#four riders au

[maize-is-lost]

Pikmin 4 au where instead of landing near the S.S. Shepard you land near wherever Leafling Olimar hangs out and instead of developing your fun little found family with your crewmates you're out in the wilderness reenacting Survivor with every castaway you pick up and this Leafling guy who wakes you up everyday at 4 am like "Wake up kid it's Dandori or Death" and keeps trying to convince you and everyone you rescue to embrace the leaves

[cinnamon--bagel]

What’s up buckaroos guess who’s back

[hah-studios]

Centaurworld reverse AU

Ko-fi

[ask-the-riders]

Death, about Anteros' costume: I can't take you seriously wearing that

Anteros: Awe, you take me seriously at all?

Death: Fair point

[forest-hashira]

I wanna talk about this more, so. tell me what you guys want to hear about first:

@peachdues @ghost-1-y sorry if the tag is annoying i just know you guys have been curious!

[fandxm-love]

"I wasn't always this strong," her voice almost trembled at the sudden memory. She shook her head, her short hair falling into her eyes. She quickly brushed back into place with her fingers. "I had no one when I was growing up. I was completely alone—except for the woman who took me away from my family when I was a baby." She visibly suppressed a shudder, stiffening her back to perfect posture. She let out a deep breath. "She wasn't . . . She used me for all I was worth."

"You don't have to talk about it if you're not up for it, Punzie," Flynn tells her gently, taking her hand.

She shakes her head again. "No, it's okay. I'm okay—to talk about it." She pauses, finding the place that she wants to start from. "She stole me out of my own crib in the dead of night when I was just a few weeks old. I guess she thought she could get my parents to pay a ransom since they were wealthy—but then she found out about my . . . talents. When she realized that I could heal people and restore youth, she decided to keep me for herself. And for eighteen years, she pretended to be my mother. She lied about everything. Using my gift, using my life to make hers easier. Every time something came up, she took it out on me. When you heal instantly . . . no one ever sees the damage." She breathed in shakily, being her hand to her eye. "But then I met Jack, then Flynn. They told me stories of the outside world, how good things could be." She plasters her usual excited puppy smile on her face and turns to her friends.

Part ?/?

[blankdblank]

Poke Ch 31 - You Remind Me of the Babe, Babe With the Power

It, has been a day. So this is a bit late. Debated splitting this in half but figured the title went so well with both halves so settle in for a long one this week. Neighbors decided to start fireworks two days to the end of June so new cat is not fond of it and has been in a mood and wreaking havoc on my plans in the process to keep her calm. Enjoy guys I really tried to make this island unique and not just some weird wild addition. Hope you like it and do let me know what you think of it. :)

[wyvernsrus]

The Linked Universe has now, also, taken over my life :) and im also a sucker for putting two of my favorite things together and I absolutely adore mhs2 so now I am constantly thinking about the LU boys going on an adventure following the monster hunter stories 2 plot :)

[lover-of-skellies]

(Trembling hands with War or Fam.)

Will do, broseph 👌 this is more than 10 sentences, but shhhh

-----

Retribution stared up at his partner, wide eyed and hopeful. He'd just dropped a majorly important piece of information on him, and he was praying that this wouldn't result in anything bad. Famine stared back at him, his single sapphire eye light constricted and now no larger than a pin prick in his socket. The taller of the two drew in a shaky breath, his voice a raspy mumble, "Y-Ya... You're really sure, Ret?... Completely positive?" The former prince nodded, his response immediate, "I am. Here... You can take a look, if you want."

He summoned his royal violet, apple-shaped soul, drawing it out of his chest and delicately taking it in his hands, offering it to his partner. Famine's eyes widened a little more, and the instant he noticed the tiny white souling attached to the side of Ret's soul, his eye light vanished all together. With trembling hands, he reached out, accepting the former prince's soul as gently as possible. Bringing it closer to himself, he stared at the souling for what felt like forever, beginning to imagine what this meant for his future with Ret.

He pictured a tiny babybones that looked just like Retribution, swaddled in a blanket, and sleeping peacefully on his chest, and his eye light began to slowly fade back into visibility. Noticing how anxious Ret was beginning to look, he offered him a nervous smile, hoping to offer even a little bit of reassurance. He wasn't sure how this would even work yet, but... For Ret, he was willing try his best.

[glitchedfoxx]

so I noticed that I had finished artworks of all of my TD characters except for Blue, so I devoted some brainpower today towards giving him the love and attention he deserves <3

[mentality-of-wukong-au]

Antonio:before you ask, no you don’t look old. You just need a sense of style. I can grab a change of clothes for you. We are probably the same size.

Zazhu:…I…thanks…

[maize-is-lost]

Finally finished Louie's introduction that I started here. All that's left now is Pom's section and then I'll post all three (four?) scenes together as one chapter! If you haven't seen the previous part, I definitely recommend checking it out for context.

--

Louie’s in a haze for the rest of the day. He packs, makes his call to his grandma, and picks up a coffee and a pikpik carrot muffin at the coffee shop that got him through high school. He hasn’t had time to stop by in almost a year, now. He leaves a generous tip.

The moments in-between are spotty. He’s not sure if hours or days have passed before he’s back at Hocotate Freight’s headquarters.

“Excuse me,” a tired voice says, snapping him back to the moment. He turns, now-cooled coffee halfway to his mouth, to see a woman standing behind him. She’s short and older than him, though he can’t tell by how much, given how recent the wrinkles and gray hairs must be.

They’ve never met in person, but he’s seen pictures. Even if he’s not good with faces, he knows this is Olimar’s wife.

“You’re Louie, aren’t you?” Unsure of how to respond, he just nods. “I see… I, well… I’m not sure how to say this.” She laughs halfheartedly. “You know, Olimar always talked about how he wanted to invite you for dinner. I can see why! You’re far too skinny for a boy your age!”

He looks down, then back up to her. “That’s what my grandma says too. Mostly because I eat too much.” For some reason he could eat and eat and never gain any weight. It probably had something to do with him being an outbreed. Nana always said full-blooded Hocotations had to be short and stout: short because all their food was either close to or under the ground, and stout to store extra water and nutrients for later. Louie had just gotten the short end of the genetic stick by inheriting traits that made him stand out.

Either way, his joke gets a full peal of laughter out of her. By the time she composes herself she’s out of breath and there are tears in her eyes. After a moment she sighs, wiping the tears from her eyes. “I see why my husband liked working with you,” she muses, wilting a little at the mention of Olimar. “I heard they were sending you to the planet The Transmission originated from. I… I have to be honest… I’m not sure what I want you to find when you get there.”

Louie’s eyes widen. She continues, swallowing down some nervousness before she gets to what’s been stuck in the back of his mind all day. “The speaker in The Transmission wasn’t my husband.”

“I know.”

Her jaw drops. Olimar’s wife looks at him with something like joy and disbelief. “You already know. That… makes this much easier to say, then.” She clears her throat. “As much as I want you to find my husband and bring him home… I don’t want anyone else to get hurt while searching for him. I… I know that he wouldn’t want that either.” She sniffles, dabbing at her face with her sleeve. It’s making Louie want to run away more and more with every passing second. “That’s all I had to say. Please be careful when you’re out there.”

He gives one last nod before turning to leave. He heads straight to his ship from there. He doesn’t see the President or any of his coworkers before he takes off toward the mysterious planet, so Olimar’s wife’s words are all he can think of as he flies toward the stars.

He’s not taking any risks when he gets to that planet.

[graves-doodles]

Dragon rider au revisited!!! 👀

Warriors - Monsterous Nightmare Titan

Time - Terrible Terror (he rides with Wars)

Hyrule - Gronkle

Sky - Deadly Nadder

Legend - Armorwing

Wind - Shockjaw

Four - Hideous Zippleback

Wild- Sentinel

Twilight - Woolly Howl

[aoioozora]

Simon.

Part 1

Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9

Character: Simon Riley / Ghost Content: Biker! Ghost x Fem! Reader, strangers to lovers, fluff, civilian au Photo credit: quinci Note: Had 'Meddle About' by Chase Atlantic on repeat as I wrote this in one sitting. My first COD fanfiction. Enjoy!

Their hands squeezed against your arms and wrists. You tried to pull and yank away in resistance to their unwanted advances.

“Hey, c'mon, you're cute! You should come with us.” one of them said in a voice that was meant to sound silky and inviting, but came off as sleazy.

Words failed you, all of them stuck in your throat, a large lump of fear blocking them from escaping your lips, tightening within your neck like a balloon about to burst. The memory of self-defense vanished from your muscles as you pitifully tried to fight off three men who were  taller and bigger than you with your pathetic grunts and pleas to be released.

Upon the dark and empty streets, a distant hum of an engine, accompanied by a singular bright light which seemed like a firefly's glow, appeared to he approaching. You took no notice.

The hum of the distant engine grew about as loud as a cat's threatening growl, and the light as that of a strong flashlight. It still didn't catch your notice. 

The growl turned into a loud, deafening roar, seemingly at will, vibrating the still air like an earthquake. It caught all of your attention as it drew near at an alarming speed towards the four of you. 

The three men shrieked with fright, automatically letting your hands go in the process, and covered their faces with their arms. The growling, glowing thing screeched to a halt inches in front of them, sending the sharp smell of burnt rubber up their noses.

When the four of you looked, there stood a shiny, jet black sports motorcycle, upon which sat a rider. He was helmeted, also dressed in ripped black jeans that hugged his tree trunk-like thighs, a black leather jacket that tightened against his muscular arms and broad shoulders. The flickering white light of the street lamp cast a ghastly, ominous glow over him, making him look like some sort of ghost from an urban legend.

The three men recovered from their shock and opened their mouths to berate this biker for interrupting them, but before they even did, the biker flicked up the dark visor of his helmet and revealed his equally dark, glaring eyes. 

“What are you doing with my girlfriend?” asked the biker, enunciating every word, slowly, like he was holding back a dam's amount of rage. His gruff, gravelly, British accented voice was muffled slightly by the balaclava he wore under the helmet, yet every word was heard loud and clear as if they were spoken through a megaphone, and the three men immediately stepped back from you, knowing that messing with another man's girl would have dire consequences. 

You didn't know you had a boyfriend. Yet you played along. 

“Simon!” You cried as you ran to him, going behind the motorcycle and hiding behind his large body. You decided to name him whatever came to mind first.

He sat up straight on his motorcycle to keep you hidden from them as he balanced on the sleek vehicle which rumbled like a distant thunder between his legs. He glared at the three men. “Well?” he asked with a growl that very well sounded the same as the roar of his vehicle's engine. 

They simply backed off without a word, knowing they wouldn't win. The mysterious motorcyclist who you named ‘Simon’, stayed until the three men were out of sight while you still stood behind him, watching them leave. 

“You okay?” he finally asked you when the coast was clear, now turning his dark eyes over his shoulder, where you were standing. 

You let out an exhale you didn't know you were holding. “I'm fine,” You replied with some effort, massaging your aching wrists. 

He paused before replying; he could clearly see that you were rattled by the experience, considering how your eyes still looked apprehensive like that of a hunted rabbit’s. His eyes flickered to your wrists, and he looked back at you. “Did they hurt you?” he asked softly. 

“They just held me tight. I mean, my arms.” You exhaled again, the ache in your wrists easing slightly. Words still seemed to fail you, but they now flowed out a little easier. 

He seemed slightly taken aback by how nonchalantly you said this, like it was a common thing. “Bastards.” he growled in his very distinct accent, clearly not the posh British accent you knew. “This place isn't safe. What were you loitering around here for?” he asked, now holding the handles of his motorcycle as he leaned back and moved his legs, moving the motorcycle backwards so that it was now back on the street. 

You moved away to give him space, and then replied, “A friend of mine lives here. There was a party at her place.” 

His eyes narrowed slightly, and he now leaned forward to cross his arms on the tank of his vehicle. “Do you want to get out of here safely without getting hounded by blokes like those?” he asked. 

“Yes!” you answered immediately. Somehow, you felt like you could trust this man somewhat, especially after he saved you and enquired about your wellbeing after that ordeal. 

He leaned back slightly and patted the pillion behind him. “Get on. I'll be your taxi tonight.”

You blinked. “Are you sure? I don't want to bother you too much.” 

“Look here, lass,” he started, leaning forward again, “I don't know if you know, but besides those cunts, there are muggers here too. And they all wake up at night. If you want to get out of here safely and not be a news report tomorrow, then get on." He pointed a thumb over his shoulder, "I'll take you wherever you need to go.”

You were surprised by his straightforwardness, yet it somehow seemed apt for a man with a gruff voice and a fearless attitude. Not another word more, you climbed up on the pillion of his motorcycle with some stumbling, but the man was patient, and leaned his motorcycle to the side to lower it slightly, so you could get on easier. As you were doing this, you couldn't help but notice the musky, earthy smell of his perfume, which reminded you of wet soil, rain, and dark chocolate; a positively divine scent.

“What's your name?” You asked as soon as you were comfortably settled on the seat. 

There was a moment's pause before he answered, “Simon,” with an almost careful tone, as if he wanted to see your reaction. 

As he expected, your eyes were wide with surprise. It melted away slightly as you thought he was just playing around with you. "Come on, that's the name I called you by earlier. What's your actual name?"

"It's Simon." he insisted.

You blinked yet again. "What a coincidence," You said laughingly, "I could've never imagined getting your name right on accident."

“I confess, you surprised me there.” His voice trailed off at the end, as if he wanted to say something cheesy, but he stopped himself, remembering that you were a stranger and not his friend. He leaned back again, yet again moving his motorcycle backwards. 

You instinctively took hold of his shoulder to keep yourself steady as he moved. You tried to ignore it, but you noted how broad and rugged his shoulders were. 

“So, where d'you wanna go?” he asked, taking hold of the handles and twisting the accelerator, making the motorcycle growl. 

You told him your destination. 

“Not too far. Two minutes if I go at 150.” he said, as if 150 kmph was slow for him. But he looked at you over his shoulder, “You okay going fast?” 

“I've never gone fast before.” 

He figured. "Wanna get a feel of it?"

"Sure, I've not nothing to lose... except my life, if you don't drive safely."

He chuckled, and it sounded oddly cute, unlike his gruff voice. "Just trust me, lass. I'm not gonna turn you into a news report."

"Well, you saved my life just there, I expect you to preserve it." You said with a chuckle. It felt strange that you already seemed comfortable enough with him to joke around.

"Nothing to worry about," he assured as he turned forward and revved the engines again. “You'll fly off, so hold on to me tight.” He said with emphasis. 

“Gotcha.”

He got the wheels running, and started slow. The breeze kissed your face and your hair, and in the cool night, it felt freeing. He twisted the accelerator, going a notch faster. The breeze blew against you like a blow dryer, and you squinted your eyes slightly in order to see the quickly passing landscape of buildings, 24 hour convenience stores, and lighted street lamps. 

He gradually increased the speed so you would not freak out, an oddly considerate thing he did for a complete stranger, something he would not usually ever do. 

As the dial of the speedometer passed the 80s and crossed to the 100s, the breeze, now a gust, started to mercilessly slap your face, not allowing you to open your watering eyes. By this time, you had your arms around his waist and your face stuffed in and hidden behind his large back, holding on to him for dear life, while the smell of his perfume consoled your fears. 

He rode on, completely unfazed by this speed, but a little stiff at the fact that a person, a woman, particularly, was holding on to him. It was out of necessity, of course, yet he couldn't help but feel a little strange about it.

As predicted, in two minutes, he reached your destination, which was thankfully a busy area with people still bustling around the open shops like it was daytime. He halted to a stop where you asked, and you took hold of his shoulder again as you mounted off the high pillion seat.

“Thanks a lot, Simon,” You smiled at him. You took notice of the logo on his helmet that carried the Italian flag in a semi-circle; it seemed to stand out over the glossy black shell of the headgear.

He pushed up his dark visor, and the flag was obscured. He nodded in response as his eyes studied your face, taking in the contours of your features all in a brief moment. "How did the speed feel?" he asked.

"Exhilarating," You replied, feeling your heart thumping wildly.

"In a good way?"

"I guess. It was kind of scary, but I liked it."

He nodded, and in his eyes, you could see that he looked a little pleased by your answer.

“I know it's not much but…” You paused, putting your hand in the pocket of your jacket, causing the contents to ruffle against each other. You pulled out a small, hard red candy wrapped in clear plastic and handed it to him. “... This is a little something for you for helping me out.” 

He stared at the little candy on the palm of your hand, almost ready to refuse it out of modesty. But it was just a little candy. Who could it hurt? His fair hand reached out and took the candy, and both of you noted how tiny the sweet treat looked on his palm. He could crush it with his bare hands if he wanted to. Yet, he held it gently and stashed it in the pocket of his leather jacket, murmuring a word of gratitude that was barely audible under the two layers of his balaclava and his helmet. 

“Well, you take care. And don't hang around in sketchy places like that next time,” he said, as if you were his friend of many years. 

You were warmed by his concern for you, and you smiled, nodding. “After that, I don't think I'll hang around there at this time anymore. I'm sure as hell gonna stay over at my friend's place if I'm there till late.” 

“Excellent choice,” he remarked. “I'll be off now.” 

“Take care.” You smiled at him again, and his eye lingered on you a moment longer before he turned his head away. 

He silently revved the engine of his vehicle again and sped off. You stood by the side of the road, watching his figure recede as the distance grew. 

A sense of longing washed over you for this stranger named Simon, and you wondered if you would ever see him again. It was a strange coincidence that you unknowingly guessed his name so correctly, like unknowingly marking the right choice in a multiple choice exam. 

It all came back to you now. The feeling of his rugged shoulder and back under the smooth leather of his jacket; the coarse, gravelly growl of his British accented voice that felt like rubbing coffee powder between your fingers, rough yet pleasing; the scent of his perfume like that of a dark, wet, rainforest; and his eyes… oh, his dark eyes were brooding and mysterious. Under the shade of his helmet, they seemed like swirling little black holes, the gravity around them dense enough to draw you in like a helpless star. 

A shiver passed down your spine as you thought of him, making your cheeks flush with warmth as a distant look reflected in your pining eyes. 

You started your walk back home, thoughts filled to the brim, flooding like a tidal wave with this biker. You were left knowing nothing about him, except for his name:

Simon.

End.

Part 2

Comment if you want to be added to my taglist :)

[ask-the-riders]

Abrael: *pushing on a door that says pull*

Pestilence: *recording* push harder

[boxofbonesfic]

Title: Brave [2 of ?]

Pairing: Orc!Steve x Reader

Summary: As you begin to acclimate to life in the pack, your new leader seems to take a keen interest in your ability to survive. 

Warnings: 18+ Only, Genre typical violence, Warlord Nomad AU, Dark Fantasy AU, Enemies to lovers, Eventual smut, References to past abuse

A/N: i really hope you guys enjoy this next piece! mind the warnings ❤️

You run your tongue across your chapped lips before reaching for the skin of water hanging from a long strap across your shoulder. The liquid inside is over-warm from the sun hanging mercilessly overhead, but you are grateful for it still. 

Where are we even going?

The river had been days ago—three, perhaps four at your best estimation—and the pack had been pushing on ever since, riding out into the grass sea further than you had ever thought possible. When you had asked, your father had told you simply that there was nothing out there, his breath stinking of ale as he reminded you to keep your mind to your housework, else he would ensure you found out for yourself. And now, for all the fates cruel humor, you had found out anyway. 

You had been spared death at the river, but the same luck that had kept you breathing now also bound you to the blue-eyed-orc and his pack. You had tried twice already to sneak away in the darkness, only to find yourself practically nose to nose with your captor, his eyes bright even in the dark.

Dangerous out there in the dark, Sweetmeat, he’d said, turning you around with one huge hand on your shoulder, tapping the flat of his blade against your backside as your cheeks flamed with hot anger and embarrassment. If you’re looking to raise an army for vengeance, you should ride in daylight. Even now, your face heats with anger. You had no intention of riding to the capital to raise the alarm—even if you knew how to get there, you doubt anyone would care for the fate of a tiny village in the borderlands. 

You slip dangerously in the saddle, yelping as you grab for the reins, righting yourself. You had never ridden a horse before now, much preferring to watch the huge beasts from afar rather than subject yourself to them up close. The stallion beneath you seems to know it, tossing his head irritatedly as you pull back haphazardly. 

“I’m afraid the saddle is too big for you.” The voice startles you, and you almost slip down out of the saddle again as you whirl to look at its source. Mirthful blue eyes meet your own. “We shall have to find you a smaller one.” 

You glare at him, your mouth stubbornly shut. 

“Oh come now. Are you still angry about last night?” He makes no effort to hide his amusement. You keep your jaw locked, refusing to answer—which only serves to amuse him further. Finally, your ire loosens your tongue.

“You would have killed me three days ago,” you bite out through gritted teeth. “And left my corpse in the dirt.” 

“Aye,” he answers, cocking his head. “Yet I did not.” Somehow, this enrages you even more. 

“You hunted the others for sport—” You half choke on the words. “You ran them down like dogs.”

“What use is a lame horse, Sweetmeat?” He asks. “Or a dog that won’t hunt?” There is no derision in his words, only indifference. “I cannot ask my riders to carry that burden.”

“So you kill them.” 

“Aye.” You see reflected in his eyes the same cool apathy a wild dog might give a rabbit. “Would you ask a wolf to apologize for feeding its strongest cubs, Little One?” You bristle, but he continues before you can speak. “Perhaps because it is removed from you, you do not see it. But I have seen it. I have seen your great cities of men, and the bodies that line the ditches of their streets. There is death for them everywhere.” You want to deny the truth of his words, but they settle on your skin like oil. “Better a quick death by my steel than a slow one beneath the heel of the man you call King.”

He stops his horse, and you mirror him, watching the orc warily. 

“If you wish to return to it, you’ve my blessing to do so, Sweetmeat. May you go and die in whichever way seems best to you.” 

You are overcome with the urge to dig your heels into the stallion’s sides and take off, to cut through the swaying sea of grass like a clean blade—but you hesitate. 

Your life in the village had been one of little note and much misery; tending to your father as he sickened himself with either too much ale or for the want of it as the days ground on and on. You’d felt little sorrow at his passing, considering he’d blacked your eye only three days prior. There were, no doubt, several villagers that had escaped on horses of their own, racing back toward the mountain to warn others of the orc-pack roaming the borderlands. You suppose you could rejoin them—the same people who had watched as your father’s druken rages consumed him and done nothing to help you. 

Your skin prickles with distaste. 

“No?” He asks after a lengthy silence. “Then let us ride on.” 

You watch sullenly as he takes his place at the front of the group, the other riders falling into a loose line behind him. 

—

No one offers to help you as you struggle down from your horse when they break to make camp, and you drop unceremoniously to the ground. For the most part, the rest of the pack ignores you completely, regarding you with the same indifference one might pay a rock as they go about setting up their bedrolls and hobbling the horses. They dwarf you as you all line up to fill your water skins, and the one with chestnut hair—-the blue-eyed-one had called him Buck—narrows his eyes at you. 

“What’d you do to earn water today?” He sneers. “Get to the back. We’ll see if we have any left for you.” You dig your heels in gritting your teeth despite your fear. The protestation is there on your tongue, but before you can voice it, someone else speaks instead. 

“Give her the water, Bucky.” The blue-eyed-orc rests a hand on his shoulder. 

“Steve, she will do nothing but slow us down and rob us of our food, our water—”

“Calm, Bucky.” He holds up a hand. “The human will hunt tomorrow, and tomorrow she will earn it. Tonight, give her the water.” For a moment there is tension between them, a charged current you can’t see, but it soon breaks. Reluctantly, Bucky fills your water skin, shoving it into your hands with a grimace. 

“It was fine to give her Roth’s horse—he fell, he’s got no need for it now,” Bucky spits irritatedly. “But Tarrath’s a fortnight’s ride from here. She’s going to need to earn her water.” He frowns at you. “Like the rest of us.” Steve nods his understanding. 

“Aye. She will. Consider it half my portion.”

Angrily, you shuffle back over to your horse and begin unstrapping your bed-roll from its back. Nothing has been said outright, but you sleep away from the others, setting your roll up at the edge of camp. You know you aren’t welcome. You know you shouldn’t care at all for your usefulness, but you aren’t sure you’d fare any better wandering the grass sea alone. Your horse—Roth’s horse—stares down at you judgmentally while you wind the length of rope around his front legs, and you frown deeper. 

“Even the blasted horse,” you mutter, kicking aside a few loose rocks as you lay down the roll beside him. You don’t know how to hunt—it wasn’t as if your father had taught you, and you doubt he had the knowledge to do so in the first place. There is large bow strapped to the saddle, thus far untouched by you, and gently you undo the bindings. It is heavier than it looks, and you hold it aloft clumsily, the string biting hard into your fingers as you struggle to draw it back. 

“You won’t catch anything like that.” 

You don’t turn to look at him. 

“You didn’t have to give me your water. Steve.” He chuckles at the sound of his name on your lips. 

“I won’t be doing it again, Sweetmeat. So you’d better learn how to use that thing.” This time you do turn. He is closer than you anticipated, and you squeak with surprise as he plucks the bow from your hands with ease. “Hold it up, like this.” He draws the string back, the muscles rippling across his bare chest. “This is the sight, here, this notch.” He runs his thumb over the place where the arrow head will sit. “Come.” 

When you don’t move, he grips your hands firmly, winding them around the bow. 

“Like this, put your hand here.” His hand curls over yours, covering it completely. You’re practically trembling when he pulls away, your palms sweaty against the lacquered wood. “One last piece of advice, Sweetmeat.” 

“What?”

“Don’t miss.” 

to be continued

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