedly yelled.

“really?” her eyes widened.

“yes! you are really, really, really, hired!” he hugged her.

she cheered while the owner gestured for his mother to serve them drinks.

—

later that evening, george brought y/n to his little “shack on a hill” to stay for the night.

they stopped right before the door, the stars brightly shining in the sky. before any of them knew, the two leaned in to press their lips against each other’s, george’s hand on the side of her face her arms around her neck.

it seemed like all time went out the window, she was laying in his bed, fully nude under the covers right next to him.

—

the next day, george planned a whole itinerary for the two. they went for breakfast in the town. he told her about all the food his mum cooked for his whole family. he exclusively told her about his twin brother, his sister and his parents. he didn’t want to talk about the others.

right after breakfast, here they were, on a boat to explore off the island.

“right” george grunted as he lifted the paddles of the boat.

“i don’t think you know what you’re doing” y/n chuckled.

“i’m hoping,” he panted “if i keep pulling these two bits of wood, we might eventually bump into land”

“oh, okay.” she was uncertain and a bit nervous to say the least. non of them knew where they were going, for all she knows they migjt end up stranded.

“there’s another little island over there. i thought we might go for a little picnic” she looked over his shoulder where she assumed where the island was.

“where’s the food?” she leaned back to absorb the sunlight shining down on them.

“oh, you’re gonna catch it, on the way” he winked. she chuckled and picked up what was supposed to be a fishing net.

george continued rowing we he admired her beauty.

“uh…” she stammered “so, we haven’t talked about last night.”

george faltered “no…”

“you should know that i never do that, as fast.” she explained “i mean, hardly ever.”

she paused “well, sometimes — a bit recently, in fact. but not on the whole, not.”

“i thought it was miraculous” he assured.

“um, i’m gonna say something here, and you should shut up as i’m saying it because you’ll think i’m crazy for a while, but gradually you’ll… you’ll realize i’m right, and then you’ll spend the rest of your life thanking me for saving so much time and getting straight to it.”

george looked at her skeptically “well, i’m ready”

“i wasn’t joking yesterday, i was serious. i want to stay here, and i think you should, too. i think we should make a choice to do something radical and wonderful, to live in this extraordinary place with someone…” she hesitated before continuing “someone miraculous.”

when george just stared at her she spoke up again “i told you, you’d think it was crazy.”

he sighed before speaking up “i don’t think it’s that simple. nothing is.”

“everything is, when you break it down”

george looked out at the distance before looking back at her. she was the most miraculous thing he’s ever seen, touched, interacted with.

y/n was biting her lip as she awaited an answer from him. when he chuckled, she felt a smile creep onto her face.

“i don’t think it’s crazy.”

she chuckled “that’ll do; for now”

he took out his camera to snap a picture of an angel in human form, sitting across him. he didn’t know why he ever thought of leaving her, even if they did just meet a day ago.

they had a lot of fun the rest of the day. taking photos of each other, catching fish, having a picnic and almost getting lost.

—

another few days went by, they slept in the same ‘shack’, in the same bed, doing everything together.

y/n was wide awake at 5am in the morning. she was scribbling in her journal everything that’s happened with george. she was happy ; no, ecstatic! she felt alive and amazing.

she stopped writing as she gazed at him. still fast asleep next to her.

she went out to the balcony and walked around wherever her feet took her. picking oranges, doing cartwheels on the sand. she also fell while picking said oranges, it fell on her head and a goat almost chased her off the island.

when she got back to george’s shack. she made the two of them breakfast. she was almost done before she opened a drawer on the kitchen island.

in it was a bunch of knives and other cutlery, and a journal, most probably george’s. it was brown leather with a sealed with a leather band.

she couldn’t help it, she picked it up and pulled a photo that was sticking out of it.

y/n’s fantasy world crumbled at her feet. it was george. her george. he was cradling a dark skinned woman at his side. she was tall, beautiful, everything george probably wanted. she saw a gaudy engagement ring on her finger. that did it for y/n, she slammed the book down and ran for it.

the loud noise woke george up. he put on some clothes and ran after her.

she just ran and ran until she arrived back at the farmhouse she found the horse in.

“y/n! y/n! please, just listen to me” he pleaded.

“love to” she yelled sarcastically.

“you will?”

“yeah, of course. i’ll listen while you answer three questions” she stood at the too of the broken stairs, glaring daggers at him.

all he did was nod in response.

“are you engaged to that beautiful woman?”

“yes”

oh lord, did she feel like breaking down again. but she couldn’t, he was right there in front of her, a few steps down.

“and did you tell me about it?” her ring clad hands clenched into tight fists.

“no” he shook his, looking down at his shoes.

“and do you seriously think i could ever forgive you?” she asked one last time, breathless.

“please, y/n.” he pleaded once more.

“go! leave!” she stomped up the stairs, not caring if she fell through the pathetic pieces if wood.

“please just listen to me”

“that is enough listening! go!” she screamed at him at the top of her lungs before marching up the stairs again.

he just stood there. not knowing what to say. he just lost the possible love of his life.

of course, he loved angelina. but did he love her the way he loved y/n? considering how heartbroken he is about y/n now? probably not.

he heard her slam a door. he sighed before leaving the farmhouse in despair.

he ran back to his house with tears in his eyes. he packed up his bags, and decided to just go home.

y/n on the other hand was destroying what was left of the farmhouse. she pulled at her own hair while she watched the waves going back and forth through the window. she really like george, between ron and bill.

she most definitely thought he’d be the one.

the last time y/n saw george was when he was leaving with a boat. she was standing by a tree as he was whisked away back to his planned life.

she came back to the horse under the farmhouse. she stroked and hugged it for comfort.

—

a few days go by of y/n sitting in the old overgrown room, sobbing. she was heartbroken.

the only way she could fix it was either by singing, which she was not in the mood to, or being with her friends.

it resulted in option number two. she waited for fleur and dawn at the dock.

when she heard gasps of her name, she immediately turned to see her two most favorite people in the world.

her sullen face turned into a small smile as she ran to hug them. the two were screaming and shrieking to see their best friend again.

they met in the middle of the pier in a tight hug. they missed each other so much!

“oh my god! i see what you mean!” fleur exclaimed.

“this is beautiful!” dawn was jumping around, arms wide open as she twirled to see the place “this place is paradise!”

“i’m so glad you’re here” she sniffled.

they noticed her expression. their faces fell. “what’s happened?” “where’s the hot architect?”

“oh.. turns out he was lying to me.” she confessed.

“he’s not an architect?” dawn asked.

she shook her head no “he’s engaged, to someone else.”

she let out a small pathetic laugh “and she looks beautiful, and now he’s gone back to her.” her voice was shaky almost breaking down in tears again.

“i hate it when they do that” fleur rubbed her arm comfortingly.

“oh!” the three hugged again.

—

she explained to them everything that’s happened, including ron, bill and the pub, everything.

they rode the horse as she led them to where she’s been sleeping. “so, i’ve been sleeping in this farmhouse. but it’s the most beautiful place in the world. and it also has a horse.”

“yes, very romantic. we’re taking you home.” fleur sighed.

“uh, not before a fabulous performance by the greatest girl band in the world.” dawn interjected.

“yes!” “we’ve got all the gear! where are we playing?”

“oh! no, no, no. i can’t. i can’t. i’m not in the mood” y/n groaned.

“oh! but it will put you in that mood!”

“of course it will! the floodlights, the grease paint, the adrenaline of the crowd. a thousand descendants of great greek warriors cheering and clapping furiously as the irresistible beat transforms their bodies into pulsating pilars of flesh!”

—

when they git to the pub. it was as dead as the relationship between y/n and george.

no one was there. the band was exhausted out of their mind and the owner’s mother was serving just one customer.

“i don’t know how to sing about love when i’m not feeling it.”

“then, sing about what you are feeling.” fleur suggested.

y/n sang the beginning of mamma mia by abba in a sullen, depressing tone.

the band started watching her with comforting smiles in their faces. y/n slowly moved to the center of the stage, standing and swaying her hips a little.

when she got to the pre-chorus, the pace picked up a bit and the tone was more fiery and fun. the band started playing again.

dawn and fleur cheered before joining her on stage.

“yes, y/n!”

when they continued performing to the second verse, the owner whistled for more people to come in.

people started crowding the pub when she ran back on stage. the three were jumping and stomping to the beat.

the dancer around the pub and ended up on the bar counter.

dawn ended up accidentally pushing y/n off the counter and into the arms of another familiar ginger man.

“bill?!” it was bill. the man with the boat.

fleur was eyeing the two up and down. she definitely thought bill was attractive.

fleur and dawn left them alone against fleur’s will. she didn’t pass up the chance to walk by them every time though.

when fleur sat back down across dawn, she started ranting.

“my point is—“

“i know what your point is.”

“you don’t know what my point is.” she argued.

“your point is that you fancy him.”

she hummed back “you see? you were wrong. that’s not my point. it’s not that i fancy him. my point is, actually, that i love him and i want to have his babies and eventually push him around in a wheelchair and scatter his ashes.”

dawn spit her drink back into the glass to look at fleur weirdly. “i see.”

“and he likes y/n. and i don’t think that’s very fair.”

“he can help her feel better.”

“d’you know what makes me feel better when my heart’s broken? cake. why doesn’t she just do that instead? just eat humongous amounts of cake and leave hot ginger guy to me.”

they looked back over at y/n and bill. they were talking and laughing and generally just enjoying themselves.

“i’m going in” fleur smiled.

“no. you’re staying out, sister, because you love y/n and you want her to be happy.”

as dawn sat fleur back down, y/n and bill approached them. “hey guys”

“hi” the two said back, fleur’s drink accidentally spilling from her mouth.

“this is my friend bill” she pointed to him.

“hi!” fleur said again, flustered “it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“we’ve heard nothing about you.” dawn said, fleur laughing saying ‘hi’ again.

“i brought y/n here on my boat.” bill explained.

“you’ve got a boat!” fleur exclaimed “he’s got a boat!”

“and then i worried about her so i came back.” bill continued.

“he worries, he cares. and he’s got a boat!”

“and now, i’m taking her out to sea again.”

“taking her out to sea again. in the boat”

dawn looked at fleur weirdly before fleur sat down and downed her drink.

“you don’t think i should go?” y/n stepped forward and whispered to dawn.

“are you kidding? of course, you should.” dawn turned around the get fleur again “tell her she should go.”

fleur stayed silent for a few seconds before dawn slapped her arm a few times. “you should absolutely go.”

“that’s what i’m saying”

“i- i’m saying it too. go.”

“go! and do everything i’d do!” dawn stepped forward.

“nearly everything. i’m sorry.” fleur pulled her back.

“thanks, guys. i’ll be back soon.”

“bye, darlin’!” “bye.”

when y/n was out of sight, fleur’s smile faltered. “could i get some cake please?”

“some cake over here?” dawn gestured for a waiter.

“— a lot of cake!”

[floralseokjin]

final sleigh drabble #3

❛ Seokjin has an idea…❜

original oneshot here // drabble index here

kim seokjin x reader  smut, oral (female receiving) 2,409 words 

Seokjin noticed Ana trailing into the kitchen first seeing as you were too busy nosing through his cupboards in hunt of something for brunch. “Good morning, or should I say,” he glanced at his watch. “Ten minutes to midday.” 

“Morning,” your best friend greeted, tone unenthusiastic. “Do you have any coffee?” 

“I made some not too long ago. It should still be hot enough.” 

You joined Seokjin who was leant up against one of the counters, watching Ana grab two mugs from the draining board. “What time did you two wake up?” She asked, looking in your direction. 

“Too early. Seokjin snores.” 

“Hey, no I don’t!” He exclaimed. “Y/N kicks in her sleep. I’m surprised I’m not black and blue.” 

Ana chuckled, rubbing her sleepy eyes. “You get used to it.” 

Folding his arms, Seokjin suddenly looking curious. “Where’s the sex god himself then?” 

As Ana poured the coffee, she immediately looked unimpressed. “Are we just going to pretend like you two weren’t up to no good last night too?” 

“Up to no good?” Seokjin repeated, turning to you with judgement in his eyes. “Why do you guys speak like you’re middle aged?” Before you could think to whack him, he was talking again. “Anyway, I have no idea what you’re referring to. Y/N and I played monopoly and were fast asleep by 11pm.” 

“Sure, now who’s middle aged?”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that. “No, but really, where is Yoongi?” 

“In the shower. He asked for coffee.” 

“And you’re just going to get it for him?” Seokjin snorted. 

“I wanted some too.” 

Tutting, Seokjin pushed himself off the counter. “He’s got you wrapped around his little finger already. Watch him, he may be small but he’s dangerous.” 

With a scoff, your best friend looked your way, grabbing the two mugs. “I can’t believe you’re fucking him, Y/N.” 

“Me neither.” 

Her parting words as she left the kitchen caused chaos. “No wonder she calls you dick cheese.” 

“Dick what?!” Seokjin roared in disbelief. 

Great, thanks for that, Ana... 

.

.

You spent the rest of the day at Seokjin’s place, watching lame Christmas movies on his sofa. You hadn’t brought fresh clothes, not expecting to spend the night so Seokjin had loaned you a pair of his boxers and sweats (drawstring pulled as tight it could go around your waist), plus a t-shirt, which was painful ill-fitting, but it beat your laddered tights... Ana had gone home a couple of hours ago, her and Yoongi awkwardly saying goodbye to one another as you and Seokjin watched in amusement and then soon after that Yoongi slipped out, meeting his Aunt’s family for dinner. 

Seokjin soon made use of an empty house... Right now you were stretched out on top of him, moulded against his body, your lips swollen and sticky from too much kissing. “Seokjin,” you whined lowly, needing to catch your breath.

He grunted, leaving a trail of wet kisses down your throat instead. “Mmm. You’ve made me hard again.” 

You swore this man had bountiful amounts of energy. You were still a little stiff from last night (and this morning) but grinding down on his crotch like you couldn’t help it (you couldn’t) heat pooled between your legs. “Do you want to head to your room?”

He pulled his head back and grinned impishly. “I have a better idea. Sit on my face. Right here.” To emphasise his point he slapped your ass with both hands, bumping you into his crotch again. 

“No way.” 

He frowned instantly. “No way to the sofa? Or to face sitting in general?”

You let yourself think. It was mostly the sofa situation, but the idea of just blatantly sitting on his face did make you a little self-conscious... Then again, there wasn’t really a reason to feel nervous with Seokjin. “The sofa.” You decided. 

His face lit up. “Ah, so you want to ride my face then. Dirty, dirty girl.” He wrapped his arms around you before his hands reached between your bodies to cup your boobs. You didn’t have a bra on, your nipples were so hard they practically stabbed him. 

“Get off,” you grumbled, cheeks reddening as you struggled to free yourself. He was not getting a rise out of you. “Why do you want me to do it so much?”

He wrapped his arms around you again, but loosely this time, looking up at you as if you were stupid. “Because it’ll be fucking hot!” 

You snorted, but you had to admit the way he was so enthusiastic about it was a major turn on. 

“I’ve been imagining it ever since I ate you out at work.” 

That too. 

He squeezed you and leaned up to kiss your mouth. “Death by your pussy seems an excellent way to kick the proverbial bucket.” 

You couldn’t help the smile that slowly grew on your face. “Would I go to jail for that?”

He audibly thought about it, humming loudly before he decided. “Second degree murder, I’d say.” 

“Oh, my god,” you snorted.

“Are we doing this or not?” He whined. “Because now my I could knock a hole through the wall with my dick and I’m drooling.” 

You raised an eyebrow. “You got turned on by the thought of me suffocating you with my pussy?” 

“Eyy, she’s learning,” he grinned up at you. “I’ll get you to say cunt by the end of the year.” 

“Not seriously you won’t.” 

You reached for a kiss this time, his mouth dropping slightly so your tongue could meet his, and you clutched your fists to the top he wore – an evil purple and grey striped thing that stuck to the outline of his chest. You were done for. 

Breaking away, his eyelids were heavy, voice all a deep, a serious whisper. “Sit that hot, wet cunt on my face, Y/N.” 

“Stopppp,” you whined, whacking his chest and he huffed out before breaking into an annoying fit of giggles. You did not find him very funny. “Let’s go upstairs.” 

He clung to you as you tried to get up. “Yoongi won’t be back yet. We’re safe.” 

“But–

“You’re going to make me walk all the way upstairs with this in my pants. It’s weighting me down. I already did it once last night, it was exhausting.” He moaned. 

He was so dramatic. But you didn’t need much convincing. “Fine.” 

“Yes. Finally!” He exclaimed, letting you go so you were able to strip off from the waist down. You were like a woman possessed when it came to Seokjin, fighting with the drawstring of your borrowed sweatpants in a bid to get naked as fast as possible. 

He took the time to reposition himself, resting his head against the arm of the couch for support. He watched you undress, eyes sweeping over your bare c-u-n-t, and he rushed you with his hands, gesturing you to climb aboard. “Sit that pussy right on my tastebuds, baby.” 

“I am seriously questioning my life choices right now,” you told him as you moved, pausing as your legs straddled his chest. 

He shrugged. “And yet you’re about to take a seat on this throne.” 

“None of what you’re saying is making any sense.” You couldn’t help but laugh. “How do you get girls at all?” 

His face fell serious. “Confession: I was a virgin before you.” 

“I don’t believe that for a second,” you scoffed, jumping when his hands cupped your bare ass, massaging warmth throughout your whole body, (and most importantly what laid between your legs). 

“Yeah, you’re right. I’m way too good in the sack for that to be believable.” 

Rolling your eyes you disagreed. “Way too full of yourself maybe...” 

He chuckled but didn’t indulge you any further, nudging you forward. “Okay, enough talking, more sitting. Take this pretty face for a ride.” 

Fighting back the urge to retort, you listened, straddling his shoulders, centimetres away from his face. You instinctively tried to obstruct his view, crouching over his body, which was pretty pointless. It did nothing. 

“Don’t be shy,” he said, although his voice was softer that moments previous.

You relaxed, concentrating on the way one of his hands curved the round of your ass, giving it an instinctive squeeze. His other hand moved towards your inner thigh, spreading you apart so he could tilt his head towards your heat. He inhaled, a low groan of pleasure rumbling from his throat and you tensed up immediately. “Stop sniffing me, you pervert.” 

He pulled back, all you could see were his eyes. “Says the one who’s groping me.” 

Huh? It took you a moment to realise one of your arms was behind your back, hand cupping his junk on its own accord. You went to pull away but he objected. 

“No, don’t take your hand away!” He took the opportunity to roll his hips into your palm, urging you to continue. He was painfully solid, you could feel him perfectly over his sweatpants. You could feel his breath against your core and it was quickly becoming torture. 

“Okay, Seokjin, come on!” You pressed suddenly. How come you were doing all the pleasuring? “You practically begged me to sit on your face and you’re not even doing anything!” 

“Patience,” he chuckled, his hot breath tickling you as he exhaled. “Besides, maybe I want to make you beg for it...” 

You would not beg. Nuh uh. Let this turn into a stand-off if needed. However as luck would have it, he was feeling impatient too, and not even a couple of seconds later he had a face full of vagina, his tongue curling out to spread your folds. It felt good, don’t get you wrong, but you couldn’t stop yourself from looking out of the window. You were not alone alone. If that made sense. 

“This is so wrong,” you whispered, voice quivering when his lips dragged along your clit, breaking away from your wet heat to look up at you. You couldn’t see his mouth, but the tip of his nose glistened with your arousal. 

“What is?” He asked, confused. 

“What if someone can see in?” Ten seconds ago a man with his dog had walked along the sidewalk. 

“Unless they walk into the yard and press their face up against the window at the exact, painfully awkward angle to look through the shutters, I think we’re safe.” He sounded impatient and you guessed he had a point... You were safe. Nobody could see you sitting on Seokjin’s face. 

“Now move a little,” he told you, pushing you forward by the ass, disappearing once again. “Make a mess of me, baby, I don’t care. I want to get dirty.” 

You mean, you couldn’t really say no to that... Could you? Not when he was so eager and willing. So you started grinding. You still felt a little awkward at first, the position way too intimate to what you were used to, but with the low groans escaping Seokjin’s throat your confidence soon grew, encouraged to chase your high. 

You bunched your borrowed t-shirt up in one fist, eager to see what was going on down there and as Seokjin suctioned his lips around your clit his eyes snapped up to yours. You moaned loudly, turned on by the visual, your hips rolling involuntary. 

God, you needed to touch him again. Eagerly, you leaned back a little, your ass settled against his palms as you still attempted to jerk into his mouth, tongue now busy flicking against your clit. You were still moaning, your fingers slipping in his sweatpants from behind, feeling the warmth of his hard cock. He grunted, lifting his hips up eagerly and you immediately started jerking him off. The angle was shit, your grip and rhythm uneven but it seemed to do the trick as he groaned against you. The vibrations were something else, and unable to stop yourself, you reached for the back of his head with the hand that had been clutching the t-shirt. 

You attempted to hold him there, rolling your hips all over him despite how messy it was turning. You were very wet by now – both your doing – so the squelching noises just added fuel to the fire. This was fucking sinful but so, so addictive. 

“Ngnnn. Seokjin–!” You cried, unable to keep jerking him off with the amount of pleasure coursing through your body. You were getting distracted, greedy for the inevitable. 

“Pleaseee.” Your mouth was also running away with you, begging shamelessly. 

Seokjin grunted, no time for words as he pushed his face further into your heat (if that was possible), neck strained as he tried to meet your angle, veins hard and prominent. He was so fucking hot it was unfair. 

“Oh, my... shit, oh.” You couldn’t keep up with the rapid flick of his tongue, chest heaving as you panted. Who cared about the window now that your orgasm was nigh? Not you! Just a little bit more and you’d cum. You gripped the roots of his hair, readying yourself. He moaned loudly, loving it. 

A... little... bit... more... 

The moan that ripped from your throat signalled the beginning of the end, your whole body tensing as you teetered over the edge. “Yes, yesss, Seokjin, I’m, nghh–!” You cried, voice breaking as pleasure exploded throughout your body, every nerve feeling alive. 

You rode his tongue until you couldn’t take any more, ripping away from him to fall back on his stomach, still panting like crazy. Sitting up slightly, he rubbed the back of his neck. “You did not make that easy at all. I’m sure I pulled a fucking muscle.” 

“Quit being a baby,” you chided. After all, he was the one that had practically begged you to sit on his face. (Not that there’d been much sitting...) 

He looked fucked out, cheeks rosy, smeared in your arousal, lips plumper than usual and the tips of his dark fringe were wet and curled. He looked insanely kissable, but before you could think to act, he was talking. 

“Care to help?” 

You frowned, unsure what he was going on about, until you felt his arm move against your hip. You looked over your shoulder, seeing his hand in his pants, the motion of the fabric moving up and down making it very obvious what he was busy doing... 

“Or are you just gonna watch me give myself a hand job?”

Now that sounded fun... 

Written 2020 - 2021. Please refrain from posting my work elsewhere. No translations allowed. © floralseokjin 2021

[baronesscmd]

@anubis-005 has graciously allowed me to continue writing her sinfully delightful Nene’s Inferno Au, so I bring you the next installment. I hope you enjoy, and thank you. And go check out all her artwork; its absolutely amazing and deserves all the love!

AH! DISCLAIMER! CONTAINS SCENES OF SEXUAL INNUENDO/REFERENCES/SITUATIONS!

 He dropped himself to the ground, pulling her flush against him. One hand curled around her arm as the other caught her chin, bringing her gaze directly to the smoldering golden stare that was attempting to burn her alive. 

Nene's face flushed as he leaned in, tongue flicking over the sharp fangs in his mouth as he tipped his head so the heat of his words brushed against her lips. 

"You won't be needing those clothes."

**

“EXCUSE ME?!!”

Nene felt her pulse stutter and pick up double-time as the demon leaned closer, claws pricking at the soft curve of her cheeks as her whole body burned from his implications. She tried to push away, tried to get as much space between her and the demon before her; he wasn’t having it. The hand on her arm slid around her waist, pinning her tight against his chest as he smirked. 

“Oh yes, my sweet little Angel; that uniform just has to go.”

She felt those claws curl into her sash and tug, and before she could even make a sound, before she could try and push herself away; he moved. His hand slid from her waist to cup her bottom and squeeze, and she shrieked as he hauled her up and over his shoulder. 

He spun on his heel, whistling as he headed deeper into the maze as she tried to get loose. Nene beat her fists against his back and kicked her legs, trying to ignore the sharp curve of his shoulder as it pressed into her belly.

Harder to ignore was the hand hooked around her knees, and the thumb that was making tiny circles against her thigh. Worse than that though, was the hand still on her butt. She struggled harder, flushing as he patted the soft curve of her cheeks. 

 "PUT ME DOWN! AND DONT TOUCH ME!"

Nene let out a sound somewhere between a whimper and a scream as the demon chucked, pinching her as he nipped at her hip through the fabric of her dress.

"My my, aren't you a feisty one! You'll be great fun. I can already tell. But you have to behave, my Angel, or your new Master will punish you.

"And while I can guarantee you will not enjoy it, I shall have a delightful time."

She continued to struggle against him until the band around her finger began to burn. She yelped and folded, her chin bouncing into his back as she curled her hands together. 

It hurt, more than anything she had ever experienced. Like something was trying to claw at her soul, to tear her open and lay her bare. She watched through her tears as the demon's tail looped around her wrists, and as suddenly as the pain had come on, it vanished.

"Ah, fun little bit about that Bond, my Angel." 

She stiffened in his grasp as he drew a claw down her thigh before his fingers crept back up to pinch her.

"You cannot disobey me."

Cold stole through Nene's limbs and she went still and silent. The demon laughed, the echo of it reverberating through her own chest in a hollow imitation of joy. The tail squeezed her wrists, and she swallowed back her tears. 

Beneath them, the grassy maze gave way to cobblestones, and she planted her hands against the small of his back as he spun around. 

"Welcome to your new home, Angel."

Nene lifted her head, biting back a gasp at the palace before her; she had not expected something so elegant of a design in Hell. It rose from a tangle of wild roses like a crouching beast, sweeping up into the skyline like nothing she had seen. 

In Heaven, the buildings had been white, and gold and silver-toned. It had felt like walking through a dream, with open shutters and friendly hellos as she passed. This was quite the opposite. 

This was a nightmare of brick, wood, bone, and glass. Shadows hung from the twisted black iron of the balconies like discarded clothes, the stained glass depicting demons in different throes of lust. 

Ivy twisted it's way up the cracks of the black stones, twisting around marble statues carved in obscene positions. She averted her eyes as they passed a set of skeletons, entwined together, forever frozen in the moment of completion. 

And the arch of the grand doorway, before the demon carrying her turned on his heel to march her under it, was carved in stark white bone with the twisted limbs and slack faces of those who had given in to the Sin of Lust.

The inside was as hauntingly beautiful as the exterior, with dark walls and black marble floors. Golden lamps spilled light in fleeting puddles, and Nene saw more than one alcove with the entwined forms of sated bodies. 

He hauled her through the dining hall, whispers rising as the few demons who happened to be awake caught sight of them. Painted mouths disappeared behind razor-tipped nails as she knew they began to gossip, and more than one pair of hungry, hooded eyes raked over her form, leaving her feeling filthy. 

Nene tried to remember the twists and turns he took so she could attempt an escape, but when they passed the same low table with a couple half-concealed beneath it again, she knew he had purposely misled her.

Each path was more confusing than the last, some with high, vaulted ceilings that the light could not illuminate, and others with low curving beams that pulled the shadows close enough to touch. 

And the paintings! Nene could look nowhere and find a patch of wall that was not hung with obscenities. Even what she assumed were flowers, painted in soft brush strokes, resembled a part of her own anatomy that the demon's hand was much too close to.

He took them down a long hallway, the doors at the beginning doing little to conceal the moans and cries of the pleasure-seekers within. She flushed and tried to raise her hands to cover her ears to block out the sounds, but the tail held her fast. 

They turned again, and this hallway was silent but for the echo of his footsteps. His hand stroked from the curve of her waist to the back of her knee before he kicked a door open. 

Nene watched with increasing panic as the heavy wooden doors fell shut behind them, lock sliding into place as her heart sank. She was trapped, completely and utterly. 

She had no time to admire the room, richly decorated in swathes of black and red satin as the demon fisted his hand in the back of her dress and dumped her onto a bed.

It took her a second, as she was consumed by tangled scarlet silk and plush pillows as dark as a raven's wing, that she was not in just any bedroom, tumbled onto a sinfully soft bed. 

Nene was sprawled across the sheets in the bed that belonged to the Lord of Lust, locked in this den of depravity and debauchery. 

She watched with horror as he set a knee to the bed and dragged her closer, pinning her beneath his lithe form as she tried to get away, even though she knew it was useless. His mouth nipped at her throat, tongue sliding up her skin before he sucked a bruise into the tender flesh as he groaned. 

"You taste like innocence and divinity. And I am going to enjoy corrupting you."

He shoved her knees apart and settled against her, and before he could side his hand from her waist to her breast or between her legs, Nene threw her arms against his chest with a cry. 

She wasn't sure who was more surprised as he was tossed back, his black eyes lightening to amber as they both watched the pale gold band form around his tail. She scrambled from beneath him, not getting far before he hooked his hand around her chubby ankle. 

He didn’t draw her back to him, which she found odd, but he seemed more preoccupied with the sharp flicks he made to try and fling the ring off. The swing of it was rather hypnotic, and Nene gasped as his claws bit into her skin as he yanked her down the bed. 

She drew her knees up as he loomed over her, and she watched as his eyes flickered rapidly over her face, as if there was something hidden in her own gaze that would explain what had happened. His mouth split into a wicked smile and he hauled her up, locking one arm around her as she thrashed in his hold as he snapped his fingers. 

Seconds later, three scantily clad demonesses hurried through the door, all wearing the same outfit of a black and white maids uniform, and dipped into deep curtsies. Nene paled as he shoved her forward; the tallest demoness, who had ripped the front of her blouse so that her very generous bust could be seen through the heart shape, caught her by the arm before she could hit the floor. 

“Dress our little Angel in her new uniform; she’ll be joining you in your duties starting today.”

Nene whipped her head around as another of the demoness’ hurried away, the ruffles of her dress barely touching the top of her thighs. He couldn’t really mean to put her in something so revealing, but the sly smile as their eyes met showed that he absolutely did. 

She shrieked as the demons pulled at her uniform, trying to bat their hands away to no avail. The taller one unsnapped the buttons on her collar as the other pulled her sash free, and she could do nothing as the third came back with her arms full of fabric. 

They stripped her quickly and efficiently, though their touch lingered on her skin like a burn. She clung to her thin shift as they tried to pull it off, even as they knocked her off balance to remove her sandals. They couldn’t take her shift, she’d be naked; no one had ever seen her naked. The demoness caught her hands in a bruising grip and bunched the fabric in her free hand.

“Let her keep it.”

They all froze, turning to the Demon Lord reclining on his bed. His grin was as filthy as it was seductive, and Nene tried to draw her hands down to cover herself as his eyes raked over her, his tail flicking lazily against his thigh. She may as well have been completely bare before him with the way his gaze smoldered. 

“Yes, M’Lord.”

She didn’t struggle as they pulled the fabric over her head and harshly tugged her braids free of the collar, didn’t comment as they shoved her into the neat black shoes, muffled a gasp as they tied the bow of her apron with enough force to nearly drive the air from her lungs.

The demons hurried out as he snapped his fingers, one poking back in briefly to drop a mop, broom, and bucket inside the door with a cruel grin before it closed behind her. Nene kept her eyes shut as he crossed the room and curled his hands around her hips. 

There was nothing she could do as he twisted her from side to side and then turned her, trailing his claws across her belly as he pressed his face into her hair. She could feel the curve of his smile against the shell of her ear before he pulled away.

“You might as well look, my little Angel. You’ll be seeing yourself in it for the foreseeable future. Unless you’d like to clean in the nude.”

Nene snapped her eyes open as heat flooded her cheeks, and was surprised to find herself in a uniform that, while still inappropriate, covered much more than she was expecting. The puffed black sleeves left her arms bare, and the dark ruffles of her skirt at least came to her knees. It was actually cute, with the frilled overskirt and pink and white heart over her chest. 

“By the grace of providence we had one in your size.”

She glared at him as he chuckled as he floated behind her, magicing the bucket, mop, and broom into her hands. Providence, as if; more like limitless lechery, she thought as he adjusted her headband. She truly was stuck here, this wasn’t just an elaborate nightmare. 

Nene jumped with a scream as his hand smacked her bottom, cleaning supplies flying as he caught her up in his arms. That damned tail wound around her leg as if it had a mind of its own as he pinned her hands to his chest so he could twirl the ring around her finger. 

“And, my little Angel; a few more things.”

He bent her nearly backward as he slid his knee between her own, the tension in her spine the only thing keeping her from sprawling back over the bed. The ring on her finger seemed to burn with the same intensity as the one tapping against her thigh.

“You will be my personal attendant; you will wake me, bring me meals if I do not dine in the hall. When I do dine in the hall, you shall serve me. Ah ah, I’m not finished,” his finger pressed against her lips to silence her protests, “You will help me bathe, and dress, and cater to any of my whims.”

His hand slid down her back to cup her bottom and bring her hips flush to his. The hard lines of his body settled against the soft curves of her own with a familiarity that made her flush. 

“And I shall allow you to keep your innocence; for now.”

The press of him to the intimate place between her thighs made her whimper and tremble, and he only smirked. 

“Also, you shall address me as “My Lord” or “Master” when you speak to me; is that clear, my Angel?”

Nene dipped her head and mumbled as he shifted against her, his tail tightening around her thigh like a demonic garter. 

“I didn’t hear you, Angel.”

She lifted her head, meeting those blazing eyes with her own as she curled her nails into his chest and watched him wince. 

“Yes, Master.”

He dipped his head, mouth a breath from hers as he pressed their bodies closer together. Heat flooded her at every point they met, and she let her eyes flicker down to his lips worriedly.

“Good girl.”

And then he was gone. 

Nene sank onto the edge of the bed as he swept his hand out and the cleaning supplies disappeared with the spilled water. He pulled open the door of his room and gestured into the hall.

“Come along, unless you wish for me to take you now.”

She shot up from the bed and hurried to the entrance, shuttering as he laid his hand on the small of her back to guide her. 

“You have much to see before you help me tonight, and I don’t tolerate tardiness.”

Nene felt despair sink into her soul as he led her back down those twisting halls. There were more demons now, peeking from doorways and corners as they headed to the servants quarters. Eyes followed her every step, and the whispers hung in the air like a death sentence. 

The Lord of Lust had an Angel for a plaything, and wouldn’t he have fun with her? 

Her master’s hand slid lower as his tail lashed against her with every step, and she bit back her tears. This was her own fault, she had gotten herself into this mess. And she would have to be the one to get herself out. There would be no Divine Intervention to save her; the Angels did not listen to the cries that rose from Hell. 

If Nene wanted to escape, she’d have to do it herself.

And @anubis-005 Thank you SOOO much for this again! It is, as always, an honor and pleasure to work with you!!! <3 :3

[jordanstrophe]

Misery Loves Company

CW: Whumpee and caretaker held captive, defiant/conditioned whumpee, restrained, prison cells, knocked unconscious

“HEY! Let me out of here! Pleease!” Whumpee sobbed, banging their fists on the rusted prison bars. 

They breathed a tired breath as their arms fell slack, they were dehydrated, starving and exhausted. 

“Do us all a favor and kindly shut up!” Whumper hissed, as the door clattered open. Whumpee jumped back and squished themselves into the corner. Another person, whose arms were bound behind them was thrown in, their chest skidding on the floor with a grunt.

“Try not to annoy your new friend here as much as you annoy me.” Whumper sneered, slamming and locking the door.

“Ah-.. Ow...” The person whimpered, struggling to get on their knees. They glanced up at their new ‘roommate’, hoping for an ally, but all they got were mistrusting frightened eyes that stared them down.

“W-who are you?!” Whumpee shouted with accusation. 

“I-.. I’m an agent.” They huffed, finally getting their knees under them as they straightened with posture, queuing Whumpee to curl into their corner even more defensively.

They finally got a some-what good look at Whumpee, who never once took their cold eyes off them. “Hey... You’re that missing person!” They exclaimed.

“W-what?” They blinked.

“You’re all over the news! The world is looking for you! I’M looking for you! That’s-!... Kinda how I got caught.” Their head fell a little. "Glad to see you’re alive, we were starting to think you, uh.. You weren't aliv-” They cut themselves off.  “It doesn’t matter! I’m going to try and get us out of here. Can you tell me about this place? Weak points?” They asked.

“I-.. I don’t believe you.” Whumpee crossed their arms and turned their head away.

“What? Why not? Look, I can show you my ID.” They shuffled their bound hands into their back pocket, then their face turned white.

“Uhh, okay, so they may have taken my ID, but-”

“Oh of course they did.” Whumpee scoffed.

Caretaker sighed as they slumped their back against the bars. “I don’t understand, why don’t you trust me? I'm here to help." They questioned.

“Because! Whumper does... Things here. They like to mess with me, test me, torment me! You’re just another mind game. I’m not falling for it... Not this time.” They whimpered, using their shoulder to wipe a tear away before it had a chance to escape.

“I’m sorry...” Caretaker sighed, resting their head on the bar, closing their eyes. 

Then their eyes shot open when they felt something against their head. They rose to their feet, scaring Whumpee at the sudden movement, but they used their hands to feel around the bars. 

“What are you doing?” Whumpee asked, taking weary shuttered breath.

“Getting you out of here.” They smirked, finding a sharp part in the rusted lock. They moved the ropes up and down as it made a scraping noise. Whumpee shook their head.

“I’ve already tried that, it doesn’t work.” 

“Just wait.” They huffed, moving the ropes faster until-

*SNAP*

“Yes!” Caretaker cheered, holding their hands in front of them to pull off the broken ropes from each wrist.

“WHAT?!” Whumpee shrieked. “B-b-but I tried that already!” 

“Yeah, you have to push pretty hard.” Caretaker shrugged. Whumpee’s eyes narrowed.  “.. Are you saying I’m weak?”

“Wh-! No! Of course not! I’m just saying... You uh, been in here a long time! You’re exhausted is all.” They nervously smiled. Whumpee’s eyes only turned sad as they looked at their crossed legs.

“How long have I?... You know.. Been here?” 

Caretaker froze for a moment. Mostly from sadness that Whumpee had no concept of time. Most people count the days like their life depends on it and scratch numbers into walls. They crouched down in front of Whumpee who shied away.

“Thirty-seven days, give or take.”

“Th-thirty da-...!?” Whumpee repeated, their voice broke from weakness and horror. “It’s been over a month!?” Tears started streaming down their face as they hid it between their knees against their chest.

“Wh-whumper told me it was t-two weeks... I knew something felt wrong!” They said, sobbing. 

“I’m sorry...” Caretaker said, rising to their feet to study the room, every corner, every dent on the bars, every loose brick. Their eyes caught a crooked bar in the tiny window at the top. 

“That’s our way out. It’s weakened.” They pointed. 

“Yeah, that's weakened because I hammered on it with a rock for a whole night straight.” Whumpee curled in on themselves.

“Really? Where’s the rock?” Caretaker regretted asking as Whumpee’s face fell.

“Whumper took it...”

“...After they beat me with it.”

“Oh.” Caretaker sighed sadly. They climbed up to the bar, giving it a jostle as dirt and pebbles crumbled around it. It let out an ear-wrenching squeaking sound as Whumpee cringed. 

“Please don’t! We’ll get caught!” They cried. 

“They can’t catch us if we’re not here.” They smirked, the squeaking getting louder and louder until-

*POP*

“Are you kidding me!?” Whumpee yelled with frustration as the bar came off. They let out an agonizing groan as they let their head hit the back wall. 

“Hey, you loosened it up for me.” Caretaker sympathetically smiled. “Come on, you first.” Caretaker hopped down and reached a hand out. Whumpee’s eyes darted from their hand, to their face with a skeptical look. 

“I still don’t trust you...” They murmured.

“That’s understandable. Now up you go.” Caretaker grabbed their arm and pulled them to their feet as they let out a tiny yelp. They untied the bindings from their wrists as Whumpee squirmed around.

“No! I can’t! They’ll hurt me!” Whumpee struggled.

“Only if you’re not here! Let's go!” They gave them a ‘I’m not giving you a choice’ smile.

There was a bang on the door as Whumper barged in.

“What are you little rats doing?! I told you to be qui-” They cut themselves off when they saw the missing bar, and Caretaker trying to pull Whumpee up the window, both frozen in place staring at them with wide guilty eyes.

Whumper instantly fumbled for the lock on the keys, muttering and cursing under their breath incoherently. 

“Go! Go now!” Caretaker yelled, grabbing Whumpee and desperately trying to get them through the window.

“But-!” They weren't given a moment to argue, before they were pushed through the window. They felt dirt and soft fresh grass on the palm of their hands as their knees hit the ground. Their eyes widened as they slowly ran their hands through the soil and grass, taking a breath of fresh air.

‘'C’mon, C’mon!” Caretaker encouraged themselves, as they struggled to climb up the window by themselves. They made it halfway before hands dug into their legs from behind, ripping them back as they hit the floor of the cell. 

“You! What have you done!?” Whumper yelled, their face red and painted with hatred. They grabbed their shirt collar and arched their back off the floor before landing a blow to their face. 

“Since you let my little bird go, I guess I’ll need a replacement! It’s only fair.” They hissed, grabbing Caretaker’s legs and dragging them from the cell. 

“Pl-please.. wait.’ Caretaker rasped weakly, dazed from the hit.

In a blink of the eyes, the hands clawing at them disappeared, replaced with the room shaking at the weight that hit the floor. 

“Wha-?” Caretaker blinked their eyes several times, staring at the blurry image of Whumpee, standing over Whumper’s unconscious body. They stood trembling, gasping for air while wielding the broken bar from the window.

“I’m sorry!” Whumpee cried, dropping the bar to cover their face in shame.

“I’m s-so sorry I di-didn’t believe you!” They fell to their knees as they cried, exhaustion enveloping their body. 

“It’s... It’s alright.” Caretaker grunted as they hazelly pushed themselves up, wobbling as they slid themselves over to Whumpee. They instantly collapsed against Caretaker’s chest, who caught them and gently held them in their arms.

“Lets get out of here for real them time, eh?”

Whumpee sniffled as they nodded.

Tag list: @grizzlie70  @alien-octopus @lave-whump @amethysts-sideblog  @whump-it-like-its-hot  @thingsthatgowhumpinthenight @yet-another-heathen @princessofonward @whatwhumpcomments  @ill-eat-you-if-you-cross-me @mascmasochist @hamiltonwhumpdump  @shokuhoemisaki @as-a-matter-of-whump

o(^∀^*)o Thank you for reading!

[snowgoldwaylon]

And That's When You Came - Naga X Reader

So this is my first Naga x reader fic, I'm a bit nervous about it y'all. I hope you guys enjoy!

TW: Violence, kidnapping, murder, drugs, strong language.

This time around, druglords were swarming parts of the Jungles around the world. This sometimes made working with the CIA and Marines hard trying to tie up loose ends.

So, of course, you took a leadership role, and assembled a small, efficient team to head out to the Jungle, and clean up some of these businesses.

You had gotten word over enemy comms that there was a possibility of trafficking coming up, just a few days short of today. So you know today was the day to make the right move and head out.

You gathered the team up, and took off right there and then. You had to head Northeast until you reached the heart of the Jungle. The plan was to ambush whoever was doing this and make them lead your team right to the main compound.

After 4 hours of constant flying, your heli touched down a few clicks North of the potential location. You took out the evidence from the comm broadcast and looked around.

The druglords were smart around these areas. They communicated in code. Morse code, to be exact. Thankfully you could read and understand morse code like you could in your native language. Looks like some classes pay off!

You took a minute and looked over the past conversation between these unknown individuals. You read the morse code with ease, and quickly you understood what was said.

'TRIBAL VILLAGE, WEST OF THE RED STREAM. FOLLOW IT 5 CLICKS AND MAKE A SHARP LEFT BY THE SKULLS.'

You felt a sick, sinking feeling when it mentioned skulls. Now you knew that you were about to walk a thin line with danger, or possibly even death.

You looked back at your team who geard up. You turned your radio on and spoke to the one man you could trust.

"Lazar, I might not come back from this. If I don't, please send a search team. I'm about to broadcast you my current coordinates." You said calmly.

"Y/N, you will come back. I promise to come to save your ass myself." Lazar said.

"Appreciate that, I'll keep in touch. 2-3 out." And off your radio went.

You rounded your team up and stood upon a rock so they could hear you loud and clear.

"Okay Strike team, we are going in. You will follow me and my orders, we stay together at all times. This could potentially be a large threat, and I will not have any deaths today. Now, follow me. Keep an eye out for any potential harm. Form the formation we talked about. Always check those corners and look back!" You said, strapping your MP5 around you tightly.

You led your team off in the direction that the morse code told you about. You came to the red stream and decided to take a look around and see if you saw any possible movement or another break in the case.

You took your binoculars and scanned the area. In the distance, you saw a small, white building. It was covered by trees, well hidden if you didn't have good vision.

"Hey Houston, take a look over there, almost 3 and a half inches to the left. See the white building?" You said, handing the binoculars to your teammate.

Houston took them and looked, he turned back to you and nodded.

"I see it. Do you think we should go check it out?" He asked.

You thought for a moment. What if this was another building with possible evidence or even someone in there you could question? You looked back towards him and nodded.

"Yeah, I think we should. Let's get in there and at least check it out. It'll be worth it if we do I think." You reasoned.

He quickly gathered the team, and you made a slow but steady movement towards the building in question. There was no doubt you were nervous, you had a really bad feeling and you weren't sure why.

When you came up to the building, it was a garage. It had a large, retracting door and a small door for someone to walk into. But there was no house, just a garage.

"Okay Houston, we're gonna walk into this place very carefully, and slowly." You said.

After getting confirmation from everyone, you walked up to the small door. You carefully took the handle and twisted it. The door creaked open as if this was some sort of horror movie and the killer finds the person hiding.

You took a few steps in and checked all the corners. Your team followed behind and within minutes, the whole place had gotten a clean sweep. There was nobody to be found. So, you quickly gathered everyone in the middle.

"Okay, so this place is clear. What we are going to do next i-" You were cut off by a large bang.

BANG!

You drew your MP5 and took a protective stance. Suddenly, thats when a loud and frantic banging started to happen. What took you off guard was the cries for help that followed.

"PLEASE HELP, I'M DOWN HERE!" The male voice cried out.

You looked all over the room, and noticed a hatch to what looked like a cellar, the doors chained shut with heavy rocks on top.

"Commander, I don't like the feeling of this..." One of your team, Leon shuttered out.

"Cover me, we must save this man!" You said with no hesitation.

You ran over to the doors, and ripped the rock off with brute strength. You smashed the chains off with the butt of your gun, and yanked them off. You could now open the door.

"Houston, Leon, with me!" You commanded.

They stacked up behind you and took stance. You ripped the doors open, and out came a man fell out, wearing some sort of uniform. And behind him was a some of two dozen men, armed. You had been tricked.

"Commander!" Houston yelled, jumping in front of you as a bullet as shot. It ripped through his heart like a dagger. He fell to the ground, going limp.

"You fuckers!" You shouted.

You went to shoot, but a rock came flying and hit you right in the eye. You heard everyone else struggle and a few gunshots. When you came back from the hit, you were grabbed and restrained.

The man you first saw, immediately tied all your team up, but a couple of the guys had you in a hold, rather than tied up. You were so scared, for everyone. The first guy who came out grabbed his walkie and talked into it.

"Naga, this is Blade. I have their Commander. Waiting your order."

"Good, bring their Commander to me. Take the rest to the pit. We have work that needs done." The mysterious voice spoke over the radio.

"Got it."

When your team started to get taken away like cattle, you got pissed. You saw the bodies of a few crew mates and it made you almost get sick. Houston and Leon were dead, all because of you.

When you started to be dragged away, you began to kick and scream.

"Get off me you rat fucking bastards! I'll kill you all!" You shouted.

The men only chucked, and kept walking.

You were able to get an arm free and sucker punch one. The other, you kicked straight in the teeth, which made him double over. You took the opportunity and snapped his neck with ease.

The other man though quickly recovered and tackled you. You both fought for a minute until you somehow got on top, flipping him to his back. You restrained his arms with your leg and grabbed his face.

"I fucking told you, asshole. Now, join your friend." You said with anger. You quickly pulled his head back, killing him. You got off and took a rifle he wore.

You looked around and started to gather your surroundings. Now you were kind of confused. First thing first, you had to find your team. You ran back to the garage and went to the corpses of Houston and Leon.

"I'm so sorry you guys." You said, picking up their dog tags. This was the only way to identify them now.

You left and followed a blood trail to a nearby meadow. There, in the distance, you saw thick trees. You came up to a set of some, and in front of you was a 4-way split.

"Fuck! I'll be fucked if I go the wrong way...." But before you could even think, you felt a presence.

Like, somebody was watching you. You looked up into the trees, and that's when you saw a man wearing a strange cap, sunglasses, and a bandanna. He held a tube in his mouth.

Before you could run, he put air into it and shot out a dart at you of some sort. Luck was not with you today though.

It sucks right into your neck. And it felt like a rock had just dropped on you from a great height. You fell to your knees and collapsed. You tried to crawl, but the world went black around you.

The man jumped down from the trees and came over. He removed the dart and rolled you over to see your face. When he saw it was you, he picked you up and carried you towards his large camp.

"Finally got you."

Meanwhile, back at the safe house

Lazar came up to Adler and Sims.

"Doc, Y/N was supposed to come back 5 hours ago. I was even told if I don't hear anything, to come to find them." Lazar spoke with worry.

Adler almost brushed it off, until he heard your name.

"Wait, as in Y/N Y/L/N? Commander of Strike team?" He questioned.

"Yes, remember they went into the Jungle for the possible compound raid. I think something is wrong." He said.

Adler put out his cigarette and got up. He walked over to a plan made out by you. His eyes went large, and he immediately started to pack up and get ready.

"Lazar, you are right. There is a good chance they are in danger. We leave right now! Get everyone rounded up and locked and loaded." He commanded.

Lazar did as he was told, and got everything in line. The crew left within 5 minutes.

One day later, Y/N POV

You finally woke back up, but you were changed to a wall. Your clothes have scratches, and your head felt like a bobblehead. The room had a bright, uncomfortable light above the head. You looked around and saw so much drug paraphernalia.

You were about to pass out again until the door opened, and the same man from before stepped into the room. You both made eye contact, and you saw a slight smile behind his bandanna.

He came over to you and ran his hand over your face.

"Well, look who is finally awake. I thought you weren't going to ever wake back up, my precious little dandelion." He said in a creepy tone.

You revolted to his touch and tried to kick. But, you were held in place by the tough shackles.

"No no no, little one. You won't be leaving now. Do you know how long I waited for you? And here you fall right into my lap...." He trailed off.

You still kicked and screamed, until he finally walked away over to a projector.

"Oh Y/N, I've been watching you for months now. I knew you had been tracing people like me to raid their compounds. Well, I didn't want you fucking up my business." He said, pulling up the images on the projector.

You looked at them in horror when you realized they were of you, in many different states. You at your own home, on a date with Lazar, out with the safe house team for bowling and drinks, even you in the shower. The fucking shower!

You began to cry. You were very afraid.

The man only laughed upon seeing your tears and started playing audio logs of you calling your family on holidays.

"Don't cry, little one. I've always wanted you in my life." He spoke, slowly walking towards you. You began to panic, and started kicking and muffled screaming again.

When he reached you, he ran his hand up your side, and to your face.

"Don't worry. My name is Naga and I'm here to keep you forever. You are mine now, you know." He said.

He stepped back and turned on an older song. He kept the pictures up as he walked towards you with a knife. Your heart sank.

"Do you see this, honey? This is what you'll get when you misbehave. Understand?" He spat at you.

"I'm going to undo your gag. Don't do anything stupid." Naga said.

As soon as he did, he smiled.

"There. Now, why don't you tell me something with that gorgeous mouth?"

You looked right at him, and spit right into his eye. He jumped back in disgust. That pissed him off, and his gaze turned cold.

"You fucking bitch! You'll pay for that!"

But before he could even lunge, a man came from behind and wrestled him to the ground. That man was none other than Lawrence Sims.

You started to wiggle as you saw Lazar and everyone else behind him. He quickly ran over to you and got you free. Adler jumped in with Sims and restrained Naga. He put up one hell of a fight though.

You were carried away to the EVAC chopper, where Mason sat.

"Y/N!" Mason shouted, helping you get onboard.

You sat up and coughed. Your body hurt so much, you felt drained.

"Please Mason, clean up this cut on my leg. It's getting infected." You pleaded.

Immediately, he started to tend to every wound you had. It stung like hell but you were relieved it was over. Lazar sat with you and held your hand. You felt like you were in shellshock.

After about 10 minutes, everyone came back to the heli. Lazar didn't look happy.

"What the hell? Where is he??" He questioned.

Adler pulled out a cigarette and lit it. Sims just signed.

"He got away. The bastard is like a snake. Plus not to mention, he turned my balls into innies." Adler said with defeat.

You sat up and hugged the blanket tighter around you. You looked around at everyone as the heli flew off.

"Wait, what about my team? They still might be down there...."

Adler nodded at you.

"We sent in spec ops to recover survivors. But we are glad to see you back here safe."

You nodded with relief and lay back against the heli. You looked out over the dark skies and the now ominous trees below. You knew, deep down inside down there, this wasn't over.

Naga still roamed these trees. You looked down over the treetops and clenched your fist tight.

"I promise, this isn't over. I'll be back, even stronger."

[hyuniebaby]

Red

Pairings: Baekhyun x Y/N

AU: CEO!Baekhyun

Genre: smut

Warnings: choking, uhh photography??

A/N: Baekhyun’s magazine photoshoots drove me insane, so instead of writing about the fanfics I had lined up, I came up with this. Honestly, I was so lost I didn't even think what I wrote made sense. LOL 🤣 

You were pissed. You were a secretary for fuck’s sake. You weren’t supposed to be the one organizing the Anniversary Party for Privé, the company had a different department for that. But Mr. Byun shoved the responsibility to you. He’s the CEO and you were only his secretary so you had no choice but to comply.

It would’ve been fine for you only if you weren’t given a deadline for the marketing report he requested a couple of weeks ago. If the deadline for the report wasn’t supposed to be submitted literally two days after the party, you wouldn’t have been this worked up. You sighed, there was nothing you could do about it now so you continued to drink your third coffee for the day while you furiously typed for the report.

After a few hours of making the report, you looked at your watch and realized you were supposed to go to meet the caterer and discuss the details of their services for the party. You only had a few minutes left to get to their place on time. You abruptly stood up and dialed the caterer to apologize and inform them that you might be a little late. You went out of the office immediately, not bothering to inform Mr. Byun of your whereabouts.

When everything was smoothened out with the caterer, you went back to the office to continue writing your report. You haven’t reached your desk yet when Mr. Byun comes out of his room and asks where you have been. You were startled at first, not expecting him to notice your absence. He never does, anyway. If you weren’t in such a bad mood, you would have politely apologized and explained to him what came up. But you were stressed and annoyed. It didn’t help that he was there standing, looking all perfect while you looked haggard from your tasks and duties for the day.

“I had to go to the caterer for the Anniversary Party next week, Mr. Byun.” You say, trying hard not to sound annoyed. Mr. Byun noticed it anyway. He knew something was wrong when you answered because if there wasn’t, the first thing you would do is to apologize. If you weren’t in a bad mood, you would’ve been a stuttering mess too. You were always flustered when you got to see him. He was good looking after all.

He gave  you a worried glance because you looked so overworked. He wanted to tell you to take it easy, but you cut him off. “Sorry Mr. Byun, I have to get back to work.” He nods wordlessly as he goes back to his office, a small frown on his face.

The next day, Mr. Byun had dropped off coffee at your desk while you worked. You gave him a soft smile and thanked him, mood immediately lighting up with a simple act. Your smile made his heart flutter so he did that again on the next day, and then the next. You weren’t sure why, but the coffee Mr. Byun gave you always made you feel lighter, as if the stress from your work was gone. Was it the coffee or was it Mr. Byun? You didn’t know.

When the night of the party came, you were much more relaxed, knowing full well you did your best to organize such an event. You wore a red satin dress with a slit on the side and paired it with your black stilettos. Your usual tied-up hair was now in loose curls. You wore lipstick that matched the color of your dress. You’re beautiful, totally different from the zombie-like look you sported when you reported to work this week.

After this party, you’re definitely going to grab a drink at the club a few blocks from here. Maybe even try to get laid. Whatever. You needed to destress. You were almost done with the report anyway. Tonight you were going to have fun and then work on the last few figures and paragraphs on your report tomorrow.

When Mr. Byun entered the room, all eyes immediately landed on him. He wore a black suit and his hair was gelled to reveal his forehead. W-was that an undercut? You gulped. He looked intimidating and sexy. His aura exuded power and wealth. He looked delectable tonight.

Mr. Byun was talking to some of his business partners when he saw you. You looked exquisite, he thought. He always thought you were pretty, but tonight, there was something about you that made his heart skip a beat. The dress you wore also made him feel something. Red was his favorite color and finding you wear the color of passion so elegantly drove him crazy. Before he could get even more distracted by you, he goes back with the conversation he was having with his business partners, trying so hard to look unaffected by the sight of you.

You see Mr. Byun talking to a woman a few moments later. Your mood immediately sours. The woman was all over Baekhyun. It was obvious she was flirting with him. And he was letting her! But honestly, what did you expect? He looked that good and no one would pounce on him? Impossible.

You were sipping on champagne when you noticed in your peripheral view that a tall male was approaching you.

“Hi, beautiful.”

You couldn’t help but blush. Park Chanyeol was Baekhyun’s extremely good looking friend. He comes to Privé once in a while to hang out with your boss, and every time he did, he always flirted with you. You gave him a smile and greeted him, “Mr. Park.”

“You can call me Chanyeol,” he says. “So I’ve heard you made this whole event happen.”

You blushed further. It felt good to be acknowledged for something you worked hard for. You were about to answer when someone slides his arm on your waist. You were surprised to see Mr. Byun. “Oh, Mr. Byun. I didn’t notice you.”

Mr. Byun just squeezes your waist. He looks at Mr. Park. “Chanyeol.” He gives him a warning look.

“Baekhyun.” Chanyeol says with a smirk. “The party is amazing so far. I should go around and meet up with Sehun.” He turns to you and grabs your hand. He kisses your hand and says, “Good job.” With that, he left you and Baekhyun alone.

You watch as he leaves. When he’s out of your sight, you take a look at your boss. His jaw was clenched, obviously annoyed. By what? You didn’t know.

“Stop flirting with Chanyeol.” He looks at you straight in the eyes.

“I wasn’t --”

He tsks and you immediately shut up. “Follow me, darling.” He orders.

You follow him as he rides the elevator to the top floor, right where his office is. He unlocks the door and guides you inside. Before you can ask why he brought you there, he pins you to the wall. You look up to see him staring intently at you. He looked so hot like this.

His eyes were scanning your face, trying to see if you were uncomfortable with the position. He notices you momentarily looking at his lips. He smirks. You were on the same page then.

Mr. Byun cups your cheeks and leans down to kiss you fervently. You return the kiss with equal passion. His left hand grabs your waist to pull you impossibly closer. You whimper as you feel his bulge hardening. He takes this opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth. His fingers dig into your waist as the kiss grows needier. His kisses made your knees weak, you had to grab his shoulders for support.

As if knowing what you were thinking, he grabs your ass and says, “Jump.” You were quick to oblige. He goes back to kissing you as he walks over to his table. When you are sitting on his table, he immediately goes to squeeze your breast. You lean into his touch. He detaches his lips from yours and leaves kisses on your neck. You moan in delight as he sucks on your sweet spot, all the while continuing to knead your breasts. When he was sure he left a hickey, he slowly pulled down the straps of your dress.

“Fuck, you didn’t wear a bra.”

You bite your lips seductively as you nod your head. You were driving him so, so crazy. The sight of you spread on his table, looking so desperate made him so hard.

He dives right into your chest as he sucks on your nipple while his right hand attends to the other boob. Your hands fly to his hair. You hear him moan as you tug his hair. The sound instantly makes you wetter.

“S-sir, please…”

“Please what, baby?”

“I want you in me. I need you in me.” You beg.

“Strip.” He demands.

You quickly remove your dress and your thongs. You leaned into his table, spreading your legs open to show him your desire.

“You look so good like this.” He growls. He approaches you slowly while grabbing something in his back pocket. Your eyes widened when he showed his phone. “Baby girl, can I?”

You were so lost in lust that you find yourself agreeing. He starts taking pictures of you all spread out for him. After a few shots, he goes back to kissing you. Without warning, he plunges his finger into your cunt. You moan out loud. He watches you contort your face in pleasure. He slides in another finger. You haven’t been touched for so long that the sensation was too overwhelming for you. You didn’t know when you closed your eyes, but you heard camera shutters so when you opened your eyes, you found Baekhyun with his eyes furrowed, taking photos of his fingers going in and out of your cunt. He looked so sexy, you couldn’t help but clench on his fingers.

“S-sir, please fuck me.” You moan.

His eyes snap to you at your request. He removes his fingers from your pussy and sucks on it while maintaining eye contact. He then removes his clothes until he’s naked in front of you. Your eyes roam from his eyes to his neck, abs, and finally on his big fat cock.

He lines himself at your entrance and slams his member into you. You claw at his back as he roughly thrusts into your core. “You’re so good to me, baby.” He moans.

He lifts your legs to his shoulders as he pounds into you. The new position helps him reach your g spot. You moan out loud. “That’s right, baby. Moan for me. Let Chanyeol know you belong to me.” His sinful words turned you on.

You can’t stop chanting his name, he felt so good. He was hitting you in all the right places. Within minutes, you feel the tightening of a familiar knot. He can sense that you were nearing your release with the way your cunt was clenching. You look at each other, desperate to climax. Before you could even think twice, you say, “Choke me, daddy.”

You watch as his eyes darken. He lost his pace when he heard your words. You watch as he places his hands on your neck and squeezes it, your eyes rolling to the back as he slams into you more urgently.

When Baekhyun releases his grip on your neck, you feel the rush. Everything felt so intense. “I’m about to c-cum.” You say breathlessly.

Baekhyun nods and thrusts into you at a faster pace. You could feel him twitching in you. “Come in me, daddy.” You say before he could pull out. He gulps and nods. You were driving him crazy, he didn’t know how you knew exactly what he wanted. Within minutes, you were coming. You moan out loud as you feel your release oozing out. Baekhyun follows soon after.

You were both breathing heavily after. Baekhyun pulls out and you can’t help but whimper. He pecks your lips and grabs tissues on his desk. He cleans you up and you smile gratefully at him. He helps you dress up and you help him button his suit.

“Thank you, darling.” He whispers. He kisses you on the lips and you can’t help but melt into him. Your heart was racing. You could feel butterflies on your stomach.

When he pulls away, he rests his forehead on yours and looks deeply into your eyes. You weren’t expecting what he said next, “Will you go on a date with me?”

You blush. You’ve been harboring feelings for your boss and this time he finally made a move. You smile softly at him as you say, “Yes.”

He smiles so widely, his eyes crinkling. He looked much more attractive like this. You couldn’t help but reciprocate the smile.

“I think you should thank Chanyeol. I doubt you’d ever make a move if it weren’t for him.” You tease him before going back to the party. You laugh as you heard him grunt behind you, because what you said was true.

[batbirdies]

Asymmetric Replies

AO3 link

It was late, and the gala was only about half over but Tim was maybe a little exhausted and not wanting to admit that he might not be 100% over his most recent illness. He was perfectly fine, but the residual phlegm, throat clearing, and coughing that was mild during the day tended to get more prominent at night. So he’d slipped out of the ballroom earlier than he might normally allow himself and retreated to his room, where he took off his tux and put on a hoodie and sweats and decided to just veg for the rest of the night.

The den was quiet and watching mind numbing television sounded like the best way to waste some time in the place of schmoozing the rich and famous. 

He must have drifted off, leaned back against the armrest with his eyes drooping. The next thing he was aware of was faint shuffling sounds coming from behind the couch. He figured it was Alfred, taking a short break from the event himself and checking in when he didn’t see Tim in the ballroom anymore. However, when he took a deep breath and shuffled himself to an upright position what he found was not Alfred, but Damian.

Tim blinked at the image before him, because the kid was still in his mini tux, red bow-tie in place, and he was methodically arranging a chess board that hovered near the back wall between two bookshelves. Tim stared for a bit, the voices from the tv behind him sounding more like low buzzing than words. 

It had been louder before, someone - he supposed Damian - must have turned it down.

“What are you-” Of course his voice came out in phlegm and gravel and he had to pause, clearing his throat before he finished. “What are you doing in here?”

“I have grown tired of the Gotham elite. Father excused me for an early ‘bedtime’.” While Damian didn’t look up, he still put air quotes around ‘bedtime’ and glared at the chess board with all of his derisive might. 

“Care for a game of chess, Timothy?” At this, he did finally look up.

He stiffened though when he saw Tim’s no-doubt dumbfounded look.

He quickly schooled his expression, grimacing internally at the awkward silence that followed before Tim watched whatever openness had been on Damian’s face quickly shutter away. “Sure,” he tried after a too-long pause, a twinge of guilt in his stomach at the forced blankness on Damian’s face as he turned back to the board.

“You do not have to,” he spat back, shoulders high and tense, “I am only bored and do not wish to indulge in your trash tv, as you so call it.” 

“No, it - uh, it’s a good idea. I’m bored too.” It took a moment to untangle himself from the blanket he’d wrapped up in on the couch. He left it draped over the armrest, shuffling over to the chess table. Sliding into the seat opposite Damian always felt a little bit like sitting on the other side of a police interview, with how intensely he stared, but it no longer held the underlying edge Tim used to expect. 

He’d called him Timothy, even. Which was...not entirely new, but something Tim had been noticing more and more. It wasn’t his favorite but it was definitely better than Drake, and didn’t hold any of the old animosity he was once accustomed to either.   

That didn’t mean Tim still wasn’t a little bit cautious as he watched him finish arranging the pieces. Nor did Damian’s shoulders completely lower as he set the last one in place. 

“You have first move,” he gestured lightly to Tim’s pieces as he leaned back in his chair, surveying the board. 

Tim looked down, mildly surprised to see he indeed had the white set in front of him, meaning Damian purposefully gave him the first move. It was definitely odd, he thought, as he moved his first piece, not putting that much thought into it. 

Damian normally stayed at those events until the very last one of them was finally heading back up to the private areas of the manor (usually Bruce), refusing to “give in” or something, Tim didn’t know. But it was a pattern. And here he was, taking an ‘early bedtime’ to come in here and play chess with him. The very implication of a bedtime was normally grating to Damian, as it would be to Tim.

There weren’t a lot of reasons Tim could think of that would send him up early, unless something had upset him, enough that Bruce told him to leave. Or, it was something he didn’t want the others to know about. 

“So,” he started, watching as Damian confidently made his first counter move. “These things are the worst, right?” Tim could cringe at himself. Of all the ice breakers…

Damian, however, didn’t give him a disdainful look or make a snide comment, he only sniffed haughtily and nodded. “Indeed. Father’s peers are insufferable.”

Tim glanced down at the board, doing his best to actually concentrate, knowing Damian wouldn’t take it well if he thought he wasn’t trying. Three moves later they already had two pawns in deadlock and Tim was still trying to wrap his head around how to ask without getting his head bitten off. 

Maybe it was none of his business. And Tim wondered, a little, why he was suddenly concerned; but for how Damian’s shoulders were still high and tight and he knew how the people at these things could be. He probably saw the least of it of all of them, really. Most of the sycophants who tried to talk to them instead of either ignoring them or just existing in the peripheral already knew Tim from when he was small. He’d existed in these circles for years. And not to mention he was white, and “well bred” by most of their standards. Damian had no such advantages. 

But Tim wasn’t good at the older brother thing, really, if he even considered himself one. Dick seemed to think so, though, and Cass. Even Jason sometimes made offhand comments about ‘little brothers - right Tim?’ when he was in a good enough mood. 

So maybe.

Quietly, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and glanced at the screen. He opened his text window and scanned the conversations there. No new messages.

“Dick’s asking if I’ve seen you.” He glanced up, gauging Damian’s reaction, but he only looked up in mild surprise, eyebrows raised. “Should I tell him no? Or does it matter?” Tim knew that if Damian was upset, and he hadn’t gone to find Dick, he either didn’t want to see him for some reason, or he felt like he couldn’t interrupt whatever he was in the middle of in the ballroom. Maybe he was dancing, or charming some reporter into writing the right article. 

“You may tell him whatever you wish,” was the cryptic response, as Damian looked back down, eyebrows scrunched together in concentration. Tim frowned, locking his phone and slipping it back into his pocket. 

“He’s probably just surprised you headed up early. It’s a little out of the norm, I mean.” 

Damian’s hand paused where his fingers rested just on top of his knight. “Yes well,” he said quietly, “even I grow tired of acting.”  

Tim hesitated briefly, before sucking it up and asking directly, hoping this shift in dynamic might stick. “Did somebody say something rude? Because if they were being -” He didn’t want to outright ask if someone was being racist, but it had happened before. “Bruce puts on a show but he honestly doesn’t put up with that stuff. If you tell him who it was, he’ll make sure they don’t get invited to these things anymore.” 

Damian pulled his hand away after making his move and finally looked up, expression unchanged, though the tension in his shoulders seemed to lessen. “What, exactly, do you assume was said?”

“I...I don’t know.” Tim shrugged, feeling mildly wary, like this could be a trap he hadn’t seen coming. “Most of the people at these things just suck.” He had to clear his throat at the end, residual phlegm taking that moment to come up and mangle his last word, following up with a short round of wet coughs he tried to smother into his elbow. 

Damian was frowning at him when he looked back up. “I am fine,” he said, voice a little more forceful than necessary. “I’m not sure the same can be said for you, however.” 

There was a curl of distaste to his mouth as he watched Tim make his next move, sniffling loudly and glancing around for his water that he’d left on the coffee table. Tim almost snapped something defensive back but just then there was noise outside the room

They both looked up to find Jason swinging around the doorway, tie undone and hanging loose around his neck. “This where you made off to, Gremlin?” He asked, glancing between them as he stuffed his hands in his pockets and leaned against the doorframe. 

“I do not see why that is any of your business.” Damian grumbled, reaching across the board and taking Tim’s bishop. Tim stared at it for a moment, the move computing in his head before he swore under his breath and Damian smirked. 

Jason’s heavy footsteps padded across the carpet until they stopped just next to the board. 

“This is priceless, you didn’t even change your clothes.” 

Damian looked up with a glare, eyebrows drawn low, “And I see you must have chosen to change into a second tux then.” 

Jason snorted, hiking his pant legs up before he squatted down to stared at the board at eye level, scrutinizing their game. “Nah, B sent me to find Tim and make sure he wasn’t hacking up a lung in secret. I’ll take any excuse to leave these things early. Dames, he’s gonna take your knight.” 

“Jason,” Tim held no compunction about reaching over and shoving Jason in the shoulder, knocking him off balance enough that he fell sideways, landing on his hip and holding himself up with one hand.

“I do not need your help.” Damian added for good measure, though his expression when he looked back at the board was distinctly unhappy. 

Instead of getting back up, Jason shifted until he sat cross legged on the floor. “You two are a picture.” He slipped his phone out from somewhere, Tim noticed when he glanced away from the board, and held it up, “Damian in a tux, Timmers in his pajamas, I feel like it’s a real representation of who you are as people.” 

Tim looked down, mildly concerned at the phone pointed his direction. “Are you drunk?” 

“That would explain it,” Damian mumbled under his breath. Tim let out a huff of unexpected laughter, having to suppress another cough when Jason dropped his phone back in his lap. 

“Hey, it’s the only way to get through these things. I’m sending those to Dick, by the way.” 

Tim made eye contact with Damian over the board and they both rolled their eyes. 

“So in sending you to come find me, Bruce was actually just trying to get you out of there before you embarrassed yourself.” 

Damian snickered, stifling a grin as he curled over the board a little more closely. 

“Hey now, I am not drunk, just a little tipsy, I don’t overdo it at these things, ok?” Jason pointed a finger at both of them in turn and then smirked as he leaned back on his hands. “It may have been a fool’s errand though, since Damian was already on duty.” 

Tim was ready to roll his eyes again but Damian sent a glare toward Jason and hissed, “I was merely bored.” 

“Sure you were,” Jason grinned, “no way you were concerned about recovering-little Timmy, vanishing out from under our noses.” 

Tim blinked while Damian sputtered, face going slightly red, “I am not under the impression that Drake needs a babysitter,” he finally managed to snap, glancing at Tim just in time to make fleeting eye contact before his gaze darted away again. 

“Jay,” Tim said under his breath, a warning tone to it before the other man raised a hand in surrender, picking his phone up to look at and summarily dropping the subject. 

Damian looked tense again, jaw and eyes hard as he glared at the board, refusing to look up when Tim didn’t make his next move right away. 

He almost brushed it off, letting his gaze fall back to the match...but it did make sense. It would explain why Damian left the party early, why he didn’t seem to care if Dick knew, and why he might be willing to play the part of a tired little kid to get out of there for the night. And why he was suddenly so defensive when Jason implied it. 

Tim was utterly blank for a moment, processing that. He glanced up for a second as he reached toward the board and found Damian staring at him again, before his eyes flitted back to the game between them, the tips of his ears going bright red. 

Tim was about to push his rook forward, putting Damian in check, but he veered his hand toward the other side of the board at the last second, moving his second bishop to take a pawn instead. Jason was watching again, sitting up just straight enough to see over the top of the board and when Tim looked over, he winked.

Tim felt his own face heat as he rolled his eyes a second time, leaning over the game board and swiping a wrist under his nose briefly as he let Damian take his Queen, resting his chin in his hand. 

Damian won, which was no surprise. “Ah well,” he said as he stretched over the back of his chair. Jason had eventually retreated to change out of his tux and returned in sweats and a t-shirt. He was currently lounging across the couch on his phone. 

Dick appeared just as the match was ending, clearly having showered, hair wet and a damp ring around the neck of his shirt. “Good game,” Tim said as their oldest brother wandered into the room.

“Yes,” Damian agreed with a short nod, beginning to put the pieces away in their respective boxes. “It is unfortunate you are at a disadvantage while you recover. We will be on more even footing next time.” Tim cleared his throat, suppressing a smile as Damian stood up. “I will go change.” 

He spun around in time to almost run into Dick, who quickly veered out of his path, brushing a hand over his head as Damian ducked away and out of the room. Jason peered over the edge of the couch and Tim stifled another cough as Dick fell into the chair Damian had just vacated. 

“Having fun?” He asked, obviously suppressing a smirk. 

“Shut up,” Tim went to kick him under the table and he laughed, grin spreading over his face. Tim looked away the minute it turned to something softer, fiddling with the top of the one of the game piece boxes and thinking he could probably do this if things kept on the way they were...make the whole older brother thing work.

@lilan-norah

[cacoetheswriting]

haunted - andrés de fonollosa

Warnings: mild cursing, haunted house (glimmering lights, weird noises etc.), a lil smutty but nothing too explicit Word Count: 1.2k Request By: anonymous: “Do you mind writing something Halloween-themed with him and fem!OC, maybe they’re trying to rob a house that looks like it’s haunted, and the OC starts imagining things and Andres teases her on that matter? Maybe using some prompts from the list you’ve reblogged recently: 16. ”If you say let’s split up, I swear to God.” // 17. “Did you hear that?” Something like, Halloween+weird stuff+unresolved sex tension? Or actually, anything with Berlin/fem!OC will work, so it’s totally up to you”

-

A desolate house stood before you, mouldy and overgrown with ivy. Paint crumbling, shutters hanging loose, a number of windows boarded up - everything about this place screamed haunted. 

You turned to Andrés who was a couple of steps behind, making sure no-one saw the two of you. “Are you sure this is the place?” You whispered. “Positive.” He replied swiftly and walked up to the front door, passing you. “It just doesn't look like anything valuable would still be here.” 

The older thief smirked and titled his head to meet your wandering gaze. “Is the princess scared?” He asked. You rolled your eyes but didn't respond because the truth was you were scared, terrified even. 

Taking a deep breath you joined Andrés by the front door. Explicit graffiti greeted you on the front porch. The older thief twisted the handle of the door, it creaked. The sound send shivers down your spine as the two of you took a step inside. The door slammed. You jumped startled by the sound making Andrés laugh. 

The entrance hall was airy and eerie. A large chandelier hung from the ceiling above; the missing crystal pieces broken and scattered on the ground crunching under your feet with every step you took. An uneasy breeze blew down the corridor and grasped you with a chilly touch. You glanced in that direction, drawn to the source of the gust. That’s when you saw something. A blue glimmer. 

You glanced at Andrés wondering if perhaps he saw it too but he was gone. 

Panic set in. 

“Andrés?” You hissed. No response. “Andrés where the fuck are you?” The floorboards shrieked under you marking your every move. “Andrés I swear-” Suddenly something tugged at you. A high pitched scream escaped your lips as you turned away from your attacker. 

“Relax princess, it’s just me.” 

Andrés’ arms wrapped around you, almost in a comforting way. He placed one hand at the back of your head pulling you in closer. You rested against his chest waiting for your breathing to calm. 

After a brief moment he began to pull away. Both of his hands now cupping your face which he examined with a wary look on his face. “Better?” You nodded; not really sure what to say since he was never one to provide solace or consolation. 

“Good.” He dropped his arms. “Now let’s-” “If you say let’s split up, I swear to God.” You interrupted, glaring at him. He chuckled obviously not intimated by your death stare. “I was going to say let’s try upstairs first.” 

Room by room you made your way together through the empty house. The only light illuminating your way came from the flashlight you carried. The floors got dustier the further you went. Torn wallpaper everywhere you looked, cobwebs, broken vintage furniture sloppily covered with what you presumed where once white sheets - as if someone was planning to return here but never got the chance. 

The two of you rummaged through cupboards, wardrobes, wall fixtures, and grabbed anything you deemed valuable. There were oil paintings all around - too heavy to carry around. Andrés examined each one and mentally marked their location; “I’ll come back for them when we’re done with the rest of the house.”. 

Something slammed. “Did you hear that?” You turned your head briskly to locate the source of the noise. “You’re imagining things.” Andrés brushed off your concern and walked inside the next room. You glanced down the hall for another moment before following him. That’s when you saw it again; the glow. Or did you? You shook the feeling away, perhaps Andrés is right and your mind is playing tricks on you.

You focused instead on the room you were now in. A beautiful antique wooden bed stood in the middle of the space. It was the first piece of furniture that seemed to have passed the test of time. You approached it slowly, your fingers trailed gently across the dusty comforter. 

Andrés looked at you from the other side of the room. He watched as you placed the flashlight on the bedside table and placed both hands on the mattress, pushing it down softly. The bright light enveloped around you, outlining your perfect figure. He swallowed hard. 

“Looks comfortable, doesn't it?” You didn't respond. It was as if you were in some kind of trance. You gripped the headboard with one hand, the hardwood smooth under your touch. His mind raced and he found himself imagining you on top of him, grabbing onto that wooden headboard for support, moans of pleasure escaping your sweet lips. 

You glanced up to meet Andrés’ gaze. He was now stood at the edge of the bed, only a few steps away from you. “We can’t really steal the bed you know.” He teased. “I know.” You replied with a smile. “There’s just something serene about it. Something luxurious.” Your eyes glistened. 

Andrés sauntered around the piece of furniture closer to you. He wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you in. Chest to chest the two of you stood there in the empty eerie room looking at each other. 

The weird tension circulating around the both of you made your cheeks flush red. For the first time tonight you were glad this place was so dark because it meant Andrés couldn't see the colour change on your face. Although you were certain he could feel the increase in your heartbeat as it thumped in your chest. 

It was suddenly hot. Very hot. 

His hands made their way up your sides sending a wave of electricity through you. He stopped when he reached your ribcage, his index fingers now resting just below your breasts and you cursed yourself for not wearing a bra because if he went any higher he’d definitely feel how hard your nipples were. 

The flashlight you left on the bedside table flickered. Your heart now in your chest. Your body aching. Suddenly the light cutoff completely. The room fell dark. 

You couldn't see anything, you couldn't see him, but you could feel him. You could feel him leaning in; his hot breath hitting your lips. You could feel his hands travelling further up your body and squeezing your perfectly shaped breasts. You could feel his erect member twitching through his trousers against your inner thigh. 

He was about to kiss you, give in completely to the exotic and unfamiliar force attracting him to you, but the flashlight switched back on illuminating the darkness and breaking the spell. He pulled away slowly. Both of you breathless. 

It took you a moment to compose yourself. You felt ashamed. Guilty even that you had come so close to breaking the one rule you set for yourself - don’t get involved. It seemed he felt the same because avoiding your gaze he reached around you and picked up the flickering flashlight. 

“We should go.” He stated quietly. “You were right princess, there is something creepy about this place.” He turned on his heel and walked towards the door. Sheepishly, you followed. Your heart ached as his last words ringed in your ears. 

Back in the entrance hall you took one last glance around the eerie space, down the corridor where you first seen the weird glow. But there was nothing there now. The house was still. As if the demons occupying it were leaving with you.

-

masterlist

[melaninkpopimagines]

Demon time

Admin jazzi

Word count: 1.8k

Warning: smut with no plot

You felt his hand gripping your ass, his low, slow paced breaths. You felt the motions as he jerked his left in a familiar twisting motion. You knew exactly what was goin on and you knew damn well Jaebeom was trying to wake you up.

But you weren’t giving in. Not this time. You were incredibly attracted to him. The noises he made, had you soaking through your panties. But he made it a habit of waking you up in the middle of the night, when he came home from a long day and needed to release tension. He’d rub on your booty, slip his fingers into your panties, and you usually gave in; but not this time. This time you wanted him to beg for release.

You turn over, facing away from him; and scoot away from his reach.

He lets out a breathy grown. Which makes you want to giggle; but you hold it in.

After a deep sigh, the motion from his left hand halted and he was pressed against your back.

He ran his fingers along the shape of your hips, and teased his fingers along your panty line. You healed back your moans and rolled over on your stomach, casually swatting his hand away.

“I know you’re awake y/n, baby cmon” he says nibbling on your ear. A shiver ran down your body. You felt his hard dick pressing against your ass, and you couldn’t help yourself.

“No baby, once this bonnet on, the panties stay on too.” You said, slightly pressing your ass against him and lightly grinding.

A soft gasp left his lips.

“Why are you teasing me then?” He asked, his voice slightly cracking.

“Because I feel like it.” You say as you grind a bit harder. His hand gripped your hips as he pulled you closer.

Moving away from him, You pulled the blankets above your shoulders and settled into the bed more. “Goodnight Jaebeom, I love you.”

“You can’t be serious? Baby, you can’t feel how much I need you right now?” He asked in a whiney voice. You let out a little giggle and shook your head.” Pornhub exists love, give it a try.” You said scooting further away in the large bed.

He grumbled and turned away from you.

After a few moments you heard the pornhub theme and the familiar motions began again.

After a while of working himself up, he tossed the phone aside. His hand wrapped around your waist, and he pulled you into his chest.

“Love please I’m trying to sleep.” You grumbled.

“Please baby,” he whined, “I need you so bad. The porn isn’t enough.”

“Tough luck buddy. Go to sleep.” You offered. He rubs your thigh, “if I couldn’t have you right now I wouldn’t be able to sleep.” He pouted.

A smirk stretched across your face. “Maybe you should have come home earlier.” You said sarcastically.

“Are you really upset with me for staying out? Come on baby I had a late studio session.” He whined. You shrugged your shoulders. “And I should sacrifice my beauty rest because of your studio time? What contract did I sign to jyp for that?” You commented with a snarky tone.

He groaned out frustrated, “why are you making me beg when I know you want me too.”

He moved his body closer to yours, placing his head between the crook of your neck. “I love you...I want you....I need you.” He whispered messily into your ear. A chill ran down your spine.

“I know you want me too.” He commented. “You don’t know how to take no for an answer.” You rolled your eyes, feigning aggregation.

He moved your thigh so your leg wrapped around your waist. “Can I please just have a little taste?”

“You need to do better job convincing me, cuz it’s still no.” You responded to his pleas.

His hand creeped up your thighs. His fingers snuck past your panty line and immediately began rubbing circles into your clit. “I’ll do anything to make you cum right now baby. I wanna make you feel good.” He spoke softly into your ear. You leaned your head back; and licked your lips, that had gone dry from the parted position they were in.

He teased your clit over and over again.

“I get to go shopping using your card?” You questioned. “Mhm” he mumbled sucking on your neck. “The one with no limit?” You pressed on.

He added pressure to the motions against your clit. “Baby you can literally have anything you want, just let me put my face between your thighs.”

You managed to at least pretend you were thinking about it, even though your mind was fogging and you were more than ready to say yes.

“You know I have work in the morning, I probably should go back to bed.” You teased.

He groaned grinding his hard onto your ass, and grinding in a slow pace. “Please baby, just eating you out would get me so fucking close,” he pleaded, “I need to hear your moans to cum.”

You rolled over on your back and rolled your eyes. “Let’s make it quick, okay?” You teased.

You uncovered yourself, and watched him position himself between your already spread legs.

Jaebeom sensually kissed your thighs. You bit your lip, holding back the moans that were fighting you to escape. He hadn’t even started yet but your body shuttered with excitement.

You titled your head back and tried to relax, but you couldn’t help but react every time his lips connect with the sensitive skin of your thighs, sucking hickies into your brown skin.

His fingers looped into your panties and pushed them a side.

His index finger rubbed slow circles into your clit. You hands wrapped into the bed sheets, as you moaned out loudly.

Jaebeom snickered. a smirk of satisfaction spread across his face, as he watched you squirm underneath his touch. Get to it or I can do it myself” you warned, getting impatient with his teasing.

He dove his face into your pussy. His nose rubbed against your clit, as tongue swirled inside your hole. Your fingers ran through his long dark hair, and you used his hair to work his tongue into the motions you needed.

Excitedly Jaebeom pushed your legs up into your chest began aggressively sucking on your clit, letting you guide him.

You screamed in ecstasy. Your hips bucked back and forth. You were so close you couldn’t control yourself anymore. You moaned his name.

That only made Jaebeom more eager.

Your eyes rolled back and your knees went weak. You loosely wrapped them around Jaebeom’s neck, as a hot wave of pleasure served your body. Your legs numbing to the sensation.

His face was drenched with your juices when, he emerged from between your legs.

“Y/N please let me fuck you.” He pleaded.

He slipped two fingers inside you and slowly pumped them in and out of you, his thumb circling your clit, with light pressure.

“Baby please I wanna feel you cum all over my dick.” He insisted. His voice becoming more whiney as he begged more.

You giggled and nodded your head, sitting up and getting on your knees. You pushed him onto his back, and gripped him in your hand. He moaned out as you move your hand back and forth. Your tongue swirled around the tip of his dick.

Precrum leaked from his head and you combined it with your spit. It was a wet, sticky, mess and Jaebeom loved it.

His toes curled and he moaned. After tossing your bonnet aside, his fingers roamed through the curls of your fro, occasionally gripped to push your mouth down on his dick.

“Lemme fuck your throat, y/n?” He said grinding his hips upwards.

You put your hand on his hip, to hold him back.

The way you looked up at him, drool running down your chin, the hazy glossed over look in your eyes, was driving him crazy. And the smirk on your face as you continued edging him , damn he loved when you took control; but he wanted nothing more than to push himself down your throat and make it hard for you to talk the next day.

He relaxed, knowing he wasn’t winning this time. He let you get into your own rhythm; but you worked him to the edge, just to stop and make him have to focus to keep building it up. He thought he’d scream from the pressure after you edged him 4 times, when you climbed up his body, spreading you legs to be comfortably on either side of his body.

You lined him up with your hole and slowly slid down him, rocking your hips to get him deep.

You placed your hand on this throat and squeezed lightly

Jaebeom placed his hands on your ass, gripping firmly as he lifted his legs slightly. This movement leaned you so your hands were placed on his chest. Once your arched your back, Jaebeom could start thrusting himself into you.

You threw your head back, your nails burrow into his chest.

Jaebeom knew how to speak to your body in a way no one else did. He knew the right moment to smack your ass just by your moans. He knew when to let you take control and have your way with him. He loved the way the power went straight to your head.

When you held your hand to his throat, bouncing up and down on him.

When you sat down on his dick and ground your hips slowly, your walls gripping his member, he was going to buss.

He threw his head back and moaned your name. It sent you over the edge once more. Your orgasm made your legs weak. Your body numbed, and you laid on his chest. Your body shook as you moaned through it.

Jaebeom knew it was time to take control. He held you in his arms and shifted on to his knees. He started thrusting into you, getting deeper than he’d been all night. He held your body close to his. His thrusts were slow; but with no particular rhythm. He was close.

He held your hips, Kissing and sucking on your neck. You moaned loudly, your eyes rolling back in your head.

“I love you, y/n. Baby I love you so much.” He moaned between kisses.

Finally getting feeling into your legs, you started bouncing against his rhythm.

Holding tightly to him, your body in sync. Pleasure took over. You mind hazed.

”baby I’m gonna cum.” Jaebeom moaned out. He held your body close and released inside you. You weren’t far behind him.

Jaebeom fell back and you laid on top of him. He wrapped you in his arms. Your sticky bodies meeting at every point.

Jaebeom slowly ran his hand up and down your back. As you settled into his arms and listened to him quietly humming.

After a while he began telling you about the stressful day he’d had. And of course you listened, with your head on his chest. Your fingers were intertwined.

You had to admit to him that you needed to unwind too.

[thejamesoldier]

A Single Frayed Rope

AO3 Link

Chapter 3

A/N: sorry for such a long gap between uploads, i’ve made this chapter extra long as an apology! with the pandemic and having to figure out a stable financial situation, its been super rough for me, but coming back to write this fic made me feel good for the first time in a long time :) I hope you enjoy!! xx

Chapter 4 - Horseshoe Overlook II

First order of business is to wash.

You've never been so soiled in your entire life, and you're pretty sure your stench could be picked up at least a mile off if the burn in your own nose whenever you take a breath is anything to go by. There are a million things you want to focus on besides bathing -- like finally getting some decent fucking hours of rest, but you work to pace yourself and not give in to the scattered anarchy your brain keeps descending into whenever you let it go blank for too long. Breaking off small pieces of a larger horror is the only way you're keeping yourself sane at the moment. The previous hold you had on your impulses is frayed down to nothing now that the ropes are gone and you have the freedom to do things as simple as itch your nose. It makes you twitchy, off-kilter in a way that sometimes yanks you out of your own mind. It's like pushing with all your might against a wall of stone that suddenly turns to air. It's a reaction you weren't expecting, and its exhausting.

One of the girls -- or women you should say, volunteers to take you down to a river near by to wash. Freckles. Pinned curls. Kind. Mary-Beth, your memory supplies as she leads you to a secluded spot away from what she warned was a more heavily traversed part of the bank.

You say nothing on the hike down the hill the gang has mounted itself atop of, though Mary-Beth doesn't attempt much conservation. Arthur, who at first had out right refused to let Mary-Beth go anywhere unescorted with a 'wild crazy woman', eventually relented after receiving a firm but undecipherable look from Hosea. It was an effort on your part to care even a little, all you wanted was to fucking clean yourself, rebuffing the disrespect of a man who had no high-horse to give any sort of morality speeches from was the least of your concerns.

"Watch your step here, the ground's a little loose," Mary-Beth warns as she lifts the front of her dress up a respectable amount in order to see where to place her feet.

Again you say nothing, only follow her example and lift the filthy hem of your own skirt and try to walk in her footprints across the patch of mud. You hug your change of clothes tighter to your side (those of which were donated by Mary-Beth this time) with your other hand as you both slowly make your way out of the slippery vat, and onto a shore of grey pebbles. Thick green growth encases you two in a private alcove where the river branches off in a tame half-circle detour before rejoining its main body down stream. The sound of the bubbling water, birds chirping in the canopy above you, and the sun splintering through gossamer emerald leaves would have made you smile in any other circumstance. Nature this untouched is rare and beautiful yet you can't find it in yourself to care, there is no room in you to feel joy right now. It's all instinct and survival, you feel so...rabid. Maybe feral is a better word for it. You simply don't feel all that in control of yourself, like if something unexpected were to happen, you'd react like a wild animal -- fight or flight and nothing inbetween.

In all honesty you feel a bit crazy. There is this buzz in your brain that peaks when you're nervous but never quite dies back down when you're not, it only returns to this constant unnerving hum that's begun to reveal itself as an opposing force to your effort towards a clear present mind.

"Um, Miss?"

It underlies everything you do, like you're getting constant shots of adrenaline every minute. This excess energy burns like poison in your veins and you know it'll sicken you eventually, but even if you wanted it to stop, you wouldn't know how to turn it off.

"Miss? Are, are you okay?"

It's a sign you're spiraling but hell if you have any mental space to pick at that particular ball of yarn on top of everything else. And holy fucking hell I time traveled --

"Y/n?" Mary-Beth's voice echoes a little over the noise of your turmoil, and you find yourself unsure if you turned to face her too fast or too slow as your vision swims.

Time violently warps then and you're grasp on sanity in turn takes a sharp slip -- the world is suddenly tipping itself upside down and you're falling, falling, falling...

You try to remember how to breathe because suddenly you can't.

"Wait," The word wheezes itself from your lungs as your mouth opens and closes in attempt to slog air down your throat, "Wait,"

Mary-Beth pales and you know you're scaring her, and if you could you would try to reassure her that you're fine but you honestly can't remember how to speak --

"Wait!"

-- so you continue to stand there and shake, repeating a sound that tastes like a word but you're not sure --

"Wait! Wait!"

Mary-Beth stands there another beat before making a run for it. She sprints by you the way you both came, and the second you're alone you collapse to the ground, knees digging into the pebble shore through the soiled fabric of your dress, fresh change of clothes forgotten as both of your hands start to claw at your throat, trying to breath -- why can't I breathe ?!

"Wait!"

As you gasp and hyperventilate, struggling to remember where you are and how you got here, it dawns on you that what you feel crawling under your skin and suffocating your throat is panic. You're...you're panicking. You thought you were taking this nightmare one horrible bite at a time why -- where did this tsunami wave of panic come from? You were doing so well holding it back, holding on, why --

Firm hands are suddenly gripping your shoulders and it takes you too long to realize that there is a small group of people standing around you, above you, closing you in, trapping you -- you're trapped who are they what do they want ?!

Your vision blacks out though you can still feel things, still hear things though it comes to you in disconnected pieces, out of order.

"WAIT!" You cry into the black, voice hoarse and broken as you try to breathe around the sound that won't stop coming from your mouth, your face feels wet, "WAIT!"

--

Kieran was shaken when Mary-Beth -- a complete worried mess -- discreetly came up to him at camp, whispering about Y/n being unwell by the river. And now as he slips through a patch of mud before forcefully parting thick shrubs into a small alcove, he sees her kneeling on the ground, hands at her own neck, struggling to breathe. Kieran's heart plummets down to drop out of the bottom of his feet.

"Y/n?!" He goes to his knees in front of her and grabs her shoulders, resisting the urge to shake her. Mary-Beth keeps her distance, covering her quivering mouth at the scene.

"WAIT!" Y/n yells, though it comes out as more of a hoarse whisper then a scream.

"Y/n! It's me! It's -- it's Kieran! You remember me?"

"What do you all want?! Who are you?! Why are there so many of you?!"

Kieran and Mary-Beth exchange a look, its only the two of them in the clearing. No one followed them down.

"Th-there's no one else but Mary-Beth an' me, see look! Just me right here in front of you -- there you go, see its just me, you see me? Then look, behind me, right there, see Mary-Beth?" Kieran coaxes gently, watching the logic he's laying out for her slowly collect the mania that scattered the sense in her eyes.

--

Realization dawns on you at the same time your sight returns. You let Kieran carefully take a hold of your wrists and pull them away from the red abused skin of your neck. You let him ground you, you let yourself acknowledge sensation one piece at a time: the pain in your knees from the pebbles digging in, the ache in your head, the raw skin of your back, the dryness of your throat, the burn in your tearducts -- and suddenly, before you can bottleneck it into a trickle, the whole world comes rushing in on you at once.

The smell of moist dirt, the sound of running water, the warmth of the sun, the caress of the wind against your wet cheeks, the privacy provided by all the surrounding vegetation. But even with all this reality, the figures remain. You're scared to look up, scared to stare at anything but their feet. Kieran's voice is getting more desperate though, you have to look up -- have to let him see you're recovering. With a shaky in take of breath you raise your gaze so it lands squarely on Kieran. In your peripherals these...figures, don't do anything but stand there. In fact they don't speak, don't move, don't even look like they're breathing. As Kieran fusses over you, his voice slightly muted as the ringing in your ears refuses to recede completely, you chance a glance over his left shoulder. As soon as you shift your eyes over to the figures they disappear, or more like blur, like its a trick of the light. You can still see them in your peripherals, just not the ones you're trying to look at directly. You slide your eyes back to Kieran, and notice that the figures you just tried to look at reappear.

Your breath struggles to find a comfortable rhythm as this new horror piles onto your fresh panic. Have you lost your mind? Is this part of time traveling? God, like time traveling wasn't enough to stop your heart, now you see ghosts?  

"Breathe, you're breathing that's good -- in through the nose out through the mouth, that's it," Kieran instructs, attempting to not to let you look away from him again, his hands gentle where they cup the outsides of your arms helping to dictate the pace in which your shoulders rise and fall.

You let out a shuttering breath and watch Kieran's own chest fill and empty, trying your best to match his movements. Eventually you do manage to wrangle your palpitating heart back down to a normal rhythm, and with this steadier beat comes your sense. The figures remain, though once you close your eyes to take one last large inhale to truly settle yourself, they're gone when your lashes lift again. Your hands are clutching the outsides of Kieran's forearms and you release them instantly, as if burned. A flush of embarrassment rises up to lick at the skin of your neck, it heats up your collar as you try to give Kieran a reassuring smile that ends up being more of a grimace than anything else. Kieran's face, previously pinched tight with worry, relaxes though so you figure you calmed him enough. The guilt hits you like a sledgehammer when you catch sight of Mary-Beth over Kieran's shoulder standing a few steps away, looking for all the world like she'd seen a ghost.

You wonder if that's what you looked like when you first saw the figures. You hope it was less alarming, though you figure having a full blown panic attack negated any possibility of that.  

"Y/n?" Kieran says softly, hands no longer touching you but still hovering just in case. The guilt guts you again.

"I'm fine," You murmur through a tight throat. At the doubtful look Kieran gives you, you add, "Now, I'm fine now."

You shift your gaze back to Mary-Beth and feel your cheeks heat at the realization that at your most vulnerable you were watched, made a spectacle.

"I'm sorry if I scared you, I-I didn't mean to, I, I haven't ever -- that's never happened to me before," Comes your wobbly explanation, all heart and no thought.

Mary-Beth hesitates a beat, taking a visible gulp to steady herself, before making her way closer only to kneel down beside Kieran in front of you. You flinch at the proximity, shame weighing your head down so much it lowers.

"I was only worried is all, didn't know what to do to help," She starts, voice shaky but kind, always kind, "I'm glad I went to get Kieran."

"Thank you, it -- I'm grateful for your, um, discretion."

"Sure thing, Miss," Mary-Beth nods, a soft smile lifting one corner of her mouth.

"Y/n, you can call me Y/n."

"Okay," She says with a breathy laugh, still a little shaken but being incredibly generous about it as she attempts to hide it.

There's a pause where you knot your fingers together, gathering the courage to face Kieran.

"Thank you Kieran, I --,"

"No thanks necessary," Your face jerks up at him at his words, his face goes soft at your surprise, "My Ma used to...worry, like that, after my Pa died."

"O-Oh." You mumble, utterly overwhelmed but you're not sure by what.

Silence throbs between you three for another moment before a twig cracking in the distance snaps all three of you out of your shared stillness.

'I-I best get cleaned up or the whole gang will think I murdered Mary-Beth," A nervous laugh catches in your throat, the muscle and delicate skin over it sore and red from all the scratching you did to it.

"Right," Kieran says, remaining kneeling with you as Mary-Beth rises to a stand.

You stare at Kieran for a moment, waiting for him to process what you said.

"Right!" Kieran's voice cracks as it finally sinks in and in a mad scramble that makes Mary-Beth giggle, he makes his way back through the brush leading back to camp.

He slips in the bit of mud on his way out of the alcove and this time, you join Mary-Beth in a timid laugh at Kieran's expense.

--

After washing yourself with a bar of crudely made soap Mary-Beth provided you, you slip into your shift and frock trying not to shiver. It takes you so long to figure out how to tie yourself in, guessing what layer goes under what, that Mary-Beth -- who had washed and dressed too -- approaches you to help.

"Still feeling...worried?" Mary-Beth uses the same term Kieran did when describing your panic attack as she steps up behind you to tie the strings of your skirt properly. You're grateful she attributes your lack of knowledge on how to properly dress in these period clothes to you still being a bit unsettled.

I mean you still feel quite shaken, but you have your nerves under control -- steady.

"I'm much better now, thank you," You assure as she gently turns you around to then adjust the frilly collar of the blouse that's been lent to you, "Thank you Mary-Beth, for everything."

She slows her ministrations for a moment and lets her gaze drops to yours, the weariness that sat in her eyes earlier fully evaporates, like mist under the high noon sun.

"You're a good woman, I think, at least no worse than the sort I'm familiar with. We shall be friends, Y/n."

"Okay," You allow, unsure what else you could say to that, though the sentiment does lighten the weight in your chest a little.

You guess she's okay to trust at least on some level, she was the one who regularly fed Kieran and you when you were still considered prisoners. Never tossed curses or insults at you either.

"Come," She urges as you both collect your soiled garments off the ground, "Let me introduce you to the other ladies, I promise they're much kinder than you might be expecting. Even the men, though a bit rough I admit, are mindful of us at the very least and quite sweet at their best."

You doubt you'll ever see them that way, in fact you'd bet your life on it, but you keep that to yourself as Mary-Beth leads you both out of the alcove and back up to camp.  

--

The other women aren't too bad.

Tilly is young and sparky, Karen is loud and lonely, Abigail is protective and torn, Susan is stubborn and proud, Molly is insecure and loyal, and Sadie is broken and hard. You match your personal interactions with them, with the impressions you had of them while tied up, reminding yourself to never forget everything they did or said to you while you were the enemy. They take to you easily enough you suppose, though Sadie keeps to herself and Susan -- or you should say Grimshaw, believes herself a level above them all. Not unlike Molly who hadn't even spared you a glance from the perch she'd claimed in Dutch's tent planted in the center of camp. Mary-Beth seems closest with Tilly, Karen, and Abigail, absolutely determined to pull you into their tight knit group and brush off any doubts they had about you being an O'Driscoll whore. You allowed her to do this but only to an extent and only out of respect for Mary-Beth, you didn't trust them -- barely trusted them to be civil like they are being now. In the end it was Kieran who you felt safest with, felt like you could really breathe around. The only ally you had in this place -- an equal.

You seek him out once the sun starts to set after kindly refusing Mary-Beth who offered a place for you to rest with the other women. Kieran is with the horses, though he's got his eyes on the tree line opposite of where he stands. With a twang of worry at how focused he is, you follow his line of sight but only see tree trunks and shadows cast by the setting sun.

"Kieran?" You call tentatively as you walk up to him. He jumps, completely startled, and whips around to face you.

"Oh! Y/n I, I didn't hear you,"

Your eyebrows knit at his expression, "Is something wrong?"

"No! No, I was just, uh, waiting for something."

"Waiting? Waiting for what?"

"Well, my - my horse, Branwen, she's -- well she's quite a loyal girl. Found me at Colter she did and followed us down from the mountains, saw her when we was walkin' behind the wagon. She hasn't had the nerve to approach the camp, what with all the noise and the unfamiliar herd of horses millin' about."

"I didn't know horses were that loyal," You say in quiet astonishment, you always thought that kind of stuff only happened in those cheesy horse flicks.

"Oh yes! If you treat them right and earn their trust and respect, they'll do almost anything for ya."

Your eyebrows jump lazily at this, "Go figure."

"What?" Kieran asks, confused at the term.

"Uh nevermind, so, have you a found a place to sleep?"

"Sleep?" His throat sounds dry all of a sudden.

You stay silent, waiting patiently for a response, wondering why he's become so skittish. He licks his lips, maybe a nervous habit, and can't seem to look you in eye.

"Well, yes I have, but surely Mary-Beth has found you somewhere suitable."

"I don't trust any of them to not kill me in my sleep."

Kieran backs up a step as if you'd struck him, "Mary-Beth wouldn't --,"

A harsh huff blows from your lips.

"No she wouldn't. I, I don't feel like I could sleep among so many...strangers." Comes your quiet admission.

Kieran observes your face for a moment, really takes in your expression.

"I know how you feel," He pauses, fiddling with his sleeve cuff, "How about you sleep while I watch?"

Your head snaps up and you eye him with potent suspicion, but before you can comment or become truly alarmed Kieran trips over himself to clarify.

"N-Not watch you! Not like that! Christ alive no, m-more like watch your back -- stand guard, that way you can sleep without havin' to worry."

Something very close to amused fondness rolls through your chest and clears out any doubts on Kieran's intentions. A giggle escapes your lips at how flustered he is at the notion of what you'd initially thought he meant.

"How about we take turns, I sleep for half the night, and then you for the rest? That way we both get sleep without having to freak out."

Kieran looks like he's about to argue, but he watches you place your hands on your hips very very deliberately, and relents with a sigh.

"Oh alright, but I have first watch!"

You break out a triumphant smile, a real one, and give his left shoulder a friendly punch.

"Deal!" You confirm.

Kieran rubs at the place where you punched him, a bit confused at the gesture but still finds himself laughing with you.

It turns out Kieran picked a sleeping spot near the outskirts of camp behind one of the wagons far from where anyone would disturb you. Some sort of campfire set up for whoever was on guard duty sits a couple paces away. The fact that there was a twenty-four hour patrol routine frayed on your nerves more than you wanted it to. It reminded you that these people were hunted, that if something were to happen you'd be caught up in it as well, even be killed because of it. The idea of dying for these people made you sick, but you never let yourself think about it too long or your anxiety rose to dangerous levels.

As you settle down on the bed of hay that serves as your bed, Kieran plops down cross legged behind you.

He gives a weary sounding sigh, "You know folk'll talk, with us sharing the same sleeping space an all. You sure you want to deal with that?"

You twist around, finding yourself staring at Kieran's hunched back as he picks at the grass near his ankles.

"I don't care what these people think of me. They can say whatever the fuck they want," Kieran jumps a bit when you curse, "I trust you, I only care what they say if you care Kieran."

A pregnant pause grows between you two then, something cold twinges in your chest.  

"Do you? Care?"

"I care only for what might be said about you, I know you say it don't matter, but we're already hated. The women at least seem to like you, you -- you could be one of them, be part of the gang I mean."

You sit up and put a hand on Kieran's shoulder, gently urging him to turn to face you.

"Kieran you have been my only ally since all this started, I could care less about being part of this," You wave your hand vaguely to the camp.

"Well you should care, what other option do we have? We know too much about them, we can't ever leave. You understand that don't you?"

Your face begins to drain of blood. For some reason you hadn't thought of it like that. These people weren't just hunted, but they hunted as well. You knew their faces, could identify them if asked to. You knew their names, their habits, their whereabouts. They'd never let you leave this gang, not alive.

"Oh my god," You say in quiet horror.

Kieran notices this but remains silent, sharing your sentiments. The need to travel back to your time becomes even more of a priority than before if that's even possible. You needed to find a way to escape, and hopefully you could help Kieran get free too.

"We'll find a way Kieran, I promise I'll get us out."

Kieran firmly shakes his head, turning back to face forward and away from the determination in your eyes.

"There's no where for me to go even if we did manage to escape without bullets in our backs. I have no money, no trade, no skills."

"You've said you're good with horses!" You try but Kieran only shakes his head again.

"You have to have some sort of reference or be known to be respectable to work at a stable, even one in a town and especially on one of them fancy ranches. Plus I'd wager that by the time we would have the means to escape, our faces'll be plastered up on wanted posters along with the rest of the gang's."

You try not to blanch further at this, not having considered that either.

"We have to try and work our way into this gang Y/n, its either that or die. I know this kinda life, done it before, I know our options and I'm tellin'em to ya now."

Kieran shifts to look at you over his shoulder, his gaze insisting things you don't want to hear.

"It's the only way."

There's a sting in your eye that you swiftly ignore by blinking hard against the feeling. Your breath shutters out through your nose, and without another word you lie back down. Kieran watches you do this, his mouth parting as if to speak but he shuts it and turns back around. Silence reigns once more, a gap stretching between you that's worrisome. Keeping the nerves out of your tone, you promptly break the quiet.

"What did you do when they took you to the O'Driscoll hideout to convince them to let you be part of the gang? What did you say to try and convince them of my innocence? You seemed so sure you could untie me when you came back." You ask in a murmur, having been wondering about this since Kieran came rushing back to you tied to the tree, whispering about being free now.  

Kieran shifts a bit and huffs, "Well I first swore I'd never seen you until you were being tied next to me behind that wagon in Colter, but they didn't believe me. So I then said that Colm didn't usually stick with one whor -- uh, lady of loose morals, that he liked, er, variety. They again said they didn't believe me, so I told them the truth. Any woman Colm spends a night with usually doesn't come out of it unmarred."

"Unmarred?" Something in your gut sinks in horror.

"They always leave pretty roughed up. He's not, he's not gentle with 'em. And I said that if you was his, if he had...acquainted himself with you and often enough for you to know some of his personal secrets, you'd have been in a much worse state than they originally found ya in."

"You mean besides being naked and freezing to death?" You scoff, disgusted with this Colm person and starting to understand why everyone in camp seemed to hate Kieran and you so much thinking you associated with that kind of man.  

Kieran clears his throat, "Besides that."

There's a pause, then, "Forgive my lack of delicacy, but you were found n-naked? Why? If you don't mind my askin' of course!"

You manage to choke out, "It's a long story."

"How did, how did they take you back to camp?"

"I don't know, all I know is that Arthur is the one who saved me. Though I wish he'd left me to die instead of bringing me here."

"Mr. Morgan saved you?" Kieran asked in disbelief.

"Yeah," You confirm rather sourly, "The one who doesn't seem to have a merciful bone in his body."

"Well I'm not dead because I shot an O'Driscoll and saved his life at Six Point."

You take a moment to consider this information.

"Owing a life debt is not the same as mercy." Comes your stubborn rebuff, refusing to give Arthur even an inch of sympathy in your mind.

The both of you quiet again, and this time the silence isn't heavy with unspoken words. Just before you're about to fall asleep, you find the extra fabric of Kieran's coat with your fingers, and twist the rough material into your closed hand. Your dreams consist of a warm chest pressed to your front and the worn fur lining of a coat wrapped around your back, a pocket of safety tucked between an arched neck and a stiff flipped up collar...

--

You wake to the noise of the camp, birds twittering high in the trees, and Kieran's jacket laying over your body that's curled tightly in on itself during the night.

With a sore grunt you sit up, body still aching from all the abuse its been through. Kieran hadn't woken you, he'd let you sleep through the whole night. You feel a flare of guilt and frustration rise in you, followed quickly though by begrudging fondness. You should have known he'd do something like that, the softie. Getting to your feet, you wipe the stray pieces of hay stuck to your skirts off and groan internally at how uncomfortable it is to sleep in these old fashion clothes (thank god they hadn't stuck you in a corset). Though its leagues better than nodding off tied to a tree. Once you make your way into camp proper, Mary-Beth bumbles up to you all smiles and simmering questions about how you slept last night while leading you to a wooden pail that she informs holds the water the women use for their personal hygiene.

"Heaven forbid we're made to share with the men!" She exclaims good-naturedly as you approach the mini bathing station set on a stool by the women's tents.

You watch Karen finish splashing water in her face before scrubbing and rinsing her teeth. She spits the water out onto the grass beside her and not back into the pail (which you are grateful to see), then scoots over with a mumbled good morning directed at you when Mary-Beth ushers you forward to do the same. You hope that you can get your hands on some soap that is possibly softer against your skin than what you used yesterday by the river. If you don't wash your face twice a day you know you'll break out, and though acne should be the least of your concerns right now, the familiar motion of splashing water on your face pushes the domestic thought to the forefront of your mind. As you dab your face dry with a clean cloth that Mary-Beth hands you, distractedly you wonder if the water you are using was cleaned or prepped in any way. Surely washing your face with river water wouldn't do your skin or your tastebuds any favors. Fighting a grimace, you scrub and then rinse your teeth but find that while the water doesn't taste like algae as you feared it might, it doesn't taste like the bottled water you have in your fridge at home either.  

Once you're done, you thank Mary-Beth for her guidance and are about to turn to go find Kieran, when Karen appears at your right and hooks her arm through yours, pulling you over to their tent where a small crude vanity is set up.

"Do you wear makeup Y/n?" Karen asks, "Only Mary-Beth, Tilly and I use this station, though Grimshaw likes to sometimes steal the face powder and pretend she's not wearing any, the old hag."

You don't know what to say, a bit shell-shocked at the familiarity they're employing, as you catch a glimpse of Molly across camp, just a step outside of Dutch's tent, carefully applying red lipstick. She brings the pretty little decorated hand held mirror she's using closer to her lips to inspect her work, turning her face slowly from side to side, utilizing the early morning sun's soft glow.

"Uh, sometimes," You start but quickly backtrack when you realize you know nothing about the makeup from whatever time period this is, "But not enough to really know how to do it myself, my --,"

"Yourself?" Karen interrupts, Mary-Beth and her both stilling in their fussing to face you, "You mean you had someone to do it for you? What, you some kind of heiress or somethin'?"

The questions make you nervous, but you school your features so as to not let that show.

"No, nothing like that. My older sister did it for me, she always liked to dress me up in things." You lie.

"Oh a sister? That must be nice, what's she like?" Mary-Beth asks, not unkindly.

Fuck.

"Like all older sisters I guess, she's nice until I borrow her stuff without asking." It's vague but believable, you hope it convinces them.

Karen lets out a snort and Mary-Beth shakes her head with a smile.

"Sounds about right," Karen says as she directs you to sit.

"I-I really don't think make-up is necessary," You warn as Karen begins to rummage through the little that's laid out in front of you.

"Lord's sake! We need to get into town, we've got barely nothin' left that didn't freeze to sludge up in Colter!" Karen grumps, completely ignoring you and continuing to search finger through the tiny bottles and tin trays.

Mary-Beth laments Karen's statement with a sigh, neatly pinning a curl up into the mass she'd collected into a bouquet near the crown of her head, using a corner of the mirror you've been sat in front of as a guide.

"Uncle was sayin' yesterday that he'd been meaning to go into town today, maybe we can catch a ride with him." Mary-Beth suggests.

Karen rolls her eyes, "Let's hope that out of us women, one of us can drive. I wouldn't trust that ol' geezer to steer a spoon into a bowl."

You're about to once again attempt to excuse yourself and look for Kieran, when Tilly walks up to the girls and you with a distinct scowl on her face. She plops down under the awning of the tent, pulls out some sort of sewing project and sets to work without a word.

"What's wrong Tilly?" Karen inquires almost as soon as Tilly had sat down, ignoring her show of clearly wanting to be left alone.

"Grimshaw." Is Tilly's only response though this seems to be explanation enough for both Karen and Mary-Beth, they both groan in sympathy.

"If you don't want to wear any make-up, let me at least do something with your hair," Mary-Beth pleads, turning back to you, as Karen elbows you off the stool when you duck away from her hand holding some sort of powder puff.

"Um,"

"Just a brush through then? Your hair is, well it's just a bit tangled." She furthers as Karen leans in close to the mirror and starts putting on what seems to be this era's version of eyeliner.

"A bit? It looks like rats have taken up occupation in there." Karen scoffs as she holds her eyelid taught with one finger and uses her other hand to drag a fine brush along her lash line.

"Karen!" Mary-Beth admonishes as Tilly giggles down into her sewing across the tent.

You only sigh, still uncomfortable with them pretending like they didn't all hate your guts a couple days ago. Except for Mary-Beth. You sigh.

"Okay." Your surrender is met with a wide grin from Mary-Beth.

"Mary-Beth loves to do hair," Karen explains unnecessarily as she moves onto her other eye.

You're then sat on a different stool facing out towards camp, and Mary-Beth begins the long grueling process of brushing out your hair that hasn't seen shampoo in over a week and a half.

--

It's around mid-morning when Mary-Beth finally finishes with your hair. You're a bit surprised she stuck with it, you thought after about twenty minutes with only a small portion of your hair untangled to show for it she'd give up. But she was oddly determined. Karen and Tilly had gone to ransack Pearson's wagon in search of breakfast and brought back a few loaves of bread with a can of peaches. They laid the pre-cut slices of fruit heaviest with juice over the loaves of soft bread they'd thumbed open. It was delicious. After a week of only eating crumbs it was comparable to heaven. Once you finish, you ask if there is any left that you could take to Kieran.

"The O'Driscoll?" Karen scoffs, licking her fingertips clean of peach juice.

All previous good will she'd been building with you disappears. They had all watched as Kieran and you suffered and did nothing. A fuzzy memory of Karen tossing a still lit cigarette bud in Kieran's face resurfaces and it sours your frown into a hateful scowl. These women are not your friends, a part of you feels ashamed you let them trick you into thinking that, even for a moment.

"He is not an O'Driscoll."

Karen, Mary-Beth, and Tilly freeze at your tone, Karen seeming at a loss for words at the look you're giving her. All previous levity dives into insufferable tension.

"Sorry," Karen apologizes in a voice very unlike the brash snark she'd been using all morning.  

You don't say another word, you only collect the last loaf of bread, the near empty can of peaches, and storm off in search of Kieran.

You find him coming out of the treeline near where the gang's horses graze, with a new horse in tow. Kieran has a smile on his face. As you make your way over to him, avoiding contact with anyone else, you realize you've never actually seen Kieran smile before. This time Kieran sees you coming and the grin on his face grows, it warms your heart, reminding you who your true friend is.

"Is that Branwen?" You ask through a smile of your own, walking around the herd to one of the hitching posts near the hay wagon Kieran is making his way over to.  

"It is!" Kieran replies as he gently guides his horse to stop before the post, giving her dirty mane a loving pat, "Been coaxin' her to me all morning."

"She's pretty," You offer as you come to stand next to him, being careful not to move too fast, unsure how to handle yourself so close to a horse.

"Oh she looks like a two cent nag with all the filth she's got collected in her coat."

"Well I can tell from the," You gesture with the peach can towards the mare, "Colorings, that she'll be super cute when she's all clean."

Kieran blinks furiously at the terms 'super' and 'cute', but you rush into another sentence in the hopes of distracting him from your odd terminology.

"I brought you breakfast," You present the bread and the peach can to him.

He looks down at your offerings and only stares, "That's kind of ya, but where did you get it? Did Pearson give it to you?"

You shake your head, "The women shared it with me."

Kieran stares at you for a moment, then blinks up at your hair, seeming to just know realize it isn't in knots anymore.

"Oh," He says dumbly, "Oh."

"So, breakfast?" You say again, trying not to laugh.

"I should really care for Branwen first," Kieran begins to say but trails off at the look on your face.

"Thanks for waking me up last night to switch guard shifts," You muse, rolling the peach can between your fingers. Kieran's eyes drop to watch the motion and he gulps, "Really appreciate waking up feeling like a worthless friend."

You know you're going hard on the guilt trip, but you can't help it. He's easy to tease but you are truly peeved he didn't wake you.

"We had an agreement Kieran," One more moment and --

"Okay I'm sorry!"

There it is.

"I knew you wanted me to wake you up to switch, but I couldn't help it! You looked so tired, I just couldn't do it." He whines.

You pretend to ponder on this, shifting your weight to sit in one hip.

"I'll only forgive you if you eat first, then you can care for Branwen."

Kieran looks so genuinely torn by this you almost relent, but he caves before he makes you feel guilty and grabs the food from you. You stay, wanting to make sure he eats it all.

"Wait!" You cry as he stuffs the entire loaf into his mouth.

He startles and stares wide eyed at your outstretched hands.

"You're supposed to put the peaches on top," You pout, "That way the juice sinks into the bread and it isn't too dry."

Kieran only shrugs at this, chews the bread for another moment before swallowing (though you feel like he should have chewed a mouthful that big a bit longer; seriously that must have hurt going down), before sticking his fingers into the can to scrape out the last few slices of peach. You roll your eyes at this.

I guess men will be men no matter the time period.

"Okay I'm done, can I wash Branwen now?" Kieran asks your permission, though you suspect this is done more out of fond spite than anything else.

You find yourself rolling your eyes yet again as you snatch the can from him, and answer him anyways, "Yes."

Kieran gives you a quick thanks before rushing back over to Branwen, cooing at her sweetly, before starting to remove the weather worn saddle from her back. You place the can by your feet, ready to sit down in the grass and watch Kieran for the rest of the afternoon, even offer to help though you don't the first thing about cleaning a horse, when someone clears their throat behind you. You swivel your head over your shoulder and find that its Mary-Beth. She looks sheepish at best, guilty at worst. The softness in you hardens.

"Um me and the girls were wonderin' if you wanted to ride into town with us," She waves a hand towards the main entrance of camp and you see a wagon hitched and ready to go. Karen and Tilly are sitting in the back looking at you across camp, while the elderly man they called Uncle and Arth --

"I'm fine." You decline automatically when you spot Arthur sitting on the driver's bench next to Uncle, fiddling with the reigns.

Mary-Beth pauses, her expression tensing like she had expected that response. You hear all the noise behind you quiet, you know Kieran has turned around to listen.

"And usually that'd be fine an' all but, we need to get you clothes of your own, seeing as you can't keep borrowin' ours." You must make some sort of face because she steps forward, voice thin with nerves, "We don't mind! It's just we don't have many outfits to spare, it'd be more laundry, more work. Plus we wanna put what money we have left together to get you something to wear of your own."

"I don't need your charity," You snarl before you can stop yourself. If they think a new dress is going to make up for almost two weeks of torture --

"That's not what this is! It's..." She sighs in frustration, though you have a feeling she's not frustrated with you.

"They're tryin'," Kieran murmurs behind you suddenly. Mary-Beth looks up at this and for a startling moment you think she might cry.

"Yes, we're tryin'," She says on an exhale, giving Kieran such a profound look of gratitude it makes you consider her offer, "An' we don't know your sizes, or we'd save ya the trouble of the trip. Though, we thought you might like an afternoon out of camp."

Before you can put the pieces together yourself, Kieran crouches down to get eye level with you and bumps your shoulder with his.

"This is good Y/n, it's a sign of trust. They're lettin' you outta camp." He tells you softly, meaning the words for your ears only. The look he had in his eyes last night reappears now, it makes you want to hit something.

Your gaze gravitates back to Arthur sitting in the driver's seat, smoking with his hat tilted low over his eyes and looking for all the world like a hero straight out of one of those old western movies. He resolutely doesn't look your way even though the entire rest of the wagon, including Uncle, are staring unabashedly at Mary-Beth and you.

"It's not a sign of trust," You whisper, turning your head towards Kieran so only he can hear you, "It's a test."

Without another word you rise to your feet, trying not to wince at the ache still present in your back.

"If I go then Kieran gets to come too." You state firmly -- nonnegotiable.

"Of course!" Mary-Beth agrees quickly.

Kieran makes his way back to Branwen though, who had been standing so patiently behind you this whole time, and begins to lead her towards the water pails kept by the herd.

"I'm staying," He says, and at your look of minor betrayal he adds, "Gotta clean up my girl, plus I'd have nothin' to do in town."

You know he's only saying that to avoid conflict, because no matter what Mary-Beth agrees to, you have a feeling Arthur wouldn't approve of both O'Driscolls coming along. Your bitterness grows distinctly more potent. Your heart clenches painfully in your chest when Kieran gives you an encouraging smile, nodding his head towards Mary-Beth urging you to go.

"I'll be fine, now go!" He says when you refuse to move still, unsure if you can.

This was in part about sticking with your ally yes, but also you didn't feel safe going with them if Kieran wasn't by your side. Who's to say Arthur wouldn't suddenly decide to beat you even though he'd chosen not to before? You didn't know him, didn't know them. You only trusted them to do what they'd always done, and that was be cruel and unfeeling towards you. Mary-Beth less so than the others but still. Arthur terrified you the most out of all of them. He had such anger in him, the kind that made a man destructive to himself and others. Whatever other complexities he might have, he is undoubtedly dangerous and that's the last thing you wanted to defend against right now.

"She'll go," Kieran says for you when you remain quiet.

Your eyes close as you struggle to contain the knot of emotion roiling in your gut.

"Okay," Mary-Beth murmurs, unsure.

"When I get back," You say, voice low, as you turn to face Kieran, "I'll want to see Branwen in all her glory."

Kieran gives you a ghost of the smile he'd had earlier, and nods in acquiesce.

Without another word you pivot on your heel and walk towards the wagon, brushing past Mary-Beth. You hear her scurry to catch up with you after a few beats, though you make sure to keep your eyes down at the ground as you approach the wagon, unable -- or more like unwilling, to let anyone see the riot of emotion wrecking havoc in your eyes. Once you reach the lip of the wagon Mary-Beth waits for you to climb up, before hauling herself up too. You sit on the right bench across from Karen and Tilly, Mary-Beth sliding in next to you.

"I can't believe we're going to see civilization," Tilly suddenly starts as Arthur snaps the reigns and the wagon jerks forward, "It feels like weeks since we did."

"Yeah, Valentine, the very embodiment of civilization," Uncle interjects with a wet sounding cackle, "You ladies are gonna love it!"

"Okay then," Arthur starts as he pulls the wagon out of the cluster of woods that hide the camp, "Let's go!"

Everything in you turns to stone at the sound of his voice, so many conflicting experiences with him -- with that voice, jamming themselves to the front of your brain all at once. You're so tense Mary-Beth tenses beside you too. Before awkward silence can settle over the group, Uncle twists to face the women in his seat.

"Ladies! Sing us a song!"

It seems to be the right thing to say because after a short chorus of giggles, Karen cues the girls in with a nasally but not unpleasant song about a girl in Berryville. They sing loudly, carelessly, and happily, relishing each other's company, the sun, the fresh air, and the views. Refusing to enjoy anything, you keep your gaze down on your hands that pick at the material of your skirt. Maybe this whole thing is a blessing in disguise. There are bound to be newspapers in a town right? They had books in camp so you know printing presses existed. You could possibly figure out where the hell you were and what time period you were in. It had occurred to you that asking Kieran for the date not just by day, but by year would come across as odd, even if he would tell you without many questions. The last thing you wanted to do was compromise the trust Kieran had in you, your only ally. You still have your eyes glued to your lap when you hear a panicked,

"Woah! Woah there!" A stagecoach comes barreling past the front of the wagon, Arthur having to pull the reigns up short to avoid a collision, kicking up huge clouds of dust that descend down around you.  

"Look at that coach! He's...he's all over the place," You hear Uncle mumble under his breath.

The women are still singing, though slightly distracted now as you all crane your necks to see what the commotion is about. Arthur encourages the wagon's horses left onto the main road where, just ahead, the horses of the runaway coach come to a reeling stop and with an audible snap, break free of the reigns.

--

"Oh goddammit! Oh shit, the horses!" Comes the cursing from the coach driver.

Arthur slows the horses to a walk as they come upon the stopped coach, one of the shires -- a big white stallion -- takes off in a fury towards a thin copse of trees on the other side of the road. Before he can grapple with shoving down the instinct to help the man, Tilly pipes up from the back.

"Is one of you gonna get that feller's horse?"

"Oh I got lumbago! It's very serious," Uncle immediately deflects without hesitation, like he had the excuse ready.

Arthur refrains from saying anything especially cruel to the old man in response, knowing he'd only make himself look like a fool. A part of him wants to push the wagon into a full gallop, leave this small choice behind him in the dust. He feels her eyes staring holes into his back though, and it makes him uncomfortable. Out of spite he wants to ignore the man, just to prove to her -- to himself that he can...that he's still cruel and angry enough to ignore a person in need. Arthur growls internally at himself. He has no idea what he's on about. With a sharp inhale and a quick clench and release of his jaw, he wordlessly hops out of the wagon, tossing the reigns at Uncle and getting the petty satisfaction of watching him fumble to catch them. Arthur lets himself do this despite feeling like he's chipping away at something important, something he needs to protect himself. Because if he's not angry he's empty...but she's staring --

"I'll see what's going on." He says through a tight jaw, promptly interrupting his own train of thought, "Lumbago, really," He mutters petulantly to himself as he makes his way over to the driver.

The stagecoach driver, catching sight of Arthur coming round to his side of the coach to help, hops down from the driver's bench and lands on shaky legs.

"You alright there friend?" Arthur inquires as the driver steadies himself against the side of the coach looking like a colt just learning to walk.

"Oh hey! You couldn't help me get my other horse back from over there, could you?" The driver says in leu of a response.

Arthur ignores the lack of manners, taking in how frazzled the fool truly is. Must be new.  

"Sure, no problem." Arthur says, briefly thinking of stealing the horse but waving the thought away as quickly as it appeared -- old habits.

"Thanks mister, its the white one over there." The driver instructs with a sigh of relief.

Arthur isn't sure how to feel about how simple -- how easy being kind is, it feels so foreign yet familiar, so natural and good that for a moment Arthur's heart stops. He actively ignores his thoughts and her watchful eyes from the wagon, following him as he makes his way across the road and into the smattering of trees where the white shire has taken refuge. Arthur coaxes the stallion to him easily enough, the beast coming up to him only after Arthur made him move his feet a little to earn his trust, show him he was the leader. He grabs hold of the dragging reigns and checks to make sure the horse didn't hurt his mouth by stepping on the reigns when fleeing or when he ripped clean away from the coach. The horse's soft mouth seems a little tender but no serious damage has been done, lucky beast. Arthur clicks at stallion to follow and leads them both back to the stagecoach driver currently wrangling the other shire back into the coach restraints.

"Here, here you go." Arthur announces himself and the returned horse.

The driver whips his attention over to him, stopping his fussing over the horse's tack, and exhales heavily in relief and gratitude.

"You're a gentlemen, sir, a gentlemen!" He exclaims as he takes the reigns from Arthur.

Arthur's chest aches at the praise, like acid in his stomach -- unworthy.

"No, not really...I was just," Arthur glances over his shoulder at the wagon, "Tryin' to impress the women."

He hears the girls giggling at this, though he knows which one of them remains silent.

The driver gives a hearty chuckle, "Well, anyway, thank you!"

Arthur nods at the man, biting back the warning about the shire's sensitive mouth and to go easy on the reigns next time, and heads swiftly back towards the wagon.

"C'mon!" Uncle urges as Arthur hauls himself up into the driver's seat.

"To Valentine!" Karen cries as Arthur snaps the reigns and the wagon lurches forward.

Arthur's grateful no one is bringing up --

"You're turnin' into a regular ol' fairy godmother there, Arthur!"

The urge to push Uncle out of the wagon takes a fierce hold of him. He only tightens his grip on the reigns instead.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Arthur grits out, delivering Uncle the most unfriendly glare in his arsenal.

"It means you've gotta heart!" Mary-Beth interjects from the back, "A small one perhaps, hidden deep inside, but a real one!"

Her words are a surprisingly odd comfort, but they mostly confirm his fear. Its simpler if he's just fury and hate. The idea that beneath all that is something truer than what he is now, that's something he absolutely does not want to deal with right now. Or ever.  

"And you haven't! You repulsive old lizard!" Mary-Beth crows at Uncle, the girls all murmuring their adamant agreement.

"Lizards have hearts!" Uncle argues weakly, though Mary-Beth doesn't dignify that with a response.  

"Well Arthur," It's Tilly this time that speaks up, "I'm proud of you."

God were all of them gonna praise him like he just saved a newborn child from certain death? He doesn't think he can take much more of this. Arthur attempts to remind them all who he really is.

"To be honest, if you lot hadn't been here, I probably woulda robbed 'im." He says, hoping to regain some semblance of the intimidating image he'd carefully curated over the years. A bit concerned it could be knocked so easily, and over an act as simple as helping a stranger.  

Uncle wheezes out a dark chuckle at that, Karen joining him, but Mary-Beth speaks up again strangely determined to drive her point home.

"Well, you didn't!"

Arthur wonders belatedly if this is Mary-Beth's way of trying to endear him to the her, who has remained silent this whole exchange and ever since she got in the damn wagon. Something twists suddenly in his gut but Arthur smothers it on reflex, dawning his armor of anger. Good, he thinks, let her fear me, and laughs along with Uncle and Karen as they cross the railroad that circles through the town and lumber past what looks to be the station and post office.

"Smell those sheep!" Tilly says as they pass by a couple sizable livestock pens at the same time Arthur hears Mary-Beth promptly snap out her fan, and begin beating it quickly against the smell of shit.

Karen gives a hearty scoff, "Or is that Uncle?"

"Oh very funny," Uncle grouses in a slump beside him.

Arthur can't help the grin that spreads across his face.

"This looks like a decent little town." Mary-Beth insists even as she continues to vigorously work her fan.

"Other people," Tilly groans, "Finally!"

"Look at all that snow on the mountains! Sure don't want to be back up there," Mary-Beth points out, everyone in the wagon turning to glance at the icy peaks in the distance and all sharing a collective shiver.  

"You think we should have asked Molly to come with us?" Tilly wonders after another moment of taking in the bustling town.

Arthur is quickly assaulted with the image of Molly walking past the livestock pens getting mud and shit and who knows what else on her shoes, most certainly ruining the hem of her dress, and almost lets out a bark of laughter. Molly O'Shea would rather die than be subjected to an afternoon in a town like this. Karen, as Arthur knew she would, jumps at the opportunity to tear into the Irish woman.

"Oh no, Miss O'Shea is far too high and mighty now for the likes of us, or to do any real work. She's a society lady now!" Her tone bleeds heavily with sarcasm and bitterness, Arthur wonders if Dutch is aware of how much animosity lies between some of the women of the gang. Sure they all bit chunks out of each other once in awhile, but this divide between Molly and the other ladies was far wider than Arthur felt was smart to ignore.

"Okay, take a look around ladies," Karen buffers on, not lingering on the negativity she created for too long, "Let's see what we got here."

They're all silent as they keep an eye out for possible opportunities. Arthur carefully navigates the wagon down the main road of Valentine, weathered wooden buildings sinking in mud line the path, paint chipping, signs swinging in the slight breeze, and folk coming and going. He catalogues a sheriff station, a general store, a hotel, a saloon, a gunsmith, and even a doctor's office. Not bad for a livestock town. The sounds of horses whinnying in a decent sized stable at the end of the street catches Arthur's particular attention. He perks up when he spots a good place to park the wagon near a building under construction adjacent to the stables. Maneuvering slowly to their destination, he stops the wagon with a gentle 'woah' to the horses once he's brought the bulk of the wagon out of the way of traffic.    

"Alright! Here we are, just like I said," Uncle boasts as everyone stands to unload, "The cultural center of civilization, man at its finest!"

Arthur only rolls his eyes at Uncle's attempt at humor and effortlessly hops down from the driver bench.

"Uncle, what're we doin'?" Arthur asks before the old fool spews anymore nonsense.

"Well, we're gonna do what any other self-respecting maniac does," Arthur signals a stable hand over to feed and water their horses as Uncle talks, pushing a few dollars into the boy's dirty hands, "Put the women to work."

Karen snorts, "With pleasure, we'll start at the saloon."

As Arthur comes around to the back of the wagon, he notices Tilly struggling to find her footing on the lip of the wagon under the layers of her dress. He quickly offers her a hand which she immediately takes.

"Thank you Arthur," She murmurs in gratitude as, with the help of his hand to steady her, she easily braves the large gap between the wagon and the mud below.

He nods at her once she's landed safely on the ground, but grunts as she thanks him again. She shouldn't waste her kindness on him. Arthur tries his best not to look at her as the women all gather together after unloading off of the wagon. He finds himself quite annoyed that the urge to is so insistent.

"Alright," He begins once Uncle finally makes his way over to stand beside Arthur who in planted firmly in front of the ladies, "Remember to stay outta trouble and don't get yourselves noticed."

Mary-Beth hooks arms with her as he talks, though he only makes eye contact with Tilly and Karen, avoiding her side of the group entirely. Karen rolls her eyes at him and when he's done, playfully pushing past him before motioning for the other women to follow.

"We know Arthur, you don't have to be such an over protective nag about it."

A noise of unfiltered indignation rips itself out of Arthur's mouth at her words, something embarrassing between a scoff and a squawk.

--

"See Arthur's not so bad," Mary-Beth murmurs in your ear as she leads you after Karen and Tilly who are striding confidently towards a building with literal swinging doors, "A right mother hen when given half the chance!"

You try not to let her words irritate you. She means well, you can acknowledge that, but her continuous attempts to humanize Arthur are more annoying than helpful. It feels like you are being forced to forgive a man that has purposefully tried to terrify you and while never having beat you, was okay with watching others do it. No amount of helping strangers or chivalry will convince you he wouldn't kill you dead without hesitation if he felt it was necessary.

You only hum at her claim, still largely uncomfortable with the physical familiarity the women keep attempting to engage you in. It takes all your strength to stop yourself from yanking your arm out from the loop of her's. Mary-Beth must sense your unease though, and wordlessly releases your arm. You're grateful she doesn't comment on it.

"C'mon ladies!" Karen exclaims, still leading you all up the street, "Imagine we're in Paris!"

"I imagine Paris and Valentine are easily confused," Tilly remarks rather sharply, her mouth twisting a little as mud squelches under their feet with each step.

You raise an eyebrow at the comment, sympathizing with her remark as you narrowly avoid stepping in a vat of what you assume is horse shit. It certainly smells foul enough, plus the flies are a dead give away. Eventually you all stop before the rickety steps of a saloon that looks like its come straight out of a movie or a high budget reenactment set. The swinging doors, the drunk piano playing wafting out from inside even though you dare say its only noon, completes the the full effect. You stand there a moment and just stare at it, stare at the people walking in and out, at their clothes, at the way they walk, at the way they talk, just everything. The town really cements the fact that you are no longer in the year 2020. An odd mixture of adrenaline and anxiety shoots through your veins then, and its difficult to process it all.  

"Newspaper," You hear yourself mutter as you continue to stare wide eyed at the saloon.

Mary-Beth hears you and turns to shoot you a questioning look.

Realizing you had just said that out loud, you blink back an embarrassed flush and clear your throat.

"I'd like to check out the newspaper that kid was selling, the one we passed on the way into town. I don't need to buy one, I just want to look."

"What are you checking for?" Mary-Beth asks, suddenly becoming very guarded, the most you've ever seen her in fact.

You panic a little, "Just the date and where exactly we are. I'm not from around here, not really familiar with this part of the country."  

Her eyes sharpen and proceed to methodically take apart your expression, examining every twitch and blink like it held a secret. You figure she's weighing whether or not this will be a threat to them -- to the gang. It further emphasizes the void between you. They would always be a them. It would never be a we.

"Alright, I'll come with you. Then we can go get you some new clothes." Mary-Beth eventually agrees, turning to wave at the other girls -- signaling your departure, before Tilly and Karen enter the saloon.

You both trudge along in silence, your anger flaring up at this blatant display of distrust despite all of her efforts so far to prove to you she's 'trying'. Once again you attempt to not to let all the emotion get to you. Trust goes both ways, and no way were you going to take the first step. If they wanted to earn your respect, it would have to be their necks they stick out first, not the other way around. You finally make your way to the boy holding up one of the newspapers he's selling, shouting today's headline. At your approach his eyes light up at the prospect of a customer,

"What will it be ladies? Two copies or one to share?"

You feel a little guilty at getting his hopes up, but you dust off one of your best customer service smiles and watch as he takes it in, a bit shocked at the easy generosity of it. Poor boy's probably used to getting snuffed all day, you can relate, having worked your fair share of minimum wage jobs.

"I'd like to check something actually, just a quick peak at the date if you wouldn't mind?" Comes your question dressed heavily in your matching costumer service voice -- tone smooth and low and friendly.

The boy blinks at you a moment -- stunned, then his cheeks promptly color a splotchy red. Thoroughly flustered he glances at Mary-Beth, but his blush only deepens as she hits him with a lovely smile of her own.

"W-Well I --," The boy begins to stutter.

"I don't even have to hold it," You interrupt before he can refuse, taking advantage of him being caught off guard, "But if I could just take a quick gander at the top right corner there..." You trail off as you do exactly what you're currently suggesting, and lean in slightly to squint at the date.

May 17, 1899, it reads.

1899?! You kick your customer service skills into overdrive, years of using it the only reason why your face doesn't crack into full panic as you force yourself to read a little more.  

The State of New Hanover, The Heart of the Heartlands

This is before they officialized the fifty states, the American civil war happened about three decades ago. Oh god.

"H-Hey are you gonna buy or not?" The boy attempts to assert himself, swinging the newspaper behind him, looking adorable with his face the color of a tomato.

"Unfortunately not, but your kindness is very much appreciated." You sooth, voice like honey, as you give him one last smile -- making it as stunning as possible, before turning away and heading back down the street.  

You make it a few strides out of the boy's ear shot before Mary-Beth elbows you gently in the side. Glancing up, you find her giving you a conspiratorial smirk.

"You never told us you could work a man," She remarks, raising one of her eyebrows in arch amusement.

You can't stop yourself from scoffing, "Man? He was barely thirteen."

"Well either way, I can tell you have a lot of experience handling people."

A shrug serves as your answer, you guess working a minimum wage job does leave you with a certain skill set. Though why Mary-Beth is hinting that it can be utilized in more unconventional ways is beyond you. Eventually you both make it to the general store. You stumble in your stride when you spot Arthur and Uncle sitting on a bench out in front of the store, sharing a large glass bottle of strong looking liquor you assume is whiskey. That's what all the cowboys in the movies drink right? It seems fate loves a good cliché.

For the first time since being tied to the tree, Arthur and you lock eyes. The two of you freeze, Arthur mid drink and you mid step. The whole world seems to grind to a halt as your gazes wrestle, the feeling in your stomach akin to the breath before the first drop of a roller coaster. The moment ends abruptly, before either of you are ready, and at the same time you step in a huge pile of shit, Arthur spills nearly the whole bottle of whiskey down the front of his shirt.

"Fuck!" You squeal in disgust.

"Goddammit!" Arthur curses loudly as he shoots to his feet so the alcohol doesn't splash onto his crotch.

Mary-Beth puts a scandalized hand over her heart at the fowl language, and Uncle coughs his way into a fit of laughter. In a squeamish panic you try in vain to wipe the shit off your shoe, though you only manage to make it worse as the mud proves to be even messier and smears the shit higher up the leather of your shoe. You can hear Arthur continuing to grouch and curse as he shoves the bottle at a wheezing Uncle and leans forward, plucking the fabric of his button-up off his chest in an attempt to stop it from sticking. Almost like an afterthought, Arthur begins flapping the shirt gently as if that'll help it dry faster.

"Better get you some new shoes as well," Mary-Beth suggests through a tight throat, trying her best not to laugh at your expense.

You level her with a very unimpressed glare (which does end up making her giggle) and squash your way to the stairs leading to the store. Once on solid ground you amble your way up onto the deck, trying your hardest not to stare at the sliver of exposed torso Arthur is revealing as he continues to hold his shirt off his stomach, the cotton completely soaked in alcohol.

Taught skin, a trail of hair, a muscled iliac furrow...

"Actually, Y/n?" Mary-Beth calls from behind you, you swivel around and realize belatedly that she hadn't followed you up, "I'm going to check on Karen an' Tilly in the saloon, why don't you an' Arthur go purchase some clothes together? Then we can all meet back up later!"

It shocks you that you feel slightly betrayed by her at the suggestion. You chance a glance at Arthur from the corner of your eye and find him staring at Mary-Beth much like a deer stares at headlights. Great. You valiantly reign in a groan and without another word, turn back around to push your way into the shop. Arthur is least likely to do anything harmful to you in front of a witness like a shopkeeper anyway, the sooner you get this over with the better.

--

Arthur spends another moment squinting suspiciously at Mary-Beth, who only smiles innocently at him before all but skipping off towards the saloon. Uncle has now devolved into slapping his knee in between taking swigs of what's left of the whiskey. Arthur wonders why the Almighty sees fit to test him so vehemently. After a moment of reflection he figures its the least he deserves considering the extent of his sins. Grumbling to himself, he tries not to stomp after her into the general store, mentally calculating how much money he has left on him as he shoulders open the stiff door. Upon entering the shop, the owner looks up and gives Arthur a polite if slightly confused wave -- probably recognizing him from when Arthur came in the shop earlier with Uncle. The shopkeeper promptly goes back to describing, with what sounds like great enthusiasm, various different outfits for...Y/n...to consider.

His heart reels at simply saying her name in the privacy of his own mind.

She's holding herself stiffly, probably as uncomfortable as Arthur is and for as many different reasons as Arthur is too. With the way her head is bent and her eyes track the movement of the shopkeeper's finger as he drags it across page after page, he can tell that despite her studious expression and how easily she nods along with what's being advertised to her, she's overwhelmed. Arthur isn't sure how he figures that exactly, but he does. Fighting with himself for a moment, he debates on whether or not he should insert himself into their conversation. He doesn't want her to misinterpret him and think he cares or anything, but she is taking forever and the slide of his wet shirt against his chest is growing more unbearable by the second.

"Just pick what you like best and get on with it," He grumbles at her, not too unpleasantly as to alarm the shop owner, but firm enough to encourage her to hurry the hell up.

Arthur had taken a few steps forward before speaking, it placed him very close to her side. Closer than he'd meant. He expects fear or hatred to color her expression as she turns to look up at him, but instead her face displays a confusing mix of gratitude, deep mistrust, and most hilariously the embodiment of the word: HELP. It honestly gives Arthur a headache to look at, not envious of the turmoil she's clearly experiencing right now in the slightest. He blinks at her for a moment before shifting his gaze down at the catalogue and flipping back a few pages.

"Do you prefer skirts, dresses, or pants?" Arthur bites out, not quite believing he's doing this, and stares pointedly at anything but her.

"Pants!" She answers in a rush, like she'd just been told she'd inherited a few grand from a dead relative.  

"Okay," Arthur drawls as he quickly finds the female pants section, the options limited to two different cuts, both of which look exactly the same to Arthur but he was never one for fashion (or so Dutch tells him).

"Pick," He instructs, sliding the catalogue back under her nose at the same time she leans in to take a look.

Arthur's temper rankles at how nice the warmth radiating off of her feels against the chilled skin of his chest, even through his soaked shirt. She takes a moment to consider the two different pants, and after what sounds like a defeated huff sheepishly points to the second one. The shop keeper nods and scribbles something down on a notebook he'd grabbed from a drawer behind the counter. Wordlessly Arthur then flips to the significantly more diverse selection of shirts and blouses, blushing furiously as he passes the women's undergarments.

Why in all hell had Mary-Beth not done this with her? She's a woman, surely that would make this more comfortable for Y/n?

But the woman in question seems unconcerned as she scans the options Arthur has displayed for her, nibbling half-heartedly on the fingernail of her right thumb as she appraises the many different tops. Arthur grits his teeth against the softness rising him. They need to hurry this up or he fears he'll...he'll...well he doesn't know, but he knows whatever it is, it's a final kind of feeling and god Arthur fears it. With the hand not pressed to her lips, she points to a plain looking button up, the cheapest one.

"Another." Arthur blurts.

He doesn't realize how that sounds until she shoots him a very indignant look.

"Pick one more for colder weather." He clarifies, mystified he had managed to say that without missing a beat and without stuttering.

Her temper relaxes back down to its usual simmer and she returns her gaze to the catalogue. After a few moments of silence she taps Arthur's hand that's spread wide over the upper edge of the book, calloused fingers holding the catalogue open flat on the counter for her. He snatches his hand back so fast it startles the shopkeeper. The owner gives the two of them an odd look but remains quiet, still wanting their money. She turns the page and points to the second least expensive shirt. It's of a similar cut to the first she'd chosen but the material is wool instead of cotton.

This process repeats for the coats, socks, shoes, gloves, and most embarrassingly -- undergarments. All the articles of clothing she chooses are the cheapest available. Something prickles in Arthur's chest when he realizes she's trying to be considerate. When the shopkeeper asks about her sizes though, she seems at a complete loss for what to say. It's like she's never shopped for clothes before. Though deeply curious, Arthur refrains from asking her anything, feeling like all the energy he had this morning has been thoroughly drained from him even though its only an hour past noon. He's exhausted and he doesn't quite know why.

The owner gives her a measuring look, eyeing her body proportions as best as he can from his spot behind the counter. The shopkeeper is not a proper tailor, so the wrinkle in the man's forehead isn't anything but confusion, and thus Arthur finds himself getting more and more agitated the longer the man stares at her. A breath before Arthur says something stupid, the owner turns and goes to retrieve the garments in the sizes he believes will fit her best. It only takes a couple moments, but its a couple moments too long to be left relatively alone with her. The tension between them is so palpable he could cut it with his hunting knife. The feeling worsens in intensity with each beat of his heart, nearly rising to insurmountable levels before it swiftly plateaus at the arrival of the shopkeeper, who returns with multiple garments draped over his forearm.

"Here Miss, go and try these on to make sure they fit." He instructs politely, nodding to a door down the hall just around the side of the counter.

With a quiet thanks, she collects the clothes and makes a beeline for the dressing room. Arthur doesn't realize his eyes follow her retreat, sticking to the dressing room door even after she disappears behind it, until the shopkeeper clears his throat. Arthur only scowls at him in response and orders a replacement shirt for the one he'd been wearing.

Thank god I didn't ruin my blue one, Arthur thinks as he pays for his new two toned muted grey and red button-up, and all the items Y/n had gotten.

Hosea and Dutch like to tease Arthur about his favorite blue and white striped button-up he's been hauling around for years now. It has holes, the seams are loose, the colors have faded, and it has permanent stains on it, but something about it feels...comfortable. More comfortable than anything else he's ever worn.

(Arthur refuses to acknowledge the fact that it's the first garment of clothing he bought for himself with money he'd earned all on his own, hence why it means so much to him.)

Arthur tries not to pace as he waits for Y/n to finish trying on all her various new clothes. He knows she has a lot to get through but --

"Oh," Arthur finds himself saying, easily gaining the shopkeeper's attention, "Her shoes?"

The shopkeeper raises a finger as his memory sparks and quickly goes to retrieve the humble looking pair she'd picked out earlier. When he brings them out, informing Arthur he'd given his best guess on the size, Arthur nods his thanks and takes the pair from him. Before he can second guess himself, he makes his way over to the dressing room door. Weary of the owner's eyes on his back, Arthur raps his knuckles in two deliberate consecutive knocks against the aging wood of the door. A series of sounds that suggest Y/n had been thoroughly startled puts a grin on Arthur's face without his permission.

"Your shoes," He starts, "I'm leaving them outside the door."

Arthur then demands himself to tell her to hurry up, but no words form, in fact his lips once again act against his will and gently press shut.

"Oh, okay," She replies tensely.

He hovers by the door another moment before the intimacy of talking to someone -- a woman no less -- like this really registers with him, then he thinks of how this probably seems to the shopkeeper and deep color promptly rises along his cheekbones. Arthur takes a shaky step back, then another, until he's in the front of the store pretending to browse the meager collection of pocket watches.

--

You wait until you hear Arthur's footsteps fully recede from the door before continuing to fumble with your undergarments. You have never so desperately wished for a simple modern bra in your life. The shopkeeper had suggested a corset of some sort, but with the clothes that you had picked -- pants, and a 'decidedly unfeminine looking' set of button ups according to the owner -- wearing a corset under all that seemed more of a hinderance than anything else. You'd ended up choosing a version of whatever shift thing you are currently wearing, as it provided enough support for the girls but didn't constrict you entirely like you figure a corset might. Most of the time spent in the dressing room has been you struggling to shuck off your current clothes without resorting to simply tearing them all off. Though you have been spending an equally egregious amount of time trying to correctly adjust all the little strings and ties and clips of your new shift. The slim bloomers you are wearing were made to be worn with the pants you'd ordered, and they were simple enough to slip on, though the extra fabric you'd have to get used to. You wonder idly if this is what it feels like to wear boxers as you finally finish securing your shift and pull the pants up the length of your legs. They fit surprisingly well, a little tight around the ass but in all honesty, at this point you don't care. You just want this torture over with.

The rest of your clothes you try on with more ease, everything fitting okay except for the coat that was about ten times too big but you find you kind of like it that way. Making sure to carefully remove your shit covered shoes without dirtying your hands, you gingerly place them by the door before replacing your used socks with your new ones. You gather your previous clothes up, hoping the shopkeeper has a bag of some kind you can use, and open the door. Infinitely grateful that no one else has walked into the shop, you quickly slip on the shoes Arthur has set neatly in front of the door like he'd said, and immediately find that they're too small. Ignoring your slight flush from all the changing and nerves from trying on so many foreign clothes, you approach the shopkeeper and politely request the next shoe size up. He nods and bumbles to the back again. When he brings you the next pair, you apologize for being such a hassle and quickly exchange shoes. You drop the new pair to the floor and lower to kneel as you stuff your feet in, praying these fit.

"Can we get something to wrap all this up?" Arthur's voice rumbles through you, like the bass notes of a song played at one of the clubs you used to frequent a lot your first year of college.

You clench hard against the urge to jump at how close he is, not having heard him come over as you'd been focused on figuring out how your new boots laced up. They reminded you a little of modern day men's work boots, comfortable and well suited for all the wilderness trudging you figure you'll be doing. The shop owner hands Arthur a few sheets of brown parcel paper, which Arthur immediately tosses down at you. You catch the squares of paper before it hits your face, ignoring his rudeness and weighing how helpful he's been to you in the shop against the desire to say something satisfyingly nasty.

Noticing your restraint Arthur wordlessly brushes past you, broad shoulders barely seeming to fit through the doorway of the dressing room, before closing the door firmly shut behind him. While he changes out of his wet shirt, you struggle to wrap up all your new clothes neatly, feeling bizarrely like you're wrapping a Christmas present when the shopkeeper hands you a rudimentary string to tie everything together. After you finally manage to wrangle all the clothes (save for your oversized coat and all that you're wearing out of the store) into a compact enough bundle, you take the second sheet of paper and repeat the process with your soiled clothes and ruined shoes. You feel bad about the shoes since you'd borrowed them, maybe you could scrub out the shit? Though you don't know how plausible that will be without the aid of stain remover and fabric softener.

You've just finished organizing all your belongings when Arthur emerges from the dressing room in his new shirt. The colors suit him, the fabric hugging him in all the right places too. With his dark hat, tan over coat, and heavy footfalls due to his boots, he almost --

Deeply alarmed at the direction that particular train of thought was going, you angrily remind yourself he's a bloodthirsty killer who would not hesitate to end your life if he thought it was necessary. Despite all that though, he did just pay for your clothing and help you navigate the shopping process with little to no complaints. Torn between saying nothing and thanking him, the habit to be courteous, ingrained in you by your mother, wins out.

"Arthur," It's the first time you've said his name, at least in direct address to him.

His name tastes dangerous on your tongue, a thrill not unlike taking a shot of something strong knowing you're already well over your alcohol limit. You'd stopped once you'd stepped out of the shop behind Arthur and he pauses with his back to you, going completely rigid, having just been about to wake up Uncle who lists precariously in a drunk stupor on the bench where you'd both left him.

"Thank you." That's the second time you've thanked this man, not fond of the fact that its slowly becoming a regular occurrence.

Arthur turns around after a moment and his eyes, shaded under the brim of his hat but very much visible now where they'd only been dark with violence before, are the first things your gaze is drawn to. They're really quite a stunning color, blue shot with green, like an ocean tide caught in a shallow tide pool. The brimming emotion in him blunders against the stiff wall of that anger you'd first caught a true glimpse of when you were tied to the tree, it holds an avalanche of sensation back. You marvel briefly at how it's held so much back for so long.

"You owe me thirty-two dollars and thirteen cents." He says in leu of accepting your gratitude with any sort of grace.  

You only glare, already having expected that he'd ask you to pay him back, though you figure it's the very least he could do after watching you suffer for nearly two weeks straight despite being completely innocent with no proof otherwise save their paranoid suspicions. Not to mention being wrongly accused of being an O'Driscoll and almost getting shot in the face by his gang leader for the apparent crime of being in the wrong place at the wrong time! Unlike Arthur, you let your emotions flow freely, righteous fury undisguised and plain to see rotting away the last traces of the odd domesticity you'd formed with him in the shop.

"You, are one of the most fucked up assholes I have ever met." You say in a tone of voice you had only ever used with your abusive ex.

Instead of being taken aback at your words, you watch something in him rise to meet your anger -- a broken kind of relief overtaking his features, like he's finally back in his comfort zone. Something he's familiar with, something he's good at. It simultaneously sickens you and breaks your heart. Everything only ever defined in extremes when it comes to him. Before you two can really tear into each other though, the call of your names by a familiar voice pauses the cataclysmic collision that is moments away from occurring.

"Arthur! Y/n!" Mary-Beth pants as she jogs up to meet you both on the shaded deck, "Oh, Uncle! I didn't see him from over there," She huffs out in a laugh as she closes the distance between the three of you.

It doesn't take long for Mary-Beth to pick up on the truly foul mood Arthur and you share. Her face falls.

"Did, did the shopping not go well? I see you've..." She trails off as she takes in your new clothes.

You suspect in an attempt to lighten the mood, she puts her hands on her hips in mock disappointment and shoots Arthur a significant look.

"What in the blazes have you dressed her in Mr. Morgan? She looks like a ranch hand!"

Arthur seems to struggle to swallow the worst of his temper, apparently not wanting to take it out on Mary-Beth.

Oh so Mary-Beth deserves to be spared but not you?

Your bitterness towards him promptly deepens and suddenly you're exhausted. You miss Kieran -- no, actually you miss your home. You miss your own time. You miss your friends and family.  

"Don't look at me, she picked it all out herself!" Arthur deflects, holding his hands up in surrender.

Mary-Beth purses her lips at this claim but does eventually shift her gaze over to you. She immediately notices that your energy has plummeted, but you can't summon the will to care.

"But if you like it Y/n, then that's all that matters!" Mary-Beth rushes to assure, worried her comment about your fashion sense but more so your previous conversation with Arthur is working against her efforts to find some middle ground with you, to start building some semblance of trust.

You let her search your eyes and put together the realization that she failed. In fact you imagine instead of taking one step forward, you've taken three leaps back. But why bother with them anyway? There's no need to deal with these people any more than strictly necessary. You will find a way to return to your own time, and you're determined to figure it out by any means necessary.

--

Thoughts? Share them if you’d like!! xx

Masterlist

[kittinoir]

Phantoms Ch. 11

Read on Ao3

With just the two of them on patrol, things felt almost like they used to. Almost. There was nothing familiar about the too-casual, lingering touches between them, or in the way Ladybug looked at Chat Noir and felt her heart swell to bursting with affection, but if this was her new normal, she thought she could get used to it.

If only she didn’t have to also get used to the fear that dogged every glance, every brush, every moment. Even as it faded with every day that passed, it never quite disappeared. She sometimes wondered if it ever would.

But not in that moment. Sitting this close to him on the edge of the roof, closer than she ever would have before, their knees pressed together, fear of the future was momentarily held at bay. Adrien had that effect on her. 

“Don’t get mad,” Chat Noir said, breaking their comfortable, if loaded silence, thick with all the things they couldn’t say to each other, “But it’s been…really quiet lately.”

“Don’t you dare jinx us!” Ladybug said, but she couldn’t help a laugh. “But…you’re right. I don’t know if I should be worried or relieved.”

“With Hawk Moth?” Chat Noir said, glancing sidelong at her. “Always worried.”

Ladybug didn’t say it, but she’d grown so use to worrying that it hardly felt like anything anymore. He had a point, though. Hawk Moth wasn’t taking a break: he was gearing up. Someone like that didn’t just disappear.

Almost as though their thoughts had summoned him, both Ladybug and Chat Noir leapt to their feet as someone shot out of the clouds towards them, faster than anything they’d ever seen.

“Koira,” Chat Noir said suddenly, his baton stilling in his hand. Moments later, Ladybug could spot the details her partner had already seen and slowed her yoyo as well. Had they missed an akuma alert?

“What is it?” Ladybug demanded as Koira landed hard, skidding across the roof. He was panting, having pushed Barkk to his limits, but Koira didn’t give off the impression he was staying as he stalked back to them.

“It’s Hawk Moth,” Koira said, loosing the hammer at his hip. He flipped the hammer head down and revealed the screen on the handle, a small black and yellow icon flashing in the top right corner. “We - Chloe…I think she found him.” He met Chat Noir’s confused gaze. “There’s no easy way for you to learn this, but…your father…”

“You’re wrong,” Ladybug said automatically, though Koira’s announcement stirred old suspicions that she’d never totally managed to put to rest. “Gabriel Agreste was cleared a long time ago when he was akumatized.”

“Then maybe you can explain this,” Koira said, thrusting his hammer at them.

It displayed a photo of a portrait and a hole in the ground of what looked like some kind of sitting room or office. It seemed vaguely familiar, but Ladybug couldn’t place it. She read the message attached instead: Still think this is a waste of time?

“So he has another safe in the floor,” Chat Noir said in a voice Ladybug had only heard once before. “So what? Did she find the one behind the portrait, too, while she was snooping through my father’s office?”

Ladybug turned and was met with the same disbelief, the same anger that had come over her partner the first time she’d voiced her thoughts aloud. Now it all made sense. She supposed she should have been grateful he’d followed her lead at all.

“I hope you have more than this,” she said instead of taking Chat Noir’s hand in her own to offer comfort like she wanted to. 

“This is the last message Queen Bee sent before she vanished,” Koira snapped, reholstering his hammer. “The Grimoire came from him. She went there, and then she disappeared.”

“Chloe is always disappearing,” Chat Noir said, and edge of desperation in his voice now. “Whenever things gets hard or they don’t go her way, she vanishes.”

“You know that’s not true!” Koira shouted, and Ladybug had to admit, even if Chat Noir didn’t know that, she did. Chloe had stopped running a while ago. That wasn’t to say Chloe couldn’t have a moment of weakness, but this wasn’t adding up. At least not to that.

“You know what, it doesn’t matter,” Koira said, abruptly turning from them. “The only reason I even came here was because she made me promise that… But it doesn’t matter. Sit here in denial if you want, but I’m going to do what you should have been doing all along: take the problem out at the root.”

He’d made it all of two steps before Chat Noir’s baton swept his feet out from under him, sending Koira sprawling.

“If you think I’m going to let you attack my father because of some half-baked investigation you two did, you have another thing coming,” Chat Noir snarled.

“Enough!”

Ladybug stepped between them, trying to ignore the rage pouring off her partner in waves.

“Koira, if there’s even the slightest chance you’re right, you can’t seriously expect we’d just let you walk into the same trap Queen Bee did.” Ladybug didn’t think she imagined his wince, but it was hard to tell. Felix rarely conceded anyone’s point.

“Chat Noir,” she continued, turning to the familiar stranger her partner had become, “I think we owe it to ourselves and this city to lay these suspicions to rest once and for all.”

Chat Noir reacted as though she’d struck him. “Are you telling me you…believe him…?”

“I’m saying we have to be sure, one way or the other,” Ladybug said softly, silently begging him to understand. “We’ve both been in two places before, too.”

Ladybug turned back to Koira before she could register her partner’s reaction. She knew her stance would feel like a betrayal, but she knew even so he’d see the value in confirming his fathers innocence. At least, she hoped it would be innocence. She could hear Adrien’s voice in her head as clearly as if he’d spoken the words out loud: he’d already lost his mother. He couldn’t lose his father, too.

“Assemble the team,” Ladybug said to Koira. “I want everyone here in an hour or less. No excuses. We’ll deal with this, once and for all.” But first she needed to talk with her partner - without his needling cousin a few feet away.

“But Chloe - ”

“Is smarter and more resourceful than you give her credit for.” Ladybug didn’t miss Felix’s wince this time, and she couldn’t help but hope she had hit a nerve. “And will not be thanking us if all we do is get ourselves captured trying to help her. That’s the worst case scenario. For all we know, she just fell down that shaft and is need of rescue. Chat Noir is right; this ‘investigation’ needs more work. Now go.”

Koira scowled but leapt from the roof without another protest, leaving her alone again with Chat Noir, a prospect that had been much more appealing only ten minutes ago.

“You’re not seriously entertaining this, are you?” Chat Noir demanded as she walked back to him. His baton was trembling in his fist and he wouldn’t meet her eyes. “If he were Hawk Moth, I would know. I would…How could I not…”

He trailed off as the implications began to set in. This time Ladybug did step up to him and wrap her arms around his waist, placing her head on his chest, but she felt him lock up beneath her touch.

“We don’t have enough information,” Ladybug said, avoiding his questions. “But Adrien…whatever we do, we have to be sure.”

He jerked in her arms at the use of his real name, but a moment later, she heard the clatter of the baton against the rooftop and then the comforting weight of his own arms around her as he pulled her close.

“It’s not that it can’t be him,” Adrien admitted quietly as he laid his cheek on the top of her head, “But if he’s been there the whole time…and I could have…”

“Hawk Moth’s crimes do not lay at your feet,” Ladybug said firmly, twisting her face up towards him and refusing to let his eyes stray from hers. “I’ve been to your house during Hawk Moth’s reign. Is it my fault I didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary? Tikki’s, for not sensing another kwami’s presence?”

“Of course not, but you didn’t live with him,” Chat Noir protested.

“Hawk Moth isn’t sloppy,” Ladybug said. Why couldn’t she find the right words? “If he didn’t want you to know, you wouldn’t. That’s no one’s fault. What matters is what we do next.”

“And what’s that?” he asked with a bitter chuckle as he dropped his arms. “Arrest him? Storm my house? Fight it out in the backyard?”

“We check our facts,” Ladybug said, reluctantly letting him go. “We check everything. Regardless of who your father may or may not be, Chloe is missing and her last known location is your house. Either she fell down a servants elevator, or…or she found something. If nothing else, we have to look for her, or at least some clues as to what happened to her. For all we know, your father could be a hapless pawn in all this. Maybe all he needs our help.”

Chat Noir blew out a breath as he turned to look out over the city. He was still reeling, she could see that. She couldn’t blame him. If it had been her own father, would she have been so calm? No, she knew, she would not. In point of fact, he would have been chasing her across the city, trying to catch her before she ripped the bakery door of its hinges.

“What do you need?” she asked softly. More than anything, she wanted to hold him, love him, support him the way someone who was more than just a friend could. She couldn’t see how their relationship could lead to that horrible future that dogged her sleeping hours, especially now when he was obviously in so much pain. Could it really be so much worse than the present playing out in front of her?

“I need my dad to not be Hawk Moth,” Chat Noir said without turning. “And if he is, I need to do something. Luckily, I’m as clever as I am handsome.”

Ladybug frowned. “Adri -”

He pivoted abruptly, laying a single clawed finger against her lips. “Ah-ah. Your rule, remember, Ladybug?”

Ladybug’s heart gave a painful squeeze as she beheld his face. The light that had danced in his eyes since she’d met him, the warmth and humour, had shuttered and gone out. She may have put the wall between them before, but he was the one putting it there now. 

’No,’ she wanted to beg, ’Don’t. Don’t shut me out. You don’t have to do this alone.’ Was this how he’d felt all those months she’d been missing? Desperately wondering how to fix something when you weren’t even sure just how it had broken? How to help someone who shut you out?

“You have a plan?” she made herself ask, suppressing a shiver as he dropped his hand from her mouth. He wasn’t alone. She wouldn’t allow it. 

“The beginnings of one,” Chat Noir said as he opened the calendar feature on his baton. “My father is hosting a charity auction at our house in two days as a fundraiser for the foundation he created in… Lots of guests, fancy dress affair, the perfect time to do some reconnaissance and a possible rescue. Kagami, Felix, and I are, of course, already on the guest list.” He paused, and Ladybug glimpsed the momentary slip of his calm. “Chloe was, too.”

“Any chance you can get anyone else in?” Ladybug asked. Normally she was the one who came up with the plans, but she could feel how much he needed this in the absence of someone to actually fight. “A…date, maybe?”

Chat Noir’s eyes were narrowed in concentration as he mentally went through his elusive father’s rules and regulations. “I have to bring Lila. Kagami and Felix have an available plus one, though.”

Ok, she’d be lying if that didn’t sting. Little Lila did anymore bothered Ladybug, but being Adrien’s date? She knew how it would look to the press. Judging by Chat Noir’s face, he knew, too. So why did it matter?

The answer was instantaneous.

Because even if it was contractual, even if it was for show, what Lila would have was more real than the moments she and Adrien stole when they hoped fate wasn’t looking. 

“Kagami can bring Max as her plus one,” Ladybug said as though her heart wasn’t on fire. “If he can sneak away, he can open a portal long enough for a few of us to get in. I’ll go with Felix.”

Chat Noir’s head snapped up at that, but he bit back his protest before he could make it. “Makes sense,” he bit out, the cool facade falling back into place. “Who sneaks in?”

“Luka,” Ladybug said, listing them on her fingers. “Juleka, Mylene, Alya, and Nino. Anyone else?”

Chat Noir shook his head. “The fewer there are, the smaller the risks.”

Over his shoulder, Ladybug could see multiple flashes of colour making their way towards them, weaving around one another like planets caught in her and Chat Noir’s gravitational pull. 

“It’s a good plan,” Ladybug said as her gaze slide back to her partner. “I…Adr - ”

Before she could try again, Rena Rouge, Carapace, and Viperion landed on the roof. The others weren’t far behind. She watched her partner greet them, his face a mask of grim determination, no hint of the storm she knew he must be feeling. All this time, she thought she’d been afraid of Adrien’s reaction if he knew she knew his identity. Maybe what she’d really been afraid of was her own feelings about it. Maybe what she’d really been afraid of was the truth. Maybe Adrien was just smart enough to know the difference.

“I heard there’s a major development?” Rena Rouge said as Kele and Aurochs dropped onto the roof as well.

“Possibly,” Ladybug said. “Queen Bee’s gone missing.”

The excitement in everyone’s eyes died immediately. 

“Kidnapped?” Rena Rouge asked.

“Just missing,” Ladybug said. She didn’t want to tell them Felix’s theory, afraid to bias them against a threat that truly might not be there. She’d jumped to so many conclusions in the past, and they’d always lost ground because of it. “Her last known location is the Agreste mansion.”

Predictably, everyone’s gaze swung to Chat Noir. There were even more eyes now, since Phoenix, Pegasus, and Ryuuko had joined them. 

“Why was she there?” Carapace asked.

“We’re not entirely sure,” Ladybug said, skirting the truth. Koira might have said Chloe was investigating Hawk Moth, but they had no real proof of that, though Ladybug could think of little other reason Queen Bee would have for sniffing around the mans’ office. “But her last transmission was from Gabriel Agreste’s office. She hasn’t been seen since.”

“Gabriel Agreste?” Tigress chimed in. “You don’t think - ”

“Let’s wait for everyone,” Chat Noir finally said. Despite his initial reaction, his spine was straight, his voice cool. For a moment, Ladybug’s vision shifted and his suit was white, not black, his eyes a piercing blue in the twilight. 

No. They weren’t the same. Adrien might have that same reckless energy about him right then, but that didn’t mean…he wasn’t…he wasn’t…

They didn’t have to wait long. 

Felix was the last to arrive. Despite the round trip, he still seemed as agitated as before. Ladybug got it; Felix wasn’t the easiest to get along with, but Chloe had been the closest thing he had to a friend amongst them. Hell, she wasn’t in love with the idea of leaving Chloe for another two days, either, but she had to admit it was the best shot at success they had. 

Within seconds of full assembly, everyone knew why they’d been called: one of their own had disappeared in Gabriel Agreste’s mansion.

For once, Ladybug took a step back and let Chat Noir explain the basics of their plan to the team. He seemed to have understood her unspoken wish to keep the ‘why’ of their mission to themselves until the last possible moment, but then he’d always been able to pick up on her silent cues. 

This was different than an after-school slumber party and a candid conversation about what was and wasn’t forgivable, she knew. This was a real mission, and it could have real consequences. She wouldn’t make anyone risk their lives if their heart wasn’t in it.

But one by one, everyone nodded their assent, even Kagami, Alix, and Mylene.

It all came down to the same thing: even bitching and moaning the whole way, Chloe would do the same for them. 

“Alright, then,” Chat Noir said, drawing the meeting to a close as the sun sank over the city behind them. “Let’s go get Queen Bee back.”