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avoxrising · 6 months

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The Feral One • Chapter 6

Finnick Odair x Reader

Series Masterlist Link

I love writing pissed off Johanna dialogue!

Content warnings - death (it’s the hunger games)

As much as he wants to chase after you, he can’t. Katniss would kill you and he can’t abandon the plan, not until he can pass off babysitting duty to Johanna.

You spent the evening wandering the jungle, unnerved by every little noise you heard. After you left, you circled back the way you had originally come, hoping the others would carry on in the other direction.

Your arm was still bleeding but you didn’t care. It’s not like any sponsors were lining up to send you stuff. You’ll have to kill a career and steal their supplies using the only weapon you have, the arrow that landed in your arm.

A few hours after dark, the faces of the fallen appear in the sky. None of your allies are on the list so you don’t really care. It’s not like you knew these people.

You opt to go deeper into the jungle, opposite of where Finnick must be. This whole place is starting to look the same, though, and it’s hard to get your bearings.

Hours later, a gong rings twelve times. You don’t have time to ask yourself what it means as the hairs on your body stand up and a large blast of electricity shoots down mere yards away from you.

Lightning.

You have to move. Now. Your ears hurt and panic rises in your throat. They’re here to kill you. You’re gonna die.

Running, you collide with someone, another tribute. They don’t even have time to scream before your arrow is through their neck and their cannon is sounding. Move. Now.

You run until you can’t anymore, scared that something is chasing you. The game makers must have caused the lightning to force you and the other tribute closer together.

There were other canons throughout the night, but you paid no attention to them. You sat under a tree, hugging your knees, trying to ignore the burning in your dry throat and the pain in your arm. Of course Katniss had to shoot your dominant arm.

When the day is bright enough to illuminate your section of the jungle, you decide to head back towards where the lightning was. If another tribute was over there then there may be some food or water close by. Maybe they even had sponsors.

The sun is high in the sky by the time you make it back to where the fight occurred. There’s no trace of it but you know the spot. Your hair stands on edge again and you panic, knowing exactly what this means. The lightning strikes and you bolt, running from whoever must be near.

They’re going to kill you. You’re dead. You need to run faster.

You run downhill, towards what you think is the lake. Despite not being allowed in the ocean for the past five years, you’re probably still the second best swimmer in the arena behind Finnick. If you could lure whoever is chasing you into the water then you could drown them.

Your legs barely make it to the beach, completely drained from your lack of sleep and sustenance. Whoever was following you must have realized your plan and stopped. Maybe nobody followed you at all.

As you make your way out of the jungle and towards the water, you pause, spotting a large group of people a ways down the beach. It’s Finnick and his alliance. Maybe they would give you food, or shoot you. Honestly, who knows?

They spot you approaching and Katniss aims another arrow at you. You’re still clutching the one she shot you with in your hand, ready to stab anyone who comes near.

“Y/N!” Finnick exclaims as he runs over to you. “I was so worried.”

You look over at the group and back at him, silently asking if they’re ok with you being there. He sighs, realizing that Katniss probably isn’t ok with you being there but he needs you with him anyways. He can’t lose you.

“Have you eaten?” he asks. You shake your head no. “We have food and water. Oh! And some first aid stuff for your arm. Katniss is sorry by the way.”

“Skin?” you ask him. Noticing the scabs on his body and the cuts on his face.

“We got caught in some poisonous fog last night and ended up in a fight with some monkeys this morning,” he explains. “I’m alright. Nobody in our group has died except Blight. He hit the force field last night and they couldn’t revive him.”

You hum in response, catching a whiff of the fish Finnick must have caught for the group to eat. He notices your hunger and gently guides you to sit on the edge of the group close to Johanna and far away from Katniss.

“Glad you could join us feisty!” Johanna chuckles as you sit near her. You give her a shrug as if to say that you’re currently indifferent to your existence. She gets the memo.

“Nuts and Volts,” she states. “Have you met fiesty?”

The man and woman look up at the group.

“Yes,” Beetee replies. “I believe we briefly met Y/N at her victory tour celebration in the capital but it’s been many years. It is nice to see you again Y/N, although I wish it was under better circumstances.”

“You guys aren’t letting her stay with us, right?” Katniss asks and you tense up. They need her for their plan. You’re disposable.

“Back off firebird,” Johanna barks. “She’s sticking with us.”

“She tried to kill me!” Katniss exclaims.

“Because you touched her,” Johanna shouts. You flinch at the volume. “Rule numéro uno is don’t touch fiesty. Plus I thought you were a good fighter, Katnip. You mean to tell me you couldn’t win a fight against her? She hasn’t been outside in over five years. She’s practically harmless!”

“Let’s settle down,” Finnick states, noticing you becoming tense due to the yelling. “Here’s your fish Y/N. I’m gonna go grab you some water.” You smile at him in thanks and begin to eat the fish. The smile fades when you notice Katniss watching you eat like a hawk, so you turn around and sit with your back towards her while you eat.

You need to convince her of Johanna’s words. You’re harmless.

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#hunger games #finnick odair #hunger games fic #the hunger games #finnick odair x reader #finnick imagine #finnick x reader #hunger games x reader #hunger games fluff #hunger games angst #the hunger games fanfiction #catching fire #the feral one

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milla-frenchy · 17 days

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Under pressure

0k6 | Joel Miller x fem reader | ao3 Warnings: 18+ mdni. rough sex, degradation, dirty talk, piv, anal play, spit as lube, anal, creampie, qz!joel has his own warnings No age specified

a/n: @aurorawritestoescape thank you for beta-ing 😘💕 Gif in the mood board by @pedropascalito 🙏

Masterlist

**********

Joel was fucking tired and pissed. Tired of this post outbreak world, tired of what he had to do with Tommy to survive years ago, tired of smuggling with Tess, and fucking pissed at the FEDRA soldiers and Robert's men.

The only time he wasn't tired was when his cock was splitting you in two, and that each trust of his hips helped him release the pressure. Using you to get off, thrusting harder, deeper. Feeding himself on your moans and your walls surrounding his fat cock.

Even when you rode him, you were never in charge. His hands clamped on your hips, he pounded into you as he pushed his cock upward, piercing your core. Sliding his hand into the crack of your ass, pushing a knuckle into your tight ring to hear you groan more. Taking more, always more.

“Joel, too much…” you stammered, barely managing to find your words.

"Shut the fuck up. Ya know what to do if ya really want it to stop.”

You knew. But you never dared to stop him. Never really wanted to. Because you too needed to relieve the pressure, and only Joel’s cock helped you to do that.

You moaned again, he was fucking your pussy so hard, his finger in your ass, caged in his arms, that you didn't know what you felt anymore.

“Take it. Just fuckin’ take it,” he said, thrusting ever harder.

“Fuck…”

Suddenly he stood up, keeping you impaled on his shaft, his jeans pooling on his old boots, until he put you on your feet next to the couch. Leaning you abruptly over it, and thrusting his thick cock in your core, bottoming out in one go. One hand pressed between your shoulder blades to force you to stay bent forward, his other hand on your hip as leverage.

“Always so fuckin’ tight, no matter how long I fuck this cunt”, he spat through his clenched jaws.

You bit the cushion just as his thumb returned to its favorite spot. You wondered if he was going to fuck your ass. If he was so tired, so pissed, that he would need more. Before you even thought about it, you breathed out, “Joel…fuck my ass. Now, please.”

He sneered, “where’s “Joel, too much” whine gone, huh, sweetheart? Such a slut for this cock.”

You felt the big drop of saliva hit your asshole, your buttcheeks spread by his big hands, just before his tip pressed against your ring. Way too tight for his big cock. He spat again, on his shaft this time, to wet it a little more.

Biting the cushion wasn't enough anymore, when he pushed in. Your nails dug into his hand placed on your hip, while his other hand now grabbed your shoulder to help him dive in harder, further. As if he was still in your pussy. It was the only way you and him were able to forget your lives.

He grunted for a few seconds before cumming, his cock twitching in your sore ass. And finally, he shot his load in your depths, leaning forward to bite your shoulder. His torso pressed against your back, all the daily life of the QZ disappeared. The twenty years that had just passed.

“So cockdumb, when I fuck you like this”, he said, pulling out, as his cum flowed out of your hole.

He tucked his cock in his jeans, and poured himself a glass of whiskey which he drank in one go. He looked at his hand bleeding from your nails. And he handed one glass to you when you finally managed to get up.

And you wondered how long it would take before life got too much. And that you would go knock on his door, or him on yours, to forget all of it again.

***************

Thank you for reading 🙏

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated ❤️

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@pascalsanctuary @littlemisspascal @survivingandenduring

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #tlou #pedro pascal #joel miller x you #pedro pascal characters #qz!joel #friends of juice collective

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cxrsed-angel · 1 year

Text

Girls Night Out | Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

word count 1k

summary: joel takes care of you after your first girls night out

warnings: mentions of sex but isn’t actually, drinking, age gap, (joel is in his late 50s, reader is in her 20s), mentions of puking

gif credits: @/ pedrohub

“Joel I think your girl had a few drinks too many,” Tommy laughs taking a sip of his drink before walking away. joel says silent prayer hoping you werent making too much of a fool of yourself.

He knew you had a hard time adjusting to jackson, used to surviving not living, when you told him about a group of girls your age inviting you out to go drinking with them be encouraged it, and tagged along since you were nervous, he expected you to makes some new friends but he didn’t expect those friends to get you drunk of your ass.

He sighs and sets his drink down, and turns around to see you on top of one of the tipsy bison’s tables, dancing with one of the girls, grinding your hips against hers, the short dress one of the girls gave you, riding up your thigh as you moved your hips, his jaw clenching when hears a few of the younger guys that were watching whistle at you.

“For fucks sake.” he mutters as he approaches the table.

“Hi ladies, hey sweetheart I think its time to go.” he holds his hands out to you, but you stay on the table, refusing.

“Noo Im having fun, I haven't had fun in forever and Im making friends look.” you gesture to the girls, and they wave as your words slurred. continuing dancing on the top. Joel lets outs a tired sigh, hoping you don't fall off and hurt yourself.

“Can you refill it please.” you beg, pouting and giving him your best puppy dog eyes handing him your empty glass. he’s about to refuse when Tommy comes over, he pats Joel’s shoulder.

“That’s what happens when you’re dating a younger girl huh she has to much energy for you.” he jokes as he watches you still dancing and taking a sip of your friend's drink.

“ Fuck off, Tommy. C’mon you've had enough darling can you please get down.” he asks again but you refuse again moving away from him as he tried to gently pull you down you lose your balance in the hells you had spent all week learning how to walk in, a foot slips off the table, luckily Joel catches you before you could hit the hardwood.

“You okay?” he asks but you're not paying attention. You're focusing on Joel's brown eyes and how they shine in fairy lights strung long the wall. You silently admire him for a few minutes. Not realizing he was speaking to you. “You with me sweetheart?”

“Has anyone ever told you how pretty you are” you sloppily run your hand up his chest clumsily, trying to be sexy.

Joel lets out a small chuckle at the state you were in. “Yes baby you have, come on let’s get you home ” he lightly grabs your arm helping you with your footing, one of the girls, just as drunk as you if not more comes up to you.

“This is joel? you’re right he is hot, you’re so lucky.” you smile and slip out of Joel’s hand taking the opportunity to gush about him more.

“I know he’s so hot, you should hear him when he’s pissed. His southern accent gets stronger it’s so sexy, it makes me so we—“Joel cuts you off before you could finish your sentence, blushing a bit.

“Okay! baby it’s time to go.” you wave to your new friends as joel leads you to the front. He finally thinks he managed to get you out of there one of the younger guys watching you dance blocks the door

“Hey you looked good dancing up there what’s your name.” Joel’s grip on you tightens, he’s about to tell him to fuck off, but you beat him to it

“Ew, no i have a boyfriend” he looks at Joel hand on your waist and scoffs.

“Who? not this old fuck, come on I bet the old man can’t even get it up anymore don’t you wanna someone who could go all night doll .” before you could come up with a response Joel fist collides into his nose, you could tell its bad when it starts bleeding, probably breaking his nose.

You hear gasps from everyone in the bar; but before anyone can do anything, Joel is already leading you out the door walking you home.

After many stumbles and you puke up all the alcohol in your system. Joel finally makes it home into your shared room. He sits on the bed next to you and rubs your back, as you lay down on the bed staring at him.

“Joel youre so hot”

He lets out a laugh “you’ve said before baby” he tries to get up from the bed, but you hold onto his hand, making him stay next to you

“No don’t leave please” you start tearing up at the thought of him not being next to you.

Joel frowns not understanding why you were crying “I’m not going anywhere just gonna get you a change of clothes and some food, maybe a bucket or something.” he tries to explain, but you cling onto him, crying a bit harder.

“No Joel please don’t leave me.” Joel’s caught off guard by your bawling and sits back on the bed.

“Okay Im not going anywhere Im right here just go to sleep baby.” he lays next to you but sees you still sniffing and crying.

“Sweetheart why are you crying,” he asks, full of concern, worried someone did something or hurt you. his worries only grow when you shake your head and refuse to tell him. “C’mon baby it’s okay you can tell me.”

You take a deep breath wiping your tears and face him “They’re gonna kick me out.” You cry out, Joel’s face frowning confused

“Who baby?”

“They! Everyone. Jackson, Maria. I fucking don’t know who does it specifically! ” Joel looks at you, trying to piece together what you’re saying.

“Why would they kick you out?.”

You stop cry a little and sit up, “This morning at breakfast I put my dirty plate in the wrong place I put it with the bowls Joel, the bowls! I was gonna fix it but then the girls started talking to me and lead me out talking about girls night out and what time to meet and I didn’t get chance to go back.” Joel stared at you with wide eyes at your babbled confession, he tried to hold in his laughter not wanting to upset you more.

“Baby they ain’t gonna kick you out because of that okay I promise.” you look at him sniffling,

“Really?” Joel nodded reassuring you

“Yea it was just an accident, sweet girl it didn’t hurt anybody, I doubt they even noticed.”

You stop crying and lay down cuddling against him, “ok, but if they kick me you out I’m telling you I told you so.” Joel smiles laughing a little as you closed your eyes slowly falling asleep.

Joel relaxes as you calm down. He thinks about it and realizes he’s never seen you drunk, he’s seen you drink here and there but never enough to let your guard know, not like this. It makes me happy that he had found a place for you and Ellie, that was safe, and you could relax, He knew that the both of you had been through so much and were forced to grow up fast. It was times like this when he remembers just how young you were, still in your twenties.

He rubs your head on his shoulder, lying down; he thinks about how he would take care of you every day if it gave you a chance to have a somewhat normal young adulthood. He closes his eyes to sleep, and it’s quiet for a few minutes until he heard your voice again.

“Joel. I think I need to throw up.” Joel laughs a little before sitting up to help you.

₊┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ୨୧ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈₊⊹

Bonus: Joel woke up early to go to the dining hall hoping to grab some of your favorite breakfast foods, he was placing the food in a to go container when he hears a group of whispering behind him.

“god he’s so hot,” he turns around and sees the group of girls you were with last night; he sees them looking fresh and awake and wonders how they weren’t hungover. he turns back and continues getting your food but they continue whispering.

“aww he’s getting her hangover food, I wish I had a sexy older man taking care of me.”

Joel shakes his head but continued ignoring them, moving over to get some coffee.

“I know I bet he fucks her so good.” Joel eyes widen at the comment and spills the hot coffee on the table and a little on his hand, cursing under his breath. he starts cleaning up when Tommy walks over, making joel jump slightly as he playfully slaps his shoulder.

“Jesus Joel why are you so jumpy just came to check on your girl.” Joel relaxes and continues filling up the coffee cups.

“It's - Im fine, she’s fine I actually need to go check on her now.” he answers quickly, trying to leave the dining hall before he hears anymore of their conversations but not fast enough.

“No, he’s definitely the #1 DILF here. Do you see him?”

“We don’t even know if he has kids. ”

“He doesn’t have to have kids to be a daddy.”

Tommy and Joel overhear their conversation as the girls walk by, Joel feels his face starts getting red, wondering how much you told them last night.

“Were-are they talking about you?” Tommy asks but Joel just shakes his head and heads towards the door.

“I gotta check on her, know she’s gonna a bad hangover. I'll see you later Tommy” he says as he leaves out the door, hoping to forget that whole situation ever happened.

#angel writes #joel <3 #joel miller x fem!reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x female reader #joel miller one shot #joel miller fluff #joel miller #tlou x reader #tlou fanfiction #tlou fic

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loveinhawkins · 1 month

Note

for the one word ficlet prompt thing!!

I'd love to see something steddie with the word "sun". not picky about how you use it and im good with whatever season you'd like! 💕🌻💘☀️

pre season 3 crossing paths in high school, my beloved ☀️💕 ao3

There’s a blind spot just on the outskirts of the school grounds, before you get to the woods: a little hill that if you sit at just the right angle, back pressed up against the grass, no-one can see you. Eddie goes there whenever he needs some peace—like now, reading alone during lunch. He can still hear the distant laughter of students floating along on the breeze, but it’s far enough away that it doesn’t intrude as he reads.

The air smells like summer’s approaching. His fingers skim through drying blades of grass; they feel almost as delicate as pressed flowers.

Despite the calm solitude, the words aren’t going in—and he knows that with the right teacher, he kinda gets Tennessee Williams, but Mr Hauser’s gone, and he was the only one who allowed Eddie free reign to go wild when reading aloud in class, every other sub since then would say he was being disruptive and… okay, that was true some of the time, but most of the time it was because it helped, damn it, gave him at least some hope of scraping a pass—

A shadow falls across Eddie’s page—it doesn’t loom in the way a teacher’s stance would, but he still jumps at the suddenness of it.

“Jesus!”

Eddie tips his head back against the hill, cranes his neck to look upside down. Squints against the sun.

It’s Steve Harrington, and he must have gym straight after lunch because he’s already changed into a T-shirt and shorts, which is an odd decision in Eddie’s opinion as a perpetual gym-ditcher, but whatever, it’s a free country… and it’s not exactly like the guy’s an eyesore.

”You trying to give me a heart attack, Harrington?”

“No,” Steve says shortly; he looks a mixture of embarrassed and… annoyed? Which would be a new personal best for Eddie, considering he’s done nothing to piss him off save for just sitting on the ground. “I didn’t know you were here, dude.”

“Yeah, that’s kinda the idea,” Eddie waves his hands in explanation, “welcome to my hiding spot.”

Steve scoffs. “Not much of a hiding spot if I found it.”

It comes out a little petty, sure, but nothing major, Eddie thinks; it’s not like Steve’s picking a fight.

“What’s up with you, man?” he asks lightly.

It’s something he’s pondered more than once over the last couple of years, in between the stress of failed tests and the same platitudes in school reports: Eddie must apply himself next year; Eddie must try harder; Eddie must…

In the background of it all was the enigma that was Steve Harrington. Eddie had found that you couldn’t not look at him, his eyes drawn to even the most fleeting impressions: walking past the lockers or driving in and out of the school parking lot. Seasons changed—whole damn years changed—and still the question remained: just what on earth is up with Steve Harrington these days?

At least now, asking the question is profoundly less upsetting than it had been last fall, when Eddie silently tracked the progression of bruises healing across Steve’s face—along with Billy Hargrove’s intimidating stare.

“Nothing, I’m just…” Steve sighs. “Didn’t wanna spend forever in the cafeteria when it’s so nice out, but… Honestly?”

“Nah, I’d prefer you lie to me,” Eddie says deadpan, and Steve snorts before sighing again; Eddie almost asks him to read some Tennessee Williams out loud, ‘cause he’s surprisingly got the dramatics for it.

Steve flops down onto the grass, lies right on his back with no concern for his precious hair. “I’m so damn bored, Munson.”

“Gosh, my heart bleeds,” Eddie says. “Puh-lease tell me how hard it is to have passed everything and literally not have a care in the world?”

Steve blinks up at him, frowning. “Shit, are you repeating again?”

He sounds earnest, and there’s something in his phrasing that means Eddie isn’t nearly as defensive as normal—maybe because it’s about repeating again rather than failing.

Eddie lifts up the script in demonstration. “Not exactly reading this for fun, dude.”

“God, I’d take that over gym right now.”

“Okay, you’re bullshitting me. You love gym, Harrington. You, like,” Eddie gestures at Steve’s get-up, “actually make an effort and everything.”

“Not when the semester’s almost over, man. We don’t even have a cover right now, so we’re just left to, like, do whatever, who gives a shit. I’m bored outta my mind.”

“Tragic,” Eddie says—gym without a teacher sounds like a dream; he’d literally just leave. “I’m weeping for you.”

Steve rolls his eyes. But it doesn’t feel like a dismissal, even when he doesn’t reply and just lies back in the grass with another sigh.

So… Eddie mulls it over. What the hell, Steve’s graduating; it’s not like they’ll cross paths after that.

“Bet you can’t run to the woods and back before the bell rings.”

Steve sits up, a gleam of interest in his eyes. He checks his watch. “The bell’s gonna ring in, like, two minutes, Munson.”

“Oh, sorry, I thought you were so bored. Well, if you’re not up to the challenge—”

“No, no,” Steve says, standing up. “I didn’t say that.” He actually gets into position like he’s on the running track, looks at Eddie expectantly.

Eddie covers his bemusement with theatrics; he mimes firing a starting pistol.

And… shit, Steve Harrington can run.

Objectively, it’s not like it’s a surprise; he wasn’t exactly bringing up the rear in the swim and basketball teams. Still, it’s one thing knowing it, another to see it up close like this.

Eddie puts his book back in his bag, watching as Steve disappears from view. Reluctantly, he edges away from the hill—if he doesn’t, he’ll risk being late for class again by the time he walks over, and… He thinks of ‘86, what has to be his third time lucky. Start as you mean to go on, and all that.

Eddie turns back to look. Sure enough, Steve comes sprinting out of the woods, racing up to the hill right as the bell rings.

“Still counts, Munson!” he calls, a little breathless.

And Eddie knows that he’s not really solved the mystery of what’s going on with Steve Harrington.

What he does know is that Steve is smiling as he raises a fist in victory, the sun turning his hair golden for just a moment; he looks utterly free—as he should be, graduation’s right around the corner.

And Eddie can’t begrudge him that.

”Inspirational,” he shouts, cupping a hand around his mouth as he walks backwards. “I’ll get John Hughes on the phone, stat.”

The bell stops. Eddie turns around before he can trip on his own feet.

He’s getting closer to the school building now, can feel the change in the air, cliques unwillingly disbanding as teachers move them on.

But as he heads to class, Eddie faintly hears evidence that the moment hasn’t been broken entirely: Steve Harrington’s laughter, drifting across on the wind.

#i’m so obsessed with the last days of school as a setting #pre steddie #steddie #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie

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when-pigsfly · 5 months

Text

WITCHING HOUR, CH. 1/3 — [18+]

(18+) - MARKED FOR EVENTUAL SMUT, MINORS DNI!

fem!reader x arthur morgan

summary: most people in the area had issues with coyotes. yours wore a cowboy hat, but you let him in anyways. tags: marked 18+ for smut in later chapters, reader has a backstory kinda (but also not kinda), referred to as lady/ma’am/etc, arthur doesn’t know how chickens work, i really don’t know my farm lore

word count: 5.5k

a/n: setting this pre-chapter 2 ish and post chapter 1, except it’s winter for realsies, Because I Can. and please no questions about chicken logistics or I Will Cry.

you can find a link to the playlist here!

read on ao3 here | masterlist

The fictitious “stranger,” by all accounts, was possessed.

Possessed by an air so overwhelming, so sure, that it incited perversity in even the most upright.

He was an outlaw, by the cut of the whispers. The story went that he’d rolled in like a heavy fog, altogether quiet and unassuming, though still carrying the foreboding quality that preceded the raising of hackles. Mothers kept watchful eyes over their daughters, and more notably, the fathers brandished their guns.

And yet—that maddening yet—the mothers seemed to care little for their own warnings, and even the fathers were envious of a man dripping with exploits they didn’t have the luxury of entertaining.

Luxuries and lack thereof aside, the fickleness of those who spoke of him had not gone entirely unnoticed; it lent no plausibility, no substance to the dream-like tales they’d crafted in their drunken stupors. The most substance you’d seen had been spewed into the shadowy corners of Valentine, pissed into not-quite pristine patches of snow, foul stench leaking out onto already foul streets before it followed you back to the farm.

It stunk.

It stunk, and it loitered, and it’d been stealing from you.

Which is exactly why—when he shows up on your rickety porch just as winter has begun to bleed out into spring—you take up the mantle of digging your loaded barrel right into his sternum.

—

The front door tremors behind you.

The stranger shifts on his feet.

You shift with him, and gloved hands inch toward the stars in surrender not long after.

Amorphous mass comes to your mind first, rather than man. You can only discern the more essential points of his appearance: the gloves, the satchel, the rifle slung over his back. Knives are stashed somewhere you can’t see—if he’s worth his salt—but everything else blends into the dark line of trees behind him. You swallow a rather painful yawn.

His hat, evidently beaten to hell and back several times over, sits low enough on his forehead to cast shadows over his features—though not low enough to completely obscure the faint outline of a face from your view. The rest of him only falls into place once you crane your head to find his eyes.

As is customary in situations concerning your immediate safety, your throat constricts, and the second yawn you feel crawling up your throat nearly succeeds in asphyxiating you.

Petty crimes would have granted him a slighter frame, but no petty crime you can think of could have afforded him the sturdy chest, the buckling of the air around him, the crooked line of his nose, clearly less cared for than his battered clothing. He’s still a little blurred—largely from a lack of sleep on your end, and the protection of his hat on his. Even so, the hard set of his gaze offers nothing other than the tale of cruelty lived and the promise of cruelty to come.

There was no doubt. This had to be him.

(You might think him handsome, if not for the fact that it’s a quarter past three in the morning.)

The first breach in his stony composure that you catch is paper thin. Fleeting. And he’s quick to recover; any indication of surprise is sequestered with a blink. The second is an awkward shifting of his stubble-shrouded jaw, and you note with a squint that his bandana still hangs feebly off the jut of his chin.

He admits defeat after a few clumsy seconds. Cracks a wicked smile, bright as the moon peeking out from behind the crown of his hat. But it falls away quickly. Somewhere in the distance a tree branch creaks, tiny shards of ice scattering to the ground and tinkling like bells.

He was calm. Entirely too calm, considering where he stood. His hands haven’t budged, and nothing in his stance hints at an intent to attack. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say he looks more annoyed by your presence than you are by his.

You try not to think about his eyes. There’s something else in there, too. Apart from the agitation that radiates from them, that is. It lurks deep beneath the blue and wades through the slight dilation of his pupils; it urges him closer—or, is it you?—like the distance between the two of you isn’t sustained by the twitchy arms of a jittery woman holding a rifle.

But there’s an abrupt wind that fiddles with the cotton threads of your chemise, and you’re suddenly struck with the realization that no, your hunting rifle isn’t loaded, and in your haste to confront him you’d forgotten your boots and shawl.

The nighttime chill, ever the tyrant, lodges itself where the wooden boards scratch eagerly at your bare feet. You were cold, so cold that it ached, and you were tired. But it’d do you no good to show your hand this early. So like the hiss of a rattlesnake, you keep your voice low, and you keep it lethal.

The stranger is named by the venom falling from your tongue.

“You’ve got ten seconds to convince me not to unload this lead into your chest, Morgan.” You track the added prod of the gun to ground yourself, eyelids still heavy with sleep.

It doesn’t do much, as far as threats go. Morgan’s ever steady breathing still accents the now stagnant winter wind, a stark contrast to the throb of your heart striking your ribs. But a small scar, carved into the flesh of his right cheek, has made an almost imperceptible shift. The rest of his features take far more liberties with their movement—

—and he’s scowling.

Your heart strikes louder.

God, the shit you would shovel to be able to read minds. Animals have always been more your speed; people were a hassle—far too unpredictable, and they tended to reap fewer rewards.

In your mind's eye, Arthur lies silently amongst the fallen snow, red unfurling behind him like wings. You’d hate to have to kill him, you really would. But there was nothing more dangerous than indecisiveness: it killed, and often relentlessly.

Only, you’ve been staring too long. It’s long enough to rouse Morgan from whatever state he’d been in before you’d spoken. He’s smart enough to keep his palms facing you, and he dips his head with the same mildness that one might use to soothe a startled mare. The scowl is tamped down, smile returning to him like water running through a scraggly creek.

“Evenin’, Miss.” He drawls.

And it works. You hate that it works. There’s a dull heat that seizes your lungs at the low timbre of his voice, something akin to fire.

No. No, nothing like it. It was more like the cheap whiskey you’d downed that first night working as a farmhand, all those months ago. It’d numbed your tongue, tumbled down your throat like sun-warmed stone, and simmered in your stomach. You hadn’t dared take another swig after that. Too dangerous. But it’s easy enough, passing your shudder off as a trick of the cold and cocking your head incredulously.

“Showing up uninvited, and you can’t do me the courtesy of knowing my name?” One push of the rifle sends him back with surprising ease—away from the cabin, and away from that damned moonlight. “Ma’am will do you just fine,” you spit.

His smile fractures. Not enough to truly frighten, but enough to make your fingers clench. “You talk to all your guests like that, Ma’am?”

You steel yourself. “Only the sneaks.”

At this, Morgan stills. Shuts his eyes.

Did he really think you wouldn’t notice?

The farm had more issues with coyotes than crooks; that’s what you’d been hired to take care of, more or less. Your employers—the Campbells—were getting on in their years, and were in desperate need of someone to help keep watch during the nights. So imagine the surprise when you’d found not a coyote, but a wanted man sliding through the shadows.

It’d angered you, that first time he’d gotten away. You’d only recognized him long after he’d left. But after that night, you’d made a show of firing off rounds into the nearby woods and roaming the perimeter of the grounds under the guise of a late-night hunt.

From what you knew, he hadn’t come back to steal, but you knew you’d seen him lingering. Felt him watching. Waiting for something—but you’d made sure that every pop of your rifle drove him further and further from whatever it was that he’d been aiming for. And now Arthur Morgan is here.

He furrows his eyebrows, purses his lips, and they disappear for a moment when he goes to wet them before he speaks again, a little less amused. “Now you know I mean no offense—”

“No offense? Well, I’d kill to see what you and your ilk consider offensive.”

The wind slams the front door shut.

“My ilk?”

You wonder if it’d been your goal all along, trying to rile him up like this. Accusations slide out of your mouth and into the night air far too easily for it not to be. But the thought of anything other than catching him red-handed occupying your head unnerves you, sending you another two steps forward and into the powdery snow.

“Jesus, woman! Alright, alright.” Morgan’s eyes finally leave you, darting between where your feet dig into the cold ground and the muzzle of the gun pressed to his chest. He slumps his shoulders and looks up to the sky, still an ugly grey-black from the thin dusting of snow the night before.

“Look,” he starts, hands fighting the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose, “I don’t mean no harm. I swear it. I’m—just give me a minute to explain, will you? One minute, and I’ll be out of your hair.”

There’s a please somewhere in there, left unsaid yet still ever so loud. You think it might have left him in the puff of breath that still hangs above your heads; hot and heavy in his mouth, but turned to nothing but vapors once it misses its chance to solidify.

You eye him warily. This could be over and done with in a matter of seconds, and you might be able to knock that godawful mustache clean off of Sheriff Malloy’s face. You kill him—or turn him in so long as he didn’t bleed out, whichever came first—and get whatever bounty was nailed to his head. Use the money to get out. Get your freedom. Stop biding your time, and get revenge.

And yet.

“…You lying to me, Morgan?”

His shoulders straighten out, suddenly very tense. “‘Course not. You think me the lyin’ sort?”

Your voice flattens. “I figured that much was obvious.”

“Ouch, lady. Not willing to pull your punches for little old me?”

“You’d rather the lady use the gun?”

“Neither, thank you. And, speaking of which–” His chest deflates a bit, putting space between the two of you without having to step back. “—quit swingin’ that thing around. You’ll take someone’s eye out.”

Exhaustion mounting, you lower your rifle slowly. You keep your eyes trained on a pebble that’s escaped the snowfall relatively unscathed, not trusting yourself to look anywhere else. Conceding with a sniff, you toss your head toward the front door. It’s quiet, now.

“Get in, before I change my mind—and no funny business, neither. Guns, knives, whatever else you’re hiding, drop ‘em. Right here.”

Too groggy to note the stalling of movement, you wait for the clinking of metal to stop. His boots retreat from your peripheral far more reluctantly than you expect. There’s a telltale groaning of wood, and you turn to find Morgan gazing down at you with an outstretched hand from where he’s hopped onto the porch. He murmurs with a reverence that you’re sure is misplaced, so quiet that you have to watch his lips to catch even a smidgen of what he says.

“Yes, ma’am.”

This was a game to him. You knew games. And so when you go to place your hand in his it’s to eye him down, back him into whatever corner would hold him and keep him there till you knew why he’d spent the last month haunting your lodgings like a ghost.

Calloused fingers wrap around your hand like a vice, and when he’s guiding you and your icy feet up the stairs it strikes you that maybe—just maybe—your assessment of your situation had been far too impetuous. Arthur’s touch is surprisingly clinical, but even through the leather of his gloves, it was warm. Too warm.

Ghosts weren’t warm. Or, at least you didn’t think they were. And Morgan, looking like the very paragon of the West, all bright eyes and honeyed words, had given you a glimpse of something far too beguiling not to investigate. It’s when he presses the back of his free hand to your wind-bitten cheeks that you wonder what your father might think.

“Chilled, right to the bone.” It isn’t so much a mutter as it is a rumble, reverberating somewhere deep in his throat and traveling up to where the two of you have made contact. You’re avoiding his eyes again, but you’re close enough now to be able to see his muscles working his neck.

His smell overtakes you much like the cold has. The freshness of the pine needles still stuck to his coat makes up most of what you’re able to distinguish. A little bit of horse, too—he’d ridden here. Where exactly he’d hitched his horse was a mystery. But with the proximity of his sleeve to your nose, you can make out the faintest hints of a potent musk. It’s everywhere: in your nose, your mouth, under your skin. Every inhale turns your muscles into piteous liquid. There’s no hiding your shudder, this time.

Morgan suddenly yanks his hand back as if scorched, and schools whatever expression he’d been wearing prior into one of indifference. He hums. Frowns.

“Let’s…uh, get you inside.”

You offer a tight nod and turn away, but Morgan is quick to the draw; he whispers a quick “pardon me,” and goes to retrieve the weapons he’d dropped in your stead.

Oh. You’d forgotten. It seems he’d forgotten too, brushing the mixture of dirt and snow away and mumbling something about keeping his guns warm. You’re left standing dazed on the porch, skin still blistering from where his fingers had met your skin.

Morgan has the decency to look at least a little troubled when he returns. He places what he’s collected into your arms before opening the front door, and gestures for you to enter. You offer one last look to the moon before following him inside.

Your judgment on Morgan—Arthur, now—was still up for debate. But your punishment for rushing to catch him had been doled out almost immediately.

For your feet, a numbness that the fireplace had been bullied into chipping away at. Your hands are still tight from the cold, and they sit tucked underneath your thighs with the added protection of a few blankets that’d been placed over your shoulders. Your eyes flick over from the fire to Arthur, and your chest tightens.

He’s found his seat across from you: coat and satchel on the back of a chair he’s pulled from the dining table, big hands tapping away absentmindedly at his knees. With the coat set aside, there’s nothing to hide the first few buttons of his shirt that hang open, pitch black and rolled up to his forearms to account for the warmth of the fireplace. His hat remains, hair still tucked away and settled at the nape of his neck.

You’d both been sitting in silence for the last half hour, despite Arthur’s insistence on “one minute,” letting the cold of the outdoors thaw out before saying anything that might get the rifle pulled again. You did gain a bit of satisfaction at the slight tinge of red in Arthur’s ears; it seemed the cold had gotten to him, too.

You watch as his eyes wander over the furnishings of your cabin. Thankfully, the door to your bedroom is only slightly ajar, and the knot in your chest lessens. It wasn’t often (or ever) that you had visitors over, which meant that most of your things were tucked haphazardly into corners or set on kitchen counters.

The Campbells—generous as they already were—had insisted you take up residence in a cabin on their property that once belonged to a daughter of theirs. She’d long since moved out, but the light in their eyes at the thought of it being occupied again was undeniable. It wasn’t much, but it was yours. And Arthur was seeing all of it.

“Don’t get too comfy.” You frown. “…Arthur.” He beams, and suddenly there’s something incredibly interesting lingering right by your foot.

His name still feels foreign when it leaves you. At first, you’d taken it as a show of good faith; he’d sworn to keep his mud-caked boots off of your rug in exchange for keeping his feet from becoming bullet-ridden by the time the sun came up. Arthur, feeling like he’d gotten the shitty end of the stick, had joked that you may as well call him by his first name. The last person with the guts to threaten him with a shotgun had, so what was one more?

It was a weak threat, if one at all. You knew, and he knew, that you were just about the only person this side of the Grizzlies who was vaguely aware of who he was. You’d seen it in his face when you’d called him by name. It’d be an insult to call it fear; an expectation of an inconvenience would be more accurate.

Luckily for him, you didn’t care. Not right now, at least. Imposing as he was, you refused to be cowed into going along with whatever it was that he'd planned.

Your heel messes with the leg of your chair. “Don’t you go forgetting why I brought you here in the first place.”

“Not quite sure if I’d use that wording—“

“Can it, Morgan.”

His jaw clicks shut this time, but he’s still got that goofy grin smeared onto his face when you chance a peek at him. You’ll let it slide, for now. You’ve stalled long enough.

“So. My eggs. You gonna tell me, or do I need to start pulling teeth?”

“No need,” Arthur assures, “shouldn’t be stickin’ your pretty little fingers in just anybody’s mouth, Ma’am.”

An outlaw and a flirt, to boot. Wonderful. You’re wondering how long it might take to chuck the nearest inanimate object at him when he pipes up again.

“You piss in somebody’s cigarette box, lady?”

“Did I piss—Morgan, quit it!”

This seems to reign him in a bit, and his smile dips.

“I’ll be frank, since you asked so kindly.” Arthur leans back in his chair, flexes his palms. “You had people tailin’ you.”

You quirk a brow. Ah, that’s right. He didn’t know, couldn’t have. But just as you attempt to explain, Arthur holds out a hand to stop you and shakes his head.

“Killers.”

The hand fussing with the material of your blanket falters.

“...I beg your pardon?”

“Hired guns, Ma’am. Out for you. You’re real…fortunate, I’d been passing by when I was.” A rueful look clouds his face. “Not much to hire once I was through with ‘em, though.”

The quiet that follows isn’t entirely unfamiliar. He’s an outlaw, you muse. Things like this are to be expected. But it doesn’t occur to you to ask who they were, what they looked like, what they wanted. Because Arthur didn’t know, didn’t need to know, and you aren’t sure if you want him here when you wrap your mind around the sobering fact that your long-held suspicions now bear fruit. So, you settle for the obvious.

“You kill ‘em?”

His jaw twitches. “Nothin’ gets past you, Ma’am.”

“...‘Suppose I should be thanking you, then.”

“Got my thanks when I checked their pockets.”

“But—”

Arthur gives a grunt of protest.

Jackass.

Though your concerns about theft were long gone, it doesn’t seem like he wants to talk about this any more than you do, so you do your best to set the conversation back on track.

“Well, uh…the eggs, then?”

The tension in his jaw lessens. Arthur unfurls a long leg, digs the heel of his boot out in front of him, and rocks his foot back and forth.

“You know these winters. I can tell you do—despite all the…” he trails off, nods the brim of his hat toward your newly cultivated relationship with the fireplace, and you flush. “So, I uh, started out sneaking a few off, along with some other things for my people back at camp. Snagged some extra rations. Kept an eye on you. Two birds, one stone.”

“So it wasn’t just the eggs you’d been stealing, then?”

“It’d behoove me to tell the truth and shame the devil, Ma’am. Not that he and I are unacquainted.”

So that was a yes.

The part about “keeping an eye” on you is tacked on rather reluctantly, but at the mention of camp, your brows raise. It was true, then. The tales you’d heard during your trips to Valentine, the new faces you’d noticed in corners and back alleys, they were all real.

There was a time when you thought you might be able to find your place sleeping under the stars, free to do as you wished and go where you pleased, so long as the law kept their greasy mitts to themselves. But circumstances had seen to it that your dream went unfulfilled.

You muster up what you hope is a sympathetic smile, and Arthur takes it stiffly.

Even so, something else with his phrasing catches your attention.

“Hold on now, you said ‘started.’ There something else you’re not telling me?”

A hand, previously settled on his knee, finds its way to the back of his neck and rubs.

“Uh, y’see,” he starts, looking damn near ready to wring his own neck, and you have to laugh, because what on God’s green earth could have Arthur Morgan this bothered? But instead of finishing his sentence, he turns his gaze toward the small sliver of moonlight coming in through the curtains and poses a question:

“You know anything about chickens?”

You blink.

“Arthur Morgan,” your eyes shut, and your mouth hangs open. “I work on a farm.“

“That you do.”

“And you’re asking me if I know about chickens?”

“That I am.”

He’s looking mighty sheepish; his hands return to their places on his knees and begin to tap again, with the added scrunch of a nose. You stifle a snort and oblige him.

“Yes, I’m well versed in chickens. Now tell me what the hell is up.”

And tell he did. Turns out, one of the eggs he’d snatched had somehow been fertilized, and hatched. Arthur, of all people, had been far too mortified to go and ask one of his own for help, so he’d spent the last two months slinking around to find out if his luck might earn him another to keep the one he already had some company.

He’d named it and everything, so eating it (Marlene, he corrects gruffly) was completely off the table. By the time he’s finished his story, you’ve spent an exorbitant amount of energy fighting off several fits of laughter, and you’re fighting off your ninth when Arthur interrupts.

He leans forward, as if to confirm something, then settles himself back into his chair once he finds what he’s looking for. “You ain’t from around here, are you.” It’s a statement when it leaves Arthur’s mouth, not a question.

Observant. Observant, and deflective.

Chewing at the inside of your cheek, you pocket the uneasy feeling in your chest for later.

“Long story,” you offer. And a difficult one, at that. It wasn’t one you liked to revisit.

Arthur replies almost instantly. “Shoot.” For a moment his face pinches, like he’s dropped his last cent down a splinter-ridden nook he can’t reach. He deliberates, for a bit. But the money is long gone now. “Got a full audience right here,” he continues, a tad slower. “I’ve got…time. Why the hell not?”

There’s no smile, but there’s a genuine curiosity that creeps into his voice. It wafts over the crackling of the fire, blows fresh wind underneath wings long forgotten.

This wasn’t good. Not one bit.

You cast a skeptical glance toward the bottle of whiskey on the table. It’d been set out on instinct when you’d let him in, a habit formed from a time long gone. Would Arthur want some, maybe? He seemed like the type. And you weren’t too pissed about the eggs now, anyways. So you wrap a blanket around yourself, stand, and turn to the cupboards to find a glass. But something stops you from making it over, and you instead choose to wrap a hand around the bottle and offer it to him.

If Arthur is as confused as you are, he doesn’t show it. He mutters a word of thanks as he takes the proffered bottle. But you don’t miss the way his eyes rake over your bare legs like hot coals. Or the slight twitch of his fingers—now free of their gloves—at the light brushing of your hand over his as you pass the bottle to him.

You follow the bobbing of his throat for what feels like a lifetime as he takes down gulp after gulp. Amber liquid slips from the corner of his mouth; it catches the firelight on its trek down, and steals your air along with it when Arthur moves to wipe it away with the back of his hand.

It startles you, how quickly you’ve become accustomed to cataloging his movements. You’ve met him before, you’re almost certain of it now. If not in the fields here, then maybe somewhere in Valentine, or the woods. But somewhere. He felt too familiar to be new, too invigorating. A part of you wants to pinch yourself for giving in so easily. Maybe…maybe the folks in town had been right? Maybe Arthur Morgan was possessed? It was either that, or you were an idiot. You sincerely hoped it was the former.

The sound of the glass bottle hitting the table is what snaps you out of your trance. Blinking rapidly, you chance a peek at his eyes again, only to find them peeking right back. You do your best not to turn away. That thing you’d seen lurking out on the front porch is still there, submerged in the depths of his pupils. Still waiting.

You pull the top off of the bottle, take a quick swig, and return to your chair with an inhale and newfound resolve in tow.

Blabbering seems to come unfortunately easy with Arthur. He sits, silent and attentive throughout the entire retelling—save for the occasional grunt of approval, disapproval, whichever was appropriate. You tell him of your mother, young and hungry, and how she’d made herself available to the highest bidder—your father. Some wealthy businessman from God knows where. Twenty years your mother’s senior, it’d been no secret what exactly he’d gotten out of their short-lived union: a wild young thing to look after his progeny and keep his bed warm.

He was nice enough, for a time. Or at least nice enough for your mother to be able to tolerate. But something had sent her fleeing from that big, big house. She’d kept you in her arms and her heart till you’d found somewhat of a safe haven in the Grizzly Mountains.

“Safe” had been a bit of a stretch, though. Anyone with half a brain knew exactly what the Grizzlies were like. Arthur agreed. But your mother had been raised there, just as you would be, if only for a little while. You’re only able to remember a short split of time—just before your mother passed, and before your father had come to take you away from her.

By then your mother had already taught you most of what you’d needed to survive: reading, writing, hunting, flattery, the works. The only thing she’d left out was how to survive without her.

Your father had come to find you only a few days after, bearing news of his intentions to turn you into a “proper lady.” He made no mention of your mother or where she’d been buried.

Polite society hadn’t taken too kindly to a daughter hailing from unsavory origins, and it was safe to say that you hadn’t taken too kindly to polite society either. So, you’d spent the last decade or so making your father’s life a living hell and warding off any potential suitors.

But it became clear stunt after outrageous stunt that he had no intention of cutting ties. Rather than cutting you off, he’d settled for the next best thing: manual labor. Your father was old friends (though “friends” was a bit dubious) with the Campbells, and deemed it an appropriate enough punishment for your wrongdoings. He’d relied on your aptitude for hunting to pawn you off on them, and with the help of some expertly feigned resistance, you’d gotten him to plant you exactly where you’d wanted to be.

Away, and alone.

“Threw a wrench in my plans, but…life here has been peaceful, I reckon.” You pick at the beds of your fingernails, head bowed.

Peaceful.

Peaceful and quiet, save for the occasional moo.

Though, now that you thought about it, you’d have to tally it up to several wrenches if you counted the hitmen. But you could open that barrel of horse shit later.

The creaking of wood alerts you to a shift in Arthur’s positioning, and his voice barrels down at you from the ceiling; he must be looking up.

“You don’t seem all too ‘at peace,’ if you ask me.”

“I ain’t ask you.”

“Tuh.”

The two of you fall into yet another bubble of silence. It’s comfortable enough, though still laced with the slightest bit of awkwardness.

You couldn’t get a read on Arthur. Just about every decision he’d made tonight—or told you he’d made—had been a contradiction. It didn’t make a lick of sense. But now that you’ve had more time to ruminate, it didn’t seem like it made much sense to him, either. His body language divulges as much.

The quiet agitates you, now. Itches. You need to know more. Understand more. But you can’t do that without retracting your fangs and reigning in your apprehension. Finger beds picked raw, you test the waters.

“Not at peace, hm?” You mutter. “…How you figure?”

You hear him shrug. “Dunno.”

Silence.

You wait for him to continue, but it’s not until you look up at him that you realize he’s been waiting for you to look back. Arthur’s voice cuts through the silence once you can meet his eyes without squirming.

“Met enough people to know who’s livin’, and who ain’t.” He crosses an ankle over his knee, and gives an exhale when he puts his hands behind his head. “I’m in no place to be dealing out life advice, but you seem awfully dead, Miss.”

“Ma’am,” you correct.

Arthur makes a face, and you bark out a laugh at the sheer absurdity of it all. Some stranger he was, telling you off like this.

Your eyes crinkle, smile working its way from the inside out. “Takes one to know one, I assume?”

He blinks at you. “Yeah. Yeah, somethin’ like that, I suppose.”

More silence.

“Do you think—”

“I ought to be heading out, now.” The dream is cut short. Arthur is standing suddenly, intercepting before you have the chance to say something incredibly, incredibly stupid. He tugs on his coat, fingers closing the buttons with frightening efficiency before he gathers up his gun and whatever else he’s brought with him and heads for the door.

You're scrambling up out of your chair before your brain has a chance to process.“Arthur,” you say, half to him and half to the floor, “Arthur, wait a damn minute!”

The spurs on his boots cease in their clinking. He’s got one hand wrapped around the doorknob, squeaky and now half-turned.

“…Got business to take care of.”

“At three in the morning?”

He glances at the small pocket watch you’d left open on the table. “Half past four, actually.”

“Didn’t realize you could tell time.”

He hums.

And Arthur stares at you for a moment, unabashedly. It’s unreadable at first. But then scars are shifting, and he’s leveling you with a look so bitter that it nearly has you reaching for your rifle again.

“Goodbye, Ma’am.” Arthur waves a noncommittal hand at your feet as he turns the knob. “And…go and see about those feet of yours, will you?”

He sweeps out the door.

He’s left it open.

It’s only after the faint sound of hoofbeats is nothing more than a whisper that you realize he isn’t in the cabin anymore. But somewhere between the shutting of the door and the hanging of your rifle, the faint impression of his parting words is pressed into your palm.

You look down, a bright sting and the sight of red specks on the floorboards making themselves known rather insistently.

“Oh.”

—

next chapter >>

#arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #rdr2 fanfic #ao3 #archive of our own #fanfiction #I literally put off two essays to write this #plz be kind this wasn’t supposed to be this long #witching hour

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eggcats · 2 months

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"people are mad that that artists wanted to be paid" no, people are mad that they HAD places of revenue they could have invested in and instead decided to fuck everyone over and piss off their fans who have been there since the buzzfeed days

(+ the only reason they're now saying they're not pulling content is BECAUSE of the backlash, and this isn't even going into how any growth is now impossible if it's their own platform, they are NOT big enough or produce enough content for this)

like, apparently they have a patreon? have never heard of it. absolutely no advertisement on it, when PLENTY of people would subscribe if they plugged it at ALL (like, fans love bts content, early episodes, extra/uncut stuff, having their names be credited at the end, a discord, etc) but I've never heard of it, and according to people who have subscribed, they didn't find it worth their money (not an ideal baseline for their own service)

they have merch? make more and better quality/nicer designs (or just fun quotes! so much of my stuff from their buzzfeed days is just shane quotes, but the only stuff I've bought from them now is their jackets and the professor doll, nothing else. I've looked at their catalog, it's ugly. put a funny quote on a shirt and I'll buy it guys, it's not that hard)

a youtube membership for similar stuff to the patreon, yt livestreams, USE THE PLATFORM YOURE ON MAYBE???

explicitly asking fans to turn off adblock for them on their videos

but, like, I am absolutely not paying $60 just for like 1-2 shows that only get like 4 episodes a year. they do NOT have the content for this on their own (and why tf do they have 25+ employees???? bro what) - not to mention, the inaccessibility the new platform and ability for non US based fans to even subscribe

people watch bc of the dynamic between Shane and Ryan, some of my favorite episodes are ones where we get the random text on screen- nothing fancy

tbh I get what they want but it's been my opinion that too much of their stuff that I watch has become a) formuliac and b) overproduced without much to show (imo mystery files comes to mind, it's Fine but I only enjoyed the banter vs all the unnecessary visuals, the same with ghost files)

I've seen people mention how expensive just the ghost hunting stuff is, and like yeah, maybe stop buying that big fancy brandname equipment without and instead ask for sponsors to advertise your stuff, all that stuff is nonsense anyway so it's not like you're lying about like betterhelp or something

and idk, maybe having a show where you apparently eat gold and caviar isn't the best if you're struggling with money (esp bc who watches it? not me)

what they need is someone who actually knows anything as their ceo, having less than half the staff they do, and investing in the avenues they already have with SOME pay walled content (not all), and maybe learn how to actually produce their shows without bleeding themselves dry bc the fans watch for THEM not the "production value"

#watcher #watcher entertainment #listen guys this is the dumbest thing you could have done #long post #ive just seen a lot of 'you guys just dont want to pay artists' bro i was ALREADY giving them money and supporting them #this is NOT how to do that this is how to shoot your fanbase dead #also like many people cant afford this now? especially when its an exorbitant amount for almost nothing

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beenbaanbuun · 2 months

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has yeosang nipped their lamb-dove? he's bitten hongjoong officially. has he bitten anyone else? i feel like if he did the reader would be like ur just a puppyyyyyyyyyy. and defend sangie to the matz like he just accidentally bit them its fine hes teething. all the excuses. i bet there would suddenly be chew toys for him too if so (and theyd be so clearly from the reader - all pastel and cute vs the monochrome of the matz!fam)

the biting was bad in the beginning especially. if either hongjoong or seonghwa got too close to him, he’d lunge for them and sink his teeth into whatever skin they had available. it was rare that he’d make them bleed since the bites were more of a warning than anything. it was only ever when they deigned to touch him that he bit hard enough to hurt. of course, over time as he learned the rules of the house a little better, the biting got less and less. hongjoong no longer had to pin him by the scruff of the neck for doing something so utterly disrespectful as smashing a priceless vase for the soul purpose of rebelling, and seonghwa’s regular hair ruffles just became something yeosang could live with.

but darling was somehow special. the fact that he knew he would be dead if he dared to hurt her had no real part in it, because he never felt the urge to hurt her. sure, when she pounced on his and used him as her personal teddy bear it pissed him off, but he never bit her. and all those hours that she spent sat next to him, fiddling with his fluffy tail really, really annoyed him, but again, biting was never an option. instead he’d pin her, flipping her over onto her back and holding her wrists above her head, all while growling threats that he did not intend to keep.

“fucking touch me again and i’ll rip your throat out, brat. damn what your precious ‘mommy’ and ‘daddy’ do to me in return.”

but then she just… giggles in his face and it stumps him. she’s not supposed to find his threats funny. she’s supposed to cower in fear, crying and begging for mercy. the fact that she’s looking at him like he’s the most precious creature in the world has him entirely stumped.

maybe that’s why he doesn’t want to hurt her, though. she doesn’t see him as a threat. she doesn’t flinch back from him when he turns his head too quick, and she doesn’t cower away from him like he’s some sort of dangerous animal. maybe he doesn’t want to be violent with her because she doesn’t treat him like he should be. over time, that treatment stops from seonghwa too, the flinching comes to a halt and so yeosang stops biting him too. with hongjoong, it never really ends, but as the both of them get closer, it just becomes part of their dynamic, something the two of them treat as a game.

the chew toys are definitely something that darling would do as a practical joke, same as hongjoong buying him dog treats and seonghwa threatening him with the spray bottle in his greenhouse if he ever steps out of line. yeosang doesn’t find it funny when she presents him with bone shaped object, just raising a brow at her as she struggles to stifle her giggles with her hand. he takes them anyway, just because he knows it’ll make her happy (damn his soft heart) and hides them away under his bed. no one has to know that sometimes he pulls one of the ugly pastel things out and chews on it like one might chew on the end of a pen. it’s a completely normal behaviour, he tells himself as he stashes the toys under his bed once he’s finished with them. the fact that he doesn’t want anyone to know is not because it’s weird or that he’s ashamed of it… definitely not…

#ateez x reader #ateez fanfic #ateez fluff #ateez scenarios #ateez fic #opposites attract universe #matz x reader #yeosang x reader

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cyberrose2001 · 8 days

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Can we pretty please have some angsty fluff?

Maybe Optimus Prime from TFP returning to Earth because he missed his s/o. (Let's pretend RID never existed. Please.) Maybe he left on a bad note and they told him that they'd never forgive him. And once he's back, she's completely ignoring him and she's trying her best to avoid him at all costs

You can choose what to do in the end. I want to see your mind wander :DD

Unforgiven Goodbyes

TFP Optimus x human! gn! reader

whoops

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of injury/blood, mental struggles, just straight-up angst.

Word count: 2,475

You're pissed off. No, you're more than pissed off. A tangle of emotions that would take a lifetime to detangle in your mind. You are pissed off, heartbroken, angry, yet excruciatingly relieved to see him.

But you can't bring yourself to face him again. That beautiful, other-worldly sculpted face seems to torment you whenever you close your eyes. That moment when he looked back at you before he plunged himself into the Well of Allsparks, the look of apologetic heroicness. It burned into your brain and left a nasty scab that you can't help but pick at. But the scar has healed. You've disciplined yourself to stop scratching it, but watching him walk through the hangar doors ripped it open once again.

You've distracted yourself as much as you can. Doing pointless chores around the new base the bots have made themselves at home with, going for long walks outside by yourself, hiding around every corner when you hear that rumbling voice. You tried everything to keep the wound closed, to pretend that he's still dead, to justify all the mourning you've gone through all these years.

Another reason not to face him was how you reacted when he told you his plan. You were the first to know, and you've never felt your heart sink so fast. It was like he had struck a dagger to your stomach and kissed you as you were bleeding out. You had exploded with anger you couldn't control and stormed out before he could do anything about it. You screamed at him as he collapsed onto his knees that you would never forgive him, and so far, you've kept that promise. The next time you saw him was before he made his great sacrifice, and you had nothing else to say to him. You couldn't say anything else.

And you won't for a long time, not when you have headphones on to block out the world. You stand at the sink in the human kitchen. It's semi-exposed to the main base, with a half-wall shielding the stove and sink. You're not sure why it's exposed; it must be concerning the lack of rooms in this old military bunker. You don't care anyway. You only care about scrubbing the dishes beyond clean and slamming them onto the drying rack before you break the delicate ceramic plates from gripping them too hard.

While cleaning the dishes, you don't realise how much of a racket you're making with your music blasting and capture the attention of the one bot you were trying to avoid.

Optimus.

He looks at you curiously, a hint of longing in his optics. Optimus knows you're avoiding him, and it's so blatantly obvious that everyone notices, too, creating tension through the base you could cut with a sharp enough knife. He wants to talk to you. He needs to talk to you. And so far, this is the only opportunity he's stumbled upon that could make it possible. Though, he doesn't want to frighten you and scare you away. He needs to be gentle and cautious in his actions, but it's difficult when you can't hear or see him.

Optimus reaches out, his servo twitching at how gentle he's trying to be. He touches your shoulder with a single digit but retracts his servo quickly when you jump out of your skin and drop a plate on the floor, shattering the ceramic in all different directions.

You scream then seethe, ripping your headphones off to face whoever dares to lay a finger on you, "Why the fuck would you-"

Frozen in your tracks, you stare at Optimus, the longest you've looked at him in a long time. Your heart snaps in two again, and the wound in your mind festers with flashbacks before you try to make a run for it. You don't get far, though, before you step on a piece of broken ceramic and cry out in pain.

"Ah!" You fall back on the ground, clutching your lower leg, "Fuck it-"

"Y/n, I am so sorr-"

"N-No!" You practically spit in his face. You let go of your leg and scramble backwards into a corner. With nowhere else to go, you turn to face him again and watch how his grip tightens on the railing before him. If looks could kill, Optimus would still be dead. Maybe you secretly hoped it was possible, "Get away from me."

"Please, you're hurt," Optimus looks down at your bare foot, now bleeding heavily onto the floor from a deep gash.

You furrow your eyebrows at him, not giving a damn that you're bleeding. You've been through worse, after all, "Oh, so now you care?"

Optimus tilts his helm, "What? I have always cared-"

"Oh really? You're really going to do this, Optimus?" You growl, grabbing the bench above you to pull yourself up, "You didn't seem to care about me when you sacrificed yourself! No, scratch that," You point a bloody finger at him, "When you fucking abandoned me!"

Optimus's shoulders sink, his grip on the railing relaxing as he feels like you've plunged a knife into him, "I did not-" He sighs heavily, like he cannot find the words, "Please... let us get you to Ratchet."

"I don't need his or- or your help," You hobble on one foot, hissing in pain as you make your way to anywhere else on the planet. The blood smears on the floor with every misguided step as you pass by him with a cold shoulder, "I've managed just fine on my own, Prime." You sneer at him.

Optimus watches you hop down the stairs, and he slumps his frame down on the railing. His vocaliser rumbles with regret and pain at how you're treating him. And it's not like he can blame you. Optimus would probably be stricken with the same grief if a lover of his decided to sacrifice themselves; he'd be absolutely distraught. And all that distraught just for them to return like it was a mere week-long vacation? Well, he wasn't sure what he'd do. He thought you would be overjoyed and run up to him with that beautiful smile on your lips, perhaps even beg for one of those joyrides he always loved taking you on through the desert. He thought you would've missed him, the bare minimum for someone who has lost a loved one.

Optimus sighs and lifts his helm from the railing before turning on his pedes to look for something else to distract him from you. He looks down before he takes a step and sees your trail of smeared blood on the concrete. His optic ridges furrow, a look of determination and apprehension as he steps to follow your crimson breadcrumbs out of the hangar doors.

Before he reaches the hangar doors, a soft touch plants itself on his shoulder, and he jolts slightly. Optimus turns his helm down to see a gloomy look on Ratchet's face, his servo squeezing his shoulder comfortingly.

"Let them go, Optimus," He speaks softly, "They need some space."

Space is the only thing he's given them so far.

"Stupid fucking dishes. Stupid me. Stupid him."

Your fingers tremble as you rip some of your shirt off to wrap around the gash in your foot. The minor hit of adrenaline quickly left you like a hit of nic as soon as you slumped down on the other side of the hangar outside. The dull throbbing turns into sharp pain as you tighten the fabric, causing a small whimper to leave your throat. You relax your head against the concrete wall behind you, wishing you could slam it against it instead. But anger slowly drains from your frame, and you bury your face into your dirty hands, and you sob—a heartbreaking sight to anyone that were to stumble upon you.

But you find that the tears weren't mourning from him, but for yourself.

How selfish are you? Are you so dense in the head that you're blindsighted to how much he loves you? How much Optimus missed you that even after facing the hereafter, he came back for you? How awful must the afterlife be for him to want to come back to you, of all people? These questions come flooding into your mind with every tear-jerking sob that wracks your body. But the one question at the forefront of your mind terrifies you, making you want to slump further into the self-deprecating aura you've swallowed yourself in.

Do you still love him?

You bite your lip hard. Do you still love him? That's a stupid question to ask yourself. Of course you still love him. You wouldn't be the person you are today if you never did.

Then why the fuck do you push him away?

You don't know. Maybe it was how you spoke to him before he took his own spark, being so ashamed of yourself that you could barely look at him. Or perhaps you've become too comfortable in your new adjustment to life without him, and for that to all come crumbling down so suddenly with no warning has shaken you to your core.

That's very selfish of you.

You know that. You've always known that.

Maybe you just weren't ready to let go.

A deep, trembling breath leaves your parted lips.

...

Yeah, you know.

Optimus stealthily follows the trail once again after Ratchet leaves. He just can't walk away after that encounter. And as much as it hurts him to see your reaction, he must ensure you're okay despite whatever you spit in his face. Optimus did not beg at the throne of Primus himself for another chance at nothing. He needs to make amends, no matter how much of a fight you put up at your wishes to be left alone.

Soft steps of his pedes lead him on a wild goose chase. It seemed as if you had stumbled around in circles for quite some time, the trail of blood looping around before overlapping itself to follow the edge of the hangar. Optimus become increasingly concerned about your welfare, worried you have lost too much blood. But he knows that you are tough if all these years on your own have anything to show for it.

His pace replaces stealth for hastiness as he continues on the trail, rounding the next corner of the hanger. He stops in his tracks when he sees you, and his eyes soften with pure broken-heartness. His servos clenching in regret.

He carefully approaches your slumped frame and stands before you. He first notices your foot, half bandaged and leaking slightly. You weren't wrong after all. You could take care of yourself. He smiles softly to himself at this.

Optimus carefully kneels in front of you, still a fair distance away. All he wants to do is pick you up and tell you that everything is alright, that he's here and not ready to leave again anytime soon.

He keeps his servos to himself for now.

"Y/n," Optimus begins softly, "I know you are upset," This seems like an all too familiar conversation, "And you have every right to be."

No reaction from you so far, a few sobs and hiccups. His spark clenches.

"I did not get a chance to tell you how truly thankful I am for you," Optimus continues, fidgeting with a digit in his lap, "How I still reminisce on our long-forgotten time together, even whilst I was merged with the All Spark."

Optimus takes a chance. He shuffles closer to you and gently pries your hands from your face like you were a pretty piece of wrapping paper he wanted to keep. His optics drag over your sodden face, how your eyes begin to focus on his. It wasn't the fiery look of anger he had seen just earlier but one that looked of surrender; you had given up a fight he wished he could've helped you with.

Optimus moves one servo from your hands to gently caress your face, a gentle digit brushing over your cheeks, "My, just look at you," He cups your chin softly, tilting your head to look up at him, "You are still as beautiful as ever."

He watches as the tears well in your eyes again, a small glimmer in your eyes that's more familiar to him than the dull. You grip his servo and pull it into a hug, resting your forehead on his wrist, and you cry.

"I'm sorry... I'm sorry...I-I'm stupid... I shouldn't have..." You sob, clutching onto him with every fibre of your being, "Oh god..."

Optimus's spark fizzles and cracks at your heart-breaking apology and the tears dripping onto his servo. He gives you a sombre look before carefully pulling you into his servos, picking you up to press you against his chassis to return his long-awaited affections.

"Shh," He hushes your cries, pressing a gentle kiss to your head as he rocks you softly like a slumbering sparkling, "It is alright; nothing you say could ever make me resent you."

You sniffle, burying your head into his chassis. His familiar scent of motor oil and fumes fills your senses and relaxes you deeper into him. You try to speak, to say anything other than hiccuping pathetically.

"I-" You stutter, ripping your face away from his chassis to stare up at him. A shaky hand reaches up to touch him, a tiny 'tink' as your fingernail grazes against his face plate. He's real, he's here, and he's not mad at you. And the best thing is, he forgives you.

And you forgive him.

"I missed you," You take a sharp breath, "I miss you so much."

Optimus' sombre frown turns into a small smile; a weight lifts off his frame at your admission. The worry he put himself through all seems to melt away as he presses a soft kiss to your lips, hoping to melt away your grief with the kiss along with his.

You gasp softly. Far too much time has passed since you've felt those gentle dermas meld into yours, and as much as the past you wanted to forget how his touches felt, you find yourself kissing him back with as much need and passion. A few fleeting moments pass before you're forced to part for a much-needed breath. It feels like life has returned to you, like after all this time without him you were holding your breath in fear of drowning.

Optimus closes his optics, softly pressing his forehead against yours, leaning into the warm touch of your hands that he oh so craved. He knows you still love him, he never once doubted that deep down inside you always did, even after he had regretfully abandoned you.

"I miss you too."

Finally. He felt good to say that.

#transformers #tfp x reader #transformers x reader #transformers prime #tfp #tfp optimus #tfp optimus x reader #tfp optimus x human reader #x-reader #gn reader #angst #sfw #cyberrosewrites

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johnkahner · 7 months

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hello! You could make headcanons of the brothers Lin Kuei and sub zero and Scorpion from mk11 (separated) who go to her partner's family reunion and her family starts insulting her for things she didn't do and even that she doesn't deserve to be with the character, but the because the reader is shy and nervous, she does not say anything and feels hurt by her family's words, the character decides to defend her honor.

Another request I would like to ask you is with sub zero and Scorpion from mk11 (separated) when the reader is kidnapped and found half beaten and bleeding. They get angry when they see their partner in that state and all hell breaks loose

Greetings from Argentina!🥰

AN: Hello! I don't think I have interacted with someone from Argentina. I'm from one of the southern states in the United States. I will write and post your other request separate from this one. I kinda struggled writing this one ngl. I hope you enjoy it. Not proof read.

Notes: Female! Reader, Mean Family

The two of you arrive at the reunion, and he offers to get you some refreshments so you have time to reconnect with your family by yourself. Once he walked away the insults and complaints started rushing at you like they were bullets to your self-confidence. You stood there with your head down and body trembling. You don’t say anything to them, but their words are hurting you. When he returns with your favorite drink, he hears someone say words that pissed him off.

“I don’t see how anyone could love anyone like you, scum.”

Bi-Han / Sub-Zero

When Bi-Han hears someone say that, he is pissed. How dare someone say that to his girlfriend! The surrounding area is now cold, and ice is starting to form near him. He rushes over to the person who said that he starts to beat them up till their face is all bloodied up. He didn’t care if they were your relatives, no one has the right to talk to you like that. When he’s done with that he walks over to you and kisses the top of your head. You two begin to leave and what he says to everyone there has them scared for their lives.

“That was a warning. If this ever happens again there will never be a next time.”

Kuai Liang / Scorpion

When Kuai Liang hears someone say that, he is worried. Why is your family treating you this way? He didn’t think that they would be this blatantly rude about you with him here, even if he was just away from you for a few moments. He would walk over to the person that said that place a hand on their shoulder, and say, “What gives you the right to say that about her? I think you are the scum here.” Not only does the person freak out, he would slowly begin to add heat to their shoulder till flames slowly begin to appear. They rush off. He walks over to you, puts his arm around you, and kisses your forehead.

“Let’s leave, these people don’t deserve to have you in their presence.”

Tomas Vrbada / Smoke

When Tomas hears someone say that, he is panicked. He is reminded of how Bi-Han treats him. The words may not be the exact same, but he doesn’t want you to be treated in this manner. He would march over to the person who said that, and punch them in the face. Just hard enough to break their nose. He would then make his way over to you. He pulls you into a hug. His embrace is full of warmth and security.

“If you want, we don’t have to interact with them again. If that is what you want.”

Kuai Liang / Sub-Zero

When Kuai Liang hears someone say that, he is distraught. He understands that not all families are harmonious, but he feels uneasy when it involves you. You’re the only person that is there for him, so it’s only natural for him to do the same for you. He would only need to stand menacingly and glare at the person that said those words to you. That would be the one and only warning to your family. As you two leave the reunion, he has an arm wrapped around you.

“Please do not take their false words to heart. You are the one and only for me. I love you.”

Hanzo Hasashi / Scorpion

When Hanzo hears someone say that, he is fuming. Why on earth would your own family, your flesh and blood, talk to you like this. It took him a long time to try, and find love again after what happened to Harumi. After everything he has been through you were his anchor after the two of you met. He knows he needs to be your anchor at this moment. He would approach the person, grab them by the throat, and throw them to the ground. Scaring everyone around, but you were not scared. You had a feeling if he heard any of their words it would piss him off. He would grab you by the hand, holding it securely, and the two of you would leave.

“I love you so much. Let me be the one to protect you in times like this.”

#mortal kombat #mortal kombat x reader #mortal kombat x you #mortal kombat imagine #bi han #sub zero #kuai liang #mk scorpion #hanzo hasashi #tomas vrbada #mk smoke #bi han x reader #sub zero x reader #kuai liang x reader #scorpion x reader #hanzo hasashi x reader #tomas vrbada x reader #smoke x reader

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yeonzzzn · 5 months

Text

♟️just bite me, idiot: jay

a you complete me series: six / seven

pairing: jay x afab!reader

word count: 2.6k

synopsis: jay takes you out on a date and spoils you with gifts when the main gift you want is forever…

genre: established relationship, vampire!jay

warnings: mentions of blood, stubborn but cute jay, some spice at the end

p1: vampires bleeding mlist

Jay rests his hand on your thigh as his eyes stay glued to the road, his thumb doing circles on your soft skin.

You glanced out the window, watching all the buildings and people walking on the street pass by.

Jay was spoiling you today with a lunch date and some shopping.

The shopping was more or less for the vampire royals wedding that was coming up. You’ve obviously never been to a vampire wedding, so you were confused as to how dressing for one would go. Mostly since now, you were the only human in the pack.

Sure, Sunghoon and Jake’s mates were human to an extent, but they still had immortality on their side.

You sigh, resting your head in your hand, elbow digging into the side of the car door.

Jay furrowed his eyes, making a few quick glances at you, his hand tapping your thigh.

“Babe, everything okay?”

You looked at him, quickly shaking your head, “Nothing.”

Jay knew you were lying, and you knew that he knew you were lying.

But you knew you couldn’t tell him the truth. That you so badly want to join the immortal side.

Jay doesn’t take talking about turning you very well. Always claims it’ll happen, but when? Didn’t know.

You keep praying that it will be before the wedding, but at this rate, you don’t know.

Jay took your hand, lifting it to press his lips to the back of your hand, “Babe, talk to me.”

“It’s just…Jungwon-“

Jay stopped you there, knowing where the conversation was going to go, “Babe,” he said, shaking his head, “Let’s not talk about this right now.”

Jay didn’t understand the rush to turn you into a monster. Wasn’t your human life good enough?

You released your hand from him, crossing your arms and looking back outside the window.

He knew you’d be pissed with him, it always would end up like this after talking about it.

He pulled into the restaurant's parking lot, found a good spot, and backed into the spot, putting the car in park.

He unbuckled his seatbelt, ready to get out and open the door for you before your voice stopped him.

“Don’t you want me forever?” you softly whispered.

Jay sighed, quickly reaching across the car taking your chin between his fingers, and pulling you to look at him.

“That was such a stupid question,” he scoffed, showing how annoyed he was with you at the current moment, “Of course, I want you forever. I am literally bonded to you for life.”

You wanted to make a smart comment, wanting to test him completely. Jay could read it on your face how badly you wanted to speak up.

“Yeah, until I die…” and you said it.

Jay let go of you and leaned back into his seat, jaw clenching tightly.

“Y/N,” he started to say until you cut him off.

“No!” you snapped, “It’s the truth! We may be bonded, but I WILL grow older. My body will start to age and get fragile. Hell, I am already fragile when it comes to you.”

Jay closed his eyes, clenching his jaw even more.

“Jay, you hold me so gently, kiss me so gently, and even hold my hand gently as if I were made of paper. Fuck, even when we have sex-“

“I get it, Y/N,” Jay finally spoke up, taking a deep breath to keep his voice calm, “I get it…”

He leaned back towards you, taking your hands in his own, “Babe, trust me when I say I want to be with you forever,” he took another deep breath, “Let’s talk about this back at the apartment, please? Let’s go have a good lunch and shop for the wedding, I want to spoil you, baby, please.”

You softened your hard exterior, nodding at him. You and Jay were both extremely stubborn, but sometimes you couldn’t help but fold when it came to him.

Jay quickly pressed a kiss to your lips before leaving the car and opening your door for you, helping you out.

Lunch was quiet as you ate your food and Jay sipped on his whine, stealing small bites from your steak and making cute faces every time his nose would scrunch up.

That was one thing you loved about him, he still would share food and eat (even if it was a tiny bit) with you. He didn’t need food to survive but still will eat to help make you feel more comfortable as a human.

That’s all Jay wanted, was to give you a normal human life. Something that was taken from him.

Jay still hated the monster he’d become, hated the vampire king for taking his life from him. The only thing he didn’t hate about the monster he had become was he met you. You made being immortal all worth it in the end.

And of course, Jay wanted to turn you, he wanted to keep you until the world ended, but he also didn’t want to take your normal human life from you. He would hate himself for it.

Once lunch was over, Jay drove you two to the nearest mall. Take your hand in his as you walk together.

You stopped in multiple different stores, looking and trying on different outfits.

Jay then pulled you into a Prada store, “Now we can really find some outfits.”

You couldn’t help but smile at him, your man loved his Prada.

Jay found a couple of matching outfits, deciding to settle for the black suit and black dress.

As you two stood in the checkout line, Jay pulled you close to him, his arm wrapping around your back and hand gently settling on your hip.

His gentle touch sent you back to your previous thoughts on how gentle he is with you.

You tried to not show it on your face, to keep such a good poker face that he wouldn’t be able to see through. To try and save the conversation once you’re back at home.

And soon enough, the two of you were walking back into your shared apartment. Jay carried all the bags to the room and returned to your side quickly, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek.

“How about I make you some coffee, ya? Sit down and I’ll be back.”

You loved how he would take care of you like this, but right now you didn’t want to be taken care of. You wanted the conversation.

Jay sat you down on the couch, but the hold you had on his arm wouldn’t release.

You knew Jay could quickly run off and your grip wouldn’t hold. That he could just shove you off and go on about his business. But he doesn’t. He looks at your hand and how it holds onto his forearm, tracing his eyes up to yours.

Jay knew the moment you locked eyes on what you wanted. He sighs, bending down to meet you at eye level, his hands finding yours.

“Babe…”

“Jongseong please…” you begged, “Jungwon turned __, and they’ve been happier since. I am the only one who is still a human. And I don’t want you always acting as if I am some fragile thing anymore. You’ll lose me someday if you don’t…”

Jay raised his hand and cupped your face, wiping away the tears forming in your eyes. His chocolate eyes wandered your face, stopping at the two scars Dorian left on your skin all that time ago.

“My human life was taken from me, I can’t just take your human life from you.”

You shook your head, “You aren’t just taking it from me! I am letting you do this. Begging you to do this.”

Jay looked down at the floor, shifting his knees on the carpet trying to find the right words to speak.

“I am a monster, Y/N, how can you want to be like-“

“You’re not a monster!” you grabbed the collar of his shirt, pulling him closer to you. His eyes met back at yours, “I forgive you, Jay. If that’s what you’ve been searching for is forgiveness from the way you once were, you have it. You have that forgiveness. You’ve done so much good since you, Heeseung, and Jake left that place. You’re a doctor for crying out loud. You take care of me when I’ve been sick. Even cook for me and keep food in the apartment when you don’t even need it. That’s not something a monster does. I want you forever. I want to be like you because you’re more than just a vampire. You’re the most human vampire I have ever met.”

Jay sighed, trying hard to keep his composure, thinning his lips into a line, “I love you, Y/N. So goddamn much and I want you forever too,” his fingers traced the scars that Dorian left on your neck, “I almost lost you once that night, I can’t do it again.”

You pulled Jay to you, wrapping your arms around his neck as his own wrapped around your waist, “You don’t always have to protect me, I am just as stubborn as you, I will make one fine vampire I promise.”

Jay wanted nothing more than to turn you. To keep you forever. He’s scared of a life without you. But the dangers that you’ll have to face in the future, to eventually have to move towns again once people start noticing you aren’t aging.

It’s what Jay and the pack have been dealing with for so long. Once Niki graduates high school (again), everyone is packing up and moving towns and cities.

Then with everything that Dorian caused…it’s only a matter of time before his followers who are still alive will come. Jay wanted to protect you, and no matter what he always would.

But it’s not just turning you that scared him, it was the possibility of losing that control once his fangs are in your skin.

“Baby, what if I lose control?” he whispered, his head resting against yours.

“Jungwon didn’t,” you commented, “And everything turned out fine. Jungwon also drank from __ that night he was attacked, right? He had more at risk when he turned her.”

Jay shook his head, “Y/N, I haven’t drunk from a human directly since leaving the castle,” he took a deep sigh, “I have a higher chance of losing that control and he did. Jungwon also is so strong-willed, he’s the leader of our pack after all.”

“I believe in you, Jay. I trust you.”

You knew he’d be okay. Knew you could trust him. Had all the faith he would keep control.

Jay started to open his mouth to protest, to maybe wait until another member was here to help keep him grounded, but you stopped him.

“Just bite me, idiot.”

And well, no time like the present.

Jay bent your head to the side with one hand, his eyes staring at the scars. His fangs came to a point, his eyes their beautiful crimson.

Your body tensed, and your hands gripped into his hair as his fangs pierced your skin.

Jay sucked the blood in, his hand that was still at your waist gripped tighter, and a soft groan left his mouth.

You tasted so good to him. How the hell will he ever drink normal blood again after getting a taste of yours? Jay had half a mind to not turn you, his mind was clouded by your taste and smell.

Your brow furrowed as the side of your neck went numb and your body turned cold, the familiar feeling that Dorian first gave you. Except this time you weren’t scared. You are in the arms of your soulmate. Someone who loves you more than life itself.

“Jay,” you whispered, your head started to spin, “Jay,”

Jay could hear your voice but did not register what you were saying. He was chasing a high that was long forgotten.

His fingers spread out more, moving your head even more to the side, giving him more room to sink his teeth down more.

You hissed at the pain, tapping his shoulder as your vision started to blur, “Jay…Jongseong.”

He couldn’t stop, you tasted too good. He was so drunk off you. His hand at your waist went to your shoulder, gripping the fabric of your shirt and tearing it down your arm, ripping it completely.

It wasn’t until his hand touched your bare shoulder that he realized how cold your body was getting from the loss of blood.

Jay wanted to remove his fangs, wrap you in a blanket and cover your wounds, and apologize for losing himself.

“Baby…” you whispered, wrapping your fingers slightly tighter around his hair, “I trust you.”

Hearing those words was enough for Jay to release his venom into your skin and take one last sip of your blood before removing his fangs.

A small amount of blood dripped down your neck and Jay softly rubbed his tongue up, wiping away the blood and placing a soft kiss on your neck where his fangs once were.

You started to go through the motions as his venom spread throughout your body. Jay wrapped his arms tightly around you, “It’s okay babe, I am right here. You are so strong.”

You were in pain, but then you weren’t. You blinked a couple of times, then removed your hands out of Jay’s silver hair and down to his shoulders.

Jay pulled back to look at you, a small smile on his lips, “Hello my love.”

You stuck your tongue out to feel your new fangs. The world seemed like it was moving faster than it did before.

“Is this how it felt for you too?” You asked, as his hands went back to your face as he stared into your new crimson eyes.

“Mine was a lot more painful, more aggressive.”

You nodded, it made sense for Jay’s to be worse, after what he had to go through…

“Babe, how are you feeling?” Jay asked, his eyes wandering back down to your neck, the scars that were once there were gone, which made Jay smile even more. Dorian was completely gone now.

You focused on retracting your fangs, and once they were gone you crashed your lips into Jay’s.

Kissing him now felt different. Felt more powerful and passionate.

Jay’s hands found their way back on your body, and oh it sent you over the edge.

He was aggressive with his touch, not gentle like he once was. His hands gripped tightly to your body and squeezed you. His lips kiss you out of pure hunger. Like he’s been deprived of it.

You loved it. The rush you were feeling. The way Jay was handling you as he pressed your body against the couch as his own connected to yours. His hand slid down your leg and wrapped it around his waist.

You were no longer fragile. Not some small piece of paper. And it felt amazing.

Jay loved the feeling of not having to worry about hurting you. He was finally able to fully give you everything he’s been wanting to give you.

You were still so fragile to him, not because you actually were, but because of how badly he was in love with you. It would be a beacon for those who in the future would want to harm you.

Jay shoved those thoughts out of his mind. It was a problem to worry about later.

Because right now all he cared about was making love to you in the ways he wasn’t able to before.

#jay bae #jay x reader #reader x jay #park jay #park jongseong #jongseong x reader #reader x jongseong #enhypen #reader x enhypen #enhypen x reader #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen fanfic #enhypen imagines #enhypen scenarios #established relationship #youcompleteme #yeonzzzn writing

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morganbritton132 · 1 year

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Oh geez ”Sometimes Steve will try to give Eddie CPR while sleep walking” really tugged at the heart strings there. Something about Steve desperately trying to save Eddie in his dream, while an awake Eddie is desperately trying to comfort Steve makes me go a lil crazy.

To lighten the mood.

Eddie is never trying to comfort Steve when Steve is trying to perform CPR on him.

Steve has been CPR certified since he was a teenager, and he works out. He’s got the strength, the skill, and the persistence to break Eddie’s fucking ribs. All Eddie is trying to do is get Steve to stop. Comfort comes later.

In the early days of Eddie’s recovery, sometimes he’d wake up to Steve’s hand resting on his chest or his fingers pressed into the pulse point on his wrist. It took him an embarrassingly long time to realize that Steve was feeling for his heartbeat and not, you know, a huge fucking weirdo.

In his defense, he was on a lot of painkillers at the time and no one actually told him that he’d stopped breathing and Steve performed CPR on him until a week after he woke up from his coma.

It didn’t stop when he left the hospital like Eddie assumed it would.

He got a physical therapist and no one has to help him piss anymore so he kinda expects The Party to fade away, but it never does. Steve doesn’t. He sat next to Eddie during movie nights and the arm that he often threw across the back of the couch always ended up around Eddie’s shoulders, fingers tapping against his pulse.

Eddie didn’t even think he was aware of it half the time so when they started sleeping together and the nightmares that Steve said could be ‘kinda intense sometimes’ start, it was a no-brainer to press Steve’s hand against his chest. He’d breathe deep and even, and sometimes it’d calm them both down.

Sometimes it didn’t. Sometimes he finds Steve when he’s too far lost in a nightmare or he’s trapped in a memory that Eddie isn’t a part of, and there’s nothing to make better until Steve wakes up. It’s a learning experience.

The first time Eddie woke up in the middle of the night to someone pinching his nose shut and breathing into his mouth, he shoulder-checked them so hard in the jaw that Steve bit his tongue hard enough to bleed. They weren’t even dating. They weren’t even fooling around at the time. Steve was mortified.

Eddie waited a total of thirteen minutes and a cup of ice cubes later before saying, “If you wanted to kiss me so bad, all you-“

“Take it to the grave or I’ll punch you so hard your hair turns white,” Steve said through a mouthful of ice, and then thought about it and said, “Sorry. That was rude.”

“You’re a real breathy kisser, Harrington.”

“That’s it, you-“ Eddie caught the ice cube thrown at him and threw it back, laughing when Steve squawked at the cold hitting his bare chest. It was the first time since leaving the hospital where his laugh had felt like his own – loud and deep, aching in the parts of him that were still healing.

Steve was just staring at him with a small smile on his face and blood on his lip, and he told Eddie when the laughter faded, “You look, uh. Good, when you laugh. You should do it more.”

“Maybe I will, Harrington.”

Steve threw an ice cube in the air and caught it on his tongue, smiling, “Good.”

Eddie repeated, “Good.”

#I know CPR doesn’t require you to do the breaths anymore but Steve doesn’t always revert to the most recent version #we’re getting a little bit of pre-relationship steddie here #eddie munson tiktok saga #steve harrington #eddie munson

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rinstaro · 1 year

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Bestie, that piece about Wild in Barbarian Armor was hot as shit 🔥🌟

Could I request a piece for Time? I like a bit of semi-public sex and got thinking…what if the chain and s/o are in a town and perhaps a worker at the inn they’re staying in has taken an interest in Time and s/o does. not. like that. So they rile Time up until he fucks them in the open and the worker walks in on them and s/o gets to look on in pride because Time is fucking *them* and not anyone else?

You’re the best!

-👻

i love jealous reader !!!! and thank you ghost <33 you’re too sweet

cw: pretty short!! full nelson cause i really really really want time to put me in a full nelson, slight degrading, humiliation, exhibitionism, time is loaded!!!! reader has a vagina and no pronouns. not proofread at all i literally typed this out in the car

minors do not interact.

to say you were pissed was an understatement.

who did this little punk think they were? was it not obvious that the gorgeous hunk of a man next to you was your husband?

the two of you had walked into the small shop just to browse a little. at least, that’s what your intention was. time was absolutely going to buy you everything you glanced at, whether you wanted him to or not. you were his spoiled little brat and he’d treat you like so.

“this will look lovely on you, won’t it, dear? it’s only 700 rupees—“

“oh my gosh, i told you it’s fine—“

“hello, sir!”

only, the cashier didn’t seem to quite care for what you were wearing. instead, they took the opportunity to show time everything that they thought your husband would look good in. every time he’d go to pick out something for you, there they were, telling him that this piece of clothing over here would look great on him.

“beloved, don’t you like this dress? the color fits you well—“

“if you’d look at this button up over here sir, i think it’d be a great fit! it’ll really bring out your eyes!”

you were so. over it.

finally, time had picked out enough clothes for you where he felt satisfied. by this point, you’d devised a sneaky plan to quell your own jealousy. when the annoying little clerk went behind the counter, you called time by his name, which you’d only do when you two were alone.

“link. i think you should try on this shirt, yeah? come with me.” he immediately quirked an eyebrow, wondering what you were up to. he let you drag him into the single fitting room, anticipating your every move.

once the door was closed, you sat the clothes down on the tiny bench inside. you then turned to the mirror and gave him a sneaky little smirk. “you said these pants would fit well, huh? why don’t you help me try em on?”

your lover gave you a pointed look. though, you were awfully hard for him to resist. he couldn’t help placing a hand on your hip. “you’re doing this now? after i spoil you rotten you still want more…” you only giggled, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“just look at you. can you blame me? you really gonna neglect me like that?” his hands trailed down to your ass, giving it a good squeeze. “little brat.”

shorty after his “scolding” he’s sitting on the bench with you in his lap. you grind on his lap relentlessly while he kisses the daylights out of you. he held the back of your neck with one hand and your thigh with the other. he wouldn’t admit it, but his hips were desperately bucking into yours too.

your hands find his hair and tug, which is his last straw. he grabs your waist, moving you into position. “enough of that. i’ll give you what you want but you’d better not make a sound.”

you thought he’d have you ride him, but oh no. his arms are hooked up under your legs and he literally rips your pants apart. “it’s fine,” he insists, “you can just wear the new ones out.”

he wastes no time pushing into your wet cunt. you moan pathetically, to which he growls. “quiet, or you won’t be cumming til we reach the next village.”

your eyes widened, your moans becoming soft little whimpers. you were biting your lip so hard you thought it’d bleed. but nothing could quiet the slap of his hips against yours. as much as he claimed you were spoiled, he wanted you just as badly. it was easy to tell just by how relentless his thrusts were.

time was so caught up in fucking you to put you in your place, he didn’t hear the clerk step in. his forehead was against your back, his teeth clenched as he hissed to quiet his own moans.

“sir? did you need—“ of course, this little fucker was looking for your husband in the dressing room. once they saw you two, they gasped, making direct eye contact with you. despite your embarrassment of being caught in such a lewd position, you held it. you couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride. they scrambled out of the room as fast as they could without another word.

when the two of you checked out, the clerk didn’t make eye contact with either of you. time handed over a ridiculous amount of rupees, your arms full of clothes he bought solely for you. he once it was paid for, he took all of the bags out of your arms. he kissed your cheek sweetly, smiling. “let me, darling.”

you smiled a bright and happy “thank you!” before leaving, giving them a nasty smirk that said “i win”.

and your husband was none the wiser.

#this is bad i don’t like it #kores.blurbs #kore.writes #link smut #link x reader #link x reader smut #loz x reader smut #loz smut #legend of zelda x reader #legend of zelda smut #legend of zelda x reader smut #ghost.anon

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offbrandkyoya · 4 months

Text

90 horn dog

previous | masterlist | next

cw: slight nsfw

You laugh and glance at your boyfriend, who’s already looking at you with a pouty face. You shake your head in disapproval. He rolls his eyes then leans to your ear, “You liked that.” You gasp with a flushed face. You smack his head and he starts to laugh. “Not funny!” “It is.” “No!” Scaramouche smiles and you only turn your head away. “I’m not talking to you.” You say with folded arms. “Oh really?”

Scaramouche moves closer and you feel his hand rub your back. You’re still not looking at him but your face is really red. He plants a kiss on your cheek as his hand moves downwards. He tugs on your shirt before moving down to your legs. You shiver and his hand moves back up and stays firm on your-

“Yn.” You scream and not only push your boyfriend away, you punch him, in the face. You ignore his groans as you stand straight, looking like you just witnessed someone die. It was Albedo and Kaeya, who were now very concerned at what just happened. “A-Albedo! Kaeya!” Kaeya eyes your boyfriend, who was hunched over and holding his nose for dear life. “I’m sorry for…uh…scaring you…” Albedo says, feeling a bit scared.

You laugh nervously. “It’s fine! Nothing was happening! Nothing!” You switched the conversation quickly once you notice the two guys holding hands. You applaud, “Congrats on making up!” Albedo blushes with a small smile. “Thank you. I feel a bit more relaxed.” “That’s good.” Albedo opens his mouth but Scaramouche interrupts him. “Yn.” He calls your name in a deep voice. You jump but refuse to look at him. “What?” “I’m bleeding.” “WHAT?!”

Instantly, you turn your head to him and sure enough, blood is dripping down his nose. You panic and hold his face, squishing it a little. “Im so sorry! I didn’t think I hit you that hard!” Kaeya places a hand on his hip. “Why’d you hit him anyway?” “Because he-“ Memories of what happened a few minutes ago surfaced and you start feeling weak. “…he made me mad.” You mumble. “When doesn’t he make you mad?” Venti and Heizou joined the conversation. Heizou immediately laughs upon seeing Scaramouche’s condition.

“Holy shit! What’d you do?!” Scaramouche rolls his eyes. You spark up and push your boyfriend into Ventis arms. “Venti! Good timing! Can you pretty please take care of him? I can’t leave my stand.” Venti shrugs, “Sure. Not like I have a choice.” He drags your boyfriend to the nearest bathroom and you let out a sigh of relief. You look at Albedo. “What did you want to tell me?” “Oh right. My sister might be coming and if she does, I was wondering if you can also look after my stand so I can hang out with her. Is that okay?” You squeal and cover your mouth in excitement. “I can finally meet your sister?! Of course I’d look after your painting! Id guard it with my entire life!” You salute.

He laughs, “Thank you.” He pulls on Kaeya’s arm and they leave to Albedos artwork. Heizou crosses his arms and leans his shoulder onto yours. “So, why are you pissed at Scaramouche?” You blush, “I’m not!” “Then why’d you punch him?” “B-Because!” Heizou smirks, “You told us you got mad but now you’re saying you weren’t?” You sigh and he noticed your uneasiness. “What is it, Yn?”

You bite your lip before saying, “I chickened out.” Heizou tilts his head, “About what?” You close your eyes tight as you think not seeing him would make this situation better. “Scara, wants to go further. Further than kissing…” “Oh.” Heizou straightens himself properly. “You don’t want to?” “I-I don’t know. A part of me likes it but a part of me is also scared…” Heizou nods, “It’s okay to feel that way. It’s your guys first time right?” You nod. “Yn, Scaramouche loves you like a lot. I’m sure he’ll understand if you tell him how you feel.” “You think so?” “I know so.”

You smile at your friend. “Thanks.” Heizou ruffles your hair. “Of course.” You notice Venti come back but not with Scaramouche so you decide to go see him. “Can you look after my stand?” Heizou nods. “Sure.” “Thank you!” You head towards the men’s bathroom with ease. Opening the door, you see Scaramouche checking himself out in the mirror. He was mostly checking to see if his nose wasn’t broken.

You start to feel guilty and head in. “Scara?” He turns around quickly at hearing your voice. “Yn. What’re you doing here?” “You didn’t come with Venti.” You stand next to him and place a hand on his cheek. “I’m really sorry for punching you.” “It’s okay.” “Does it hurt?” “No, not that much.” You frown and he only smiles. “I’m sorry I made you uncomfortable.” He says and you look at him wide eyed. “Don’t say that.” You respond.

“You didn’t make me uncomfortable. I was…” You put your hand down and cling onto your shirt. “I was scared, I guess. I know we talked about it before but that was all jokes and now it felt serious and I didn’t know how to react.” You look down, ashamed. “I’m sorry. That’s a weird reason.” You continue and he pats your head. “It’s not. I got ahead of myself, that’s all.” You look at him with watery eyes. “You’re really not mad?” Scaramouche chuckles. “No, I’m not mad.” You smile a little and hold his face. “I still feel bad about punching you.” “You should be. It hurt.”

You pout and squish his face. “I’m sorry.” You say in a baby voice. He eyes you and you let go with a laugh. “You know what’ll make the pain go away?” “What?” He smirks, “A kiss.” You blush then sigh, “You cheeky man.” You hold his face once more and kiss him. He places a hand on your hip while the other is behind your head. You guys pull away and you rest your head on his chest. “I love you.” You tell him. “I love you too.” You let go and hold his hand. “Let’s get out of here. It’s gross being in the bathroom.” “Truly.”

Heizou awaits your arrival by your painting. He’s not going to lie, this was pretty boring. He loves you and supports you but his legs are hurting from walking around so much. Especially knowing he can’t be with Kazuha.

‘Speak of the devil..’ Kazuha makes his way towards him. “Where’s Yn?” He asks and Heizou tilts his head to the direction you left. “Bathroom.” “I see.” Kazuha goes to study your painting while Heizou watches him. Kazuha would sneak glances at him and it was vey very obvious. It almost made Heizou laugh.

Suddenly, Heizou stands right next to him, leans down to his ear, and whispers, “Wanna do it?” Kazuha’s face burns and fully looks at him. “Uh…I…” Heizou smirks at him while Kazuha processes what he should do. “Sure.” Heizou smiles more and grabs his hand, leading him to the exit.

By the time you and Scaramouche return, Venti stood by your painting. You gasped and stomp your way to the man. “Where’s Heizou?!” “Don’t know.” You groan, “He had ONE job!” “Yn!” The three of you turn to the front and see Aether, Xiao, and Lumine making their way. “Aether!” You beam. “You’re finally here!” Aether nods. “Sorry it took us so long.” You shake your head. “It’s cool!” Then you face Lumine. “I didn’t know you were coming!” “Of course!” She laughs then she spots Scaramouche. “Well if it isn’t THE Scaramouche! Yn’s hot boyfriend!”

He blushes a little. “Uh, hello…” Lumine walks around him in a circle, observing his body structure and appearance. You blush as well, embarrassed by her actions. Lumine places a hand on your shoulder. “He’s cool.” “How did any of that help?” Aether asked his twin. “Because I just know! I may be a lesbian but I know a hot guy when I see one!” She then giggles, “Luckily you don’t have that problem.” Aether blushes really hard before kicking his sisters legs. “OW! WHAT DID I DO?!” “EVERYTHING.”

Xiao chuckles a little and Aether pouts. “That’s not funny!” “A little but I appreciate you thinking I’m hot.” “ENOUGH.” Scaramouche narrows his eyes at them. “Your friends are weirdos.” You raise a brow, “They’re your friends too?” “But you met them first.” “Okay die.” While the twins fight, Xiao asks the rest of you, “Where’s Heizou and Kazuha?”

Venti shrugs. “We don’t know.” “Wait,” You cross your arms. “Kazuhas not here too? Is there a party I don’t know about?” Xiao shakes his head. “No, I haven’t seen him.” Scaramouche looks the side. “Two guys disappear out of nowhere at the same time. What could that mean?” You blink, “That’s what we’re trying to figure out, Scara.” “You’re stupid.” “What did I do?!”

- yes you went into the men’s bathroom #idgaf

- ughhhhhhhhh the only way this is taking so long then it should is because I don’t want you guys to read long ass posts so I’m cutting it and stuff

- I feel bad when I just yap a lot and so it might seem weird when I end the chp sometimes 😭

- Dw next smau I’ll try to fix this writing structure :3

🏷️ @sakiimeo @coquettemaiden @rmiyuki @kur44pika @theblueblub @jxxji0309 @dreamsofminnie @ohmyfinggod @redactedhimbo @kunisbeloved @akagism2 @sketcheeee @thefandomcrow @beriiov @thenightsflower @yukiipc @scaraapologist @scarletttcroww @samyayaya @crucnhice @monaypo1 @feiherp @myaaones @warcelia @hangecanweholdhands @yuminako @valiryyz @screechingxiaolover @tiddieshakeshownu @ilovechuuyaa @d4y-dr3am3r @dazaisfavgf @swivy123 @ganyusbrideee @sagegreenthinks @the-left-glove @wonderland-fan @kylexzz @kaoyamamegami @whycantscarabereal @rvoulte @eunchaeluvr @lxkeeeee @silvermah @baby-bread-in @yelleloww @magica-ren @itzblazekun @im-inlovewithy0u @featuredtofu @anastaxiah @ask-aph-tanzania @drmyday @what-just-happened-huh @xtobefreex @v4lerixxq @duckyyyx @hannoahs-third-eyelash @brain-r0tt @iota1111 @accio-fandom @kaitfae @tikitsune @salmonieea

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