#slightly nervous about posting this but I've been working on this way too long so here we go

[stripetkattelalala54-gf]

Rainbow Madness

Summary: While riding a roller coaster, Mario gets a little bit too much reminded of a certain Rainbow Road incident. Takes place sometime after the movie.

TW: Panic attack

Characters: Mario, Luigi, Mia, Pio, Tony, Arthur, Sofia (Mario and Luigi's little niece)

“I wanna go on that one!”, Sofia exclaimed excitedly, bouncing on her feet as she pointed to a massive roller coaster that extended high into the sky towering over all the other roller coasters that were nearby. It was her 10th birthday so the whole family had agreed to do something a little bit more special than usual to celebrate it.

Since they all knew how much she loved the Mushroom Kingdom ever since Mario and Luigi took her and the rest of the family there to show them around and how much she loved amusement parks, they agreed that combining these two things together would make a good birthday present for her.

So, Mario had asked Peach if amusement parks existed in the Mushroom Kingdom. Peach had looked at him confused at first but after explaining the concept, her face lit up and she informed him that the Mushroom Kingdom indeed had something like an amusement park albeit under a different name.

Now it was him, Luigi, Uncle Arthur, Uncle Tony, mom, dad, and Sofia walking through the FunMush park. They played various games, went on different rides, and tried food which they had never heard of before. It was nice and everyone was having fun. Aunt Marie hadn’t been able to come with them as she had fallen sick. Sofia was sad at first that her mother couldn’t come with them, but that sadness vanished as soon as they set foot in the FunMush park.

Sofia was still bouncing on her feet as she looked at them excitingly.

“Sure, thing sweety we can go on that one”, Uncle Arthur said, laughing. “Who’s coming with us?”

“As if you even have to ask”, Uncle Tony responded with a smirk. “Mario, Luigi you coming too?”

“Of course”, Luigi said without hesitation. Just like Marilyn, Mario could see the excitement radiating off his brother. Despite of everything that Luigi was afraid of, his brother loved roller coasters. Mario normally enjoyed them too but today he couldn’t help but feel uneasy whenever they went on one. Up to that point, all the roller coasters had been relatively small. Still, memories of the Rainbow Road fiasco resurfaced whenever he found himself on one of those rides, but it was manageable.  

Now looking at this big roller coaster that was a few feet away from them, made the knot in his stomach that had been there ever since the first ride he went on today, grow even more. It absolutely didn’t help that the roller coaster was very bright and colourful itself.

Mario swallowed thickly but immediately recovered when he saw his whole family staring at him as they still waited for an answer from him. He forced himself to smile. “Yeah, sure I’m coming too.”

It was probably going to be fine anyway. It was only a roller coaster. He would survive a ride on this even if it made him uncomfortable. He never told his family about the Rainbow Roadpart of his adventure not even Luigi. It was a part of his journey that he’d rather forget, the feeling of terror when the explosion threw him off the road and the feeling of hopelessness and despair when he and DK were swallowed by that eel was not something he was eager to voice out loud.

Besides it was probably nothing in comparison to what his brother had to endure during those three days. His family didn’t need to worry about him too when Luigi was already clearly struggling because of everything that happened. It was fine. He could deal with it himself. He pointedly ignored the voice that told him that he hadn’t slept a full night since he came back because he had nightmares about either the Rainbow Road incident, Luigi dying or Bowser beating him up or some combinations of those scenarios that way too often involved that Luigi somehow got hurt or died because he was unable to protect him. Or that he once almost had a panic attack when there had been a sudden loud noise. Or that one time when Luigi came back home a bit later than he’d said he would. Or-

“Mia, Pio are you coming as well?” Uncle Arthur asked, pulling Mario out of his racing thoughts. “I think we rather sit this one out”, his mom said with a smile. “But you go and have fun. We’ll be waiting just right next by the exit of the ride.”

“Well then let’s go!”, Uncle Arthur cheered. Sofia let out a happy squeak before she was running off on her own. Uncle Arthur laughed following her right behind. “C’mon”, Uncle Tony waved, signalling for Mario and Luigi to follow too.

They made their way through the crowd and before Mario knew it, they were right in front of the roller coaster. Uncle Arthur and Sofia were already standing in line waving them over as soon as they saw them.

Only now that they were right in front of the roller coaster, made Mario realize just how big it was; It was towering over them, its twists and turns extending high into the sky and the colours were dizzyingly bright. It made his heart beat faster but not in a good way.

Mario’s heart felt like it would stop when he got a look of the name of the roller coaster. “Rainbow Madness” was written in the same bright colours as the roller coaster was itself. This had to be a joke. Because of course the name would have a remarkable resemblance to the thing he absolutely didn’t want to think about. Just perfect. It did not help with his growing uneasiness at all.

The nearer it was their turn for the ride, the worse it got. He clapped his fingers together in a nervous manner and he could feel a cold sweat forming on his brows.

His uneasiness must’ve been more visible than he thought because Luigi suddenly nudged him gently into his side. “You okay?”, he asked in a concerned tone but silent enough so that others wouldn’t hear him. “I’m fine”, he waved his brother off. Luigi didn’t seem to be convinced. “Are you sure? You’re really tense”, he pressed again. “Yeah, of course”, Mario smiled this time in the hopes that it was enough to convince his brother that he was fine.

Luigi looked like he wanted to say something more but before he could do it, the line cleared up and it was their turn.

Mario climbed into the seat next to Luigi while Sofia and Uncle Arthur took a seat together behind them and Uncle Tony a seat behind those two. Then the safety harness clicked into place. His heart started to race even more now that he knew that there was no going back. It was okay. It was only a roller coaster nothing bad would happen while riding it, he told himself.

The roller coaster suddenly gave a jolt, and before Mario knew it, the ride began its way up the steep descent. His breathing quickened even though he tried to remain calm. It was okay, he told himself over and over again. It was only barely working. He gripped the safety harness tighter as the ride went up higher and higher. This had been a bad idea. He should’ve just stayed down and made up some excuse why he wasn’t coming on the ride. Just as they were about to reach the peak of the ride, a loud bang echoed through the park and Mario’s heart dropped and his breath got caught in his throat.

And then he was falling. His ears were ringing, he couldn’t hear anything. The explosion had been deafening. He was falling. He was going to die. He was going to die without being able to safe his brother. Luigi was going to die because of him. Their family would never know what happened to them. They would never know it was his fault.

He was falling and he was going to die and there was nothing that he could do about it and why was it so hard to breathe and oh god he was still falling, was this never going to end-

“Mario!”

Mario gasped for air as his surroundings came vaguely back into focus. He was on a roller coaster that was moving at a breakneck speed was the first thing he realized. The second thing, he realized was that he wasn’t breathing right. He was choking and he could barely get enough air in.

It’s gonna be okay, just hang on!”, a voice shouted next to him, but Mario could barely hear it over his own heartbeat. The roller coaster took its twists and turns, and Mario could do nothing more than to just hold on.  

He squeezed his eyes shut, clutching the safety bar of the roller coaster as if it was a lifeline. His breathing was still too fast, making it hard to get enough air into his lungs. Dizziness was washing over him, and he felt like he would pass out at any moment.

Suddenly the roller coaster came to a screeching halt, and everything stopped. Somebody took him by the arm, nudging him to stand up but his legs felt like jelly. They only supported him for a few steps, and he would have collapsed on the ground if it hadn’t been for the person’s firm grip on him.

He was being led away a few steps before he was being gently lowered down to the floor. Everything was spinning, his chest felt like it was too tight making it impossible to get enough air in. His hands gripped at his chest, pulling at his shirt. He needed it off, he needed room to breathe, he needed-

A hand touched his shoulder shortly, but it was enough to make him flinch.

“Hey”, the voice suddenly spoke again. “Hey breathe with me. Just follow my lead.”

“In. Hold it. Out.”

Mario tried desperately to do as he was told, but the air just wouldn’t fill his lungs. He coughed and choked.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, try again.”

“In.” Mario took a shaky breath in. “Hold it.” He held it for a few seconds. “Out.” Mario breathed out again.

“Good, very good. Try again.”

Mario did. He did it again and again until he was finally able to breathe normally.

That was when his surroundings finally came back into focus. Luigi was kneeling only a few inches in front of him, concern and fear clearly written over his face.

A little bit more behind standing, were Uncle Tony, Uncle Arthur, his parents and Sofia. They had the same concerned expression while Sofia looked scared, clutching Uncle Arthur’s hand. Oh. Oh no.

“You back with us bro?”, Luigi asked in a soft tone.

Giving a shaky nod was all that Mario was capable of. His throat felt like it was on fire making it impossible to form any words. He felt completely exhausted. It was as if all his energy just got sucked out.

Mario could hear footsteps and then his mom was kneeling right in front of him too. She put her hand on his cheek which made him instinctively lean into it. He felt like he could fall asleep right there.

“What happened tesoro? Are you okay?”, his mom’ s concerned voice brought him out of his haziness. She gave him the same worried look as Luigi.

Mario opened his mouth to give a respond, but his throat still hurt too much to speak. And if he was being honest with himself, what would he even say? He didn’t want to tell what actually happened. He would only ruin Sofia’s birthday even more than he already had, and he would make his family unnecessarily worry about something that he shouldn’t even be struggling with. But he was also physically and emotionally too exhausted to come up with a lie.

“Mario?”

His mom looked even more worried than before which made Mario realize that he must have stayed silent for a bit too long. He gave her a smile and a quick thumbs up to signal her that everything was fine, but it was clear that she and Luigi didn’t believe him.

“Mario-“, Luigi started this time but Mario interrupted him.

“I’m fine”, Mario pressed the words out. It hurt but it was necessary to convince Luigi and his mom that he was fine enough to continue because he really didn’t want to ruin Sofia’s birthday completely and he certainly didn’t want to talk about anything that happened back there.

Luigi and his mom still didn’t look convinced, but they seemed to understand that Mario wouldn’t talk, so they didn’t press any further.

“Alright. Then let’s go back to the others”, his mom said. She gave his shoulder one last comforting squeeze before she stood up.

Luigi got up from his kneeling position too, extending a hand towards him to help him stand up as well. Mario gratefully took it. His legs still felt wobbly, but it wasn’t as bad as it was before. Together they walked to where Uncle Tony, Uncle Arthur, Sofia and his dad were standing.

They all looked worried but before anybody could say anything, his mom spoke up: “Everything’s okay now.” She gave them a pointed look that clearly said, “no asking questions” and Mario was glad for that. Then she turned to Sofia with a smile. “Say, Sofia what do you want to do next?” At that Sofia immediately brightened up as she pointed to the next thing she wanted to do.

The rest of the family joined and so the day continued. Mario tried to be joyful during the whole time, forcing himself to smile and laugh whenever Sofia pulled him and the rest of the family into new games to try out.

While he knew that Luigi and his mom could probably look right through him as they kept a close eye on him, he hoped that at least the others wouldn’t be able to. Though from time to time he could see that even his father gave him a concerned look, so it didn’t seem that he was doing a convincing job. He was so tired. All he wanted to do was lay down in a bed and sleep forever.

Finally, the day came slowly to an end. The sun had already begun to sink behind the horizon as they went back home. Since Aunt Marie was sick, it was his mom who took over with cooking. She prepared spaghetti with meatballs as Sofia had wished for her birthday.

After dinner there was cake that Aunt Marie had already baked the day before. Sofia was still in high spirits even though it was starting to get late and even though they spent the whole day at the FunMush park.

Mario though for his part felt very tired. Not having been able to sleep through a whole night, either because of his own or Luigi’s nightmares, since he was back plus the panic attack from today, really made the exhaustion catch up with him for good. So not long after the cake but also not too short to seem unpolite, Mario excused himself.

Nobody said anything against it, not even Uncle Arthur or Uncle Tony teased him about getting to bed ‘quite early for someone his age’, which probably meant that he must’ve looked as bad as he felt. They all just wished him a good night and then Mario was finally alone in his and Luigi’s room.  

He put on his pyjamas, brushed his teeth, and crawled under his bed sheets, ready to just fall asleep and forget everything that happened today when the door to the room opened. Mario didn’t even need to open his eyes to know that it was Luigi.

The light was turned on, footsteps could be heard before he felt the bed dip beside him. A hand touched his shoulder.

“Hey”, Luigi began in a soft tone. There was a longer pause before he continued, seemingly needing to gather his thoughts first. “You- This afternoon on that roller coaster- you really freaked out there. It really scared me too. What happened? I’ve never seen you like this.”

Mario took a few seconds before he finally turned around to face his brother. There was nothing but concern written over his face. He knew he couldn’t lie. He was in no state to pretend that everything was fine, and Luigi already knew that something was wrong. But he also really didn't want to talk about it. He didn’t need Luigi to worry about additional things when he already had enough to deal with himself.

But then again, he knew that he would need to talk about it at some point because he knew that Luigi would absolutely worry if he didn’t talk about it. Mario sighed. Better get it over with now.

Mario sat up so that he was able to face his brother.

“I guess”, he started, “this roller coaster just reminded me of the whole Rainbow Road fiasco.”

“Cranky- DK’s father- suggested using karts to quickly return to the Mushroom Kingdom via a shortcut so that we could ambush Bowser and his troop during their attack”, Mario explained. “The shortcut was a rainbow road. Literally. It was a rainbow that served as a road. It was unbelievable.”

Mario paused and took moment to gather his thoughts. He didn’t know why it was so hard to form into words what happened back there. Still, he forced himself to continue.

“So”, Mario went on, “it turns out that Bowser knew we were going that route and his troop ambushed us instead. The whole chase was crazy. It kinda felt like being on a roller coaster.”

Mario took a deep breath.

“We did almost manage to escape them. But then a blue-shelled koopa flew towards us and exploded right on me and DK. I don’t know how, and I honestly try not to think about it”, he chuckled but there was no humour to it. “Anyway, the road broke and we were falling. I thought I was gonna- but then we hit the water. Which was good I guess until we were eaten by a gigantic eel.”

Not wanting to go into more detail, Mario just carried on. “But of course we made it out and yeah. That was that.” Not really knowing what to say anymore, he stopped talking.

“Whoa.” Was all that Luigi said.

“But it’s okay, I’m fine-“

“No you’re not”, interrupted Luigi. “Are you even listening to yourself? You had a panic attack today because of what experienced on that rainbow road. You are clearly not fine.” There was no anger in Luigi’s voice. It was like he was just stating a fact.

Mario’s first instinct was to protest that he was fine, but he paused. He did have frequently nightmares about it even though it was not the only event he had nightmares about. The panic attack today didn’t make things better. He was tired. He was so so tired.

Luigi took gently his hands into his. “I’m sorry I didn’t notice you were struggling this much. I-“

“No, Luigi, no!” Mario couldn’t help but stop Luigi right there. “It’s not your fault, you weren’t even supposed to know. You have enough struggles yourself you don’t need to be burdened with mine.”

Luigi gave him a sad look.

“We can take care of each other”, he said. “You don’t always have to be strong you know. I’m here for you too just like you are for me.”

Before Mario knew it, he started trembling. Everything was just too much. A lump started to form in his throat and his eyes started to burn. He swallowed but the lump didn’t go away.

Warm arms enveloped him. He was being pulled close until Mario was buried into Luigi’s chest. The trembling intensified, and before he could stop it, the tears started to trail down his face. A hand started to stroke through his hair while Mario tried to focus on Luigi’s heartbeat to help get a hold of himself. It wasn’t working.

His body shook with his sobs, so he gave up and just let it go through the motions. Luigi held him the whole time, never once letting go.

When he finally managed to get a hold of himself, he felt even more tired which he didn’t think was possible. Mario didn’t have the strength to protest when Luigi laid him down and covered him with a blanket.

“Sleep. I think you really need it”, was the last thing he heard before he fell asleep.

Later that night, he awoke again from a nightmare. He shot up, trembling and shaking. It was hard to breathe, his throat was on fire like he was drowning. Like he was back in that cold water waiting to die, knowing Luigi would die too because he wouldn’t be able to save him-

And then warm arms were suddenly around him, holding him close very similar just like a few hours ago. “You’re okay”, Luigi said as he soothingly rubbed his back.

Mario didn’t say anything, he was just clinging to him until he was able to calm down. He vaguely realized that Luigi must have anticipated that there was a chance that he would be having a nightmare tonight. Mario had gotten used to wake up quietly after a nightmare so he wouldn’t wake up his brother and tonight hadn’t been any different.

So, either Luigi stayed up the whole time or he was just sleeping very lightly which often happened when he was worried about something. It was probably the latter one.

Finally, after who knows how long, Mario managed to calm down again. Still, he didn’t want to let go. He wasn’t ready to lose Luigi’s comforting touch just yet. He didn't… he didn’t want to sleep alone. He also didn’t want to voice all of these things because he didn’t want to inconvenient Luigi any further than he already had. Apparently, it wasn’t even necessary.

As if Luigi could read his mind, he took Mario by the hand and guided him over to his bed. No words were spoken, and they didn’t need to. Luigi gently laid them both down on the bed in a way that Mario was now laying on Luigi’s chest with arms wrapped protectively around him.

It was a weird position to be in. Normally Mario was the one who held Luigi like this. Arms wrapped protectively around him, letting his brother know that he was always there for him, giving him comfort and a sense of being protected. Being the one who was receiving this kind of hug now was definitively something he was not used to.

It felt good though. It felt good to be able to be vulnerable and knowing that somebody was there to hold you through it.

Mario closed his eyes and let sleep wash over him.

[hyypnotix-writes]

Part 2

~ hiya! I'm really nervous about posting this, but I couldn't not at least try to give you a second part after the response the last one got! ~

~ I really appreciate everyone reading it and enjoying it as much as you did ..I hope this one doesn't ruin it for you! ~

~ I think this one's around 13k words. so again ..it's a long one, if you have nothing else to do! ~

~ there’s quite a lot of story before Alexia makes an appearance, sorry ..but she does eventually show up! ~

~ I promise to put more of her in the next part if any of you end up wanting one ~

~ I’m really worried this will disappoint a lot of you, but at least you still have the first part to go back to, if nothing else! ~

~ I really hope you're able to enjoy it even just a little bit, and thanks again for loving the first part so much! the response was very overwhelming and I've loved you all reaching out to tell me that you liked it ~

~ good luck! good bye xx ~

~ Part 1 ~

________________

One night.  

One perfect night.  

That’s all it took.  

One perfect night to throw your whole damn life into disarray.  

One perfect night, that’s lead to endless subsequent nights, spent tossing and turning on your own, replaying the memory over on a loop in your mind. It’s only been about a month, but it feels like an eternity.  

A never-ending, exhausting cycle of yearning and confusion.  

It was the most welcome distraction from your ex-boyfriend’s evil escapades, you’ve not really thought about him at all since. 

It should have set you free, broken you out of the chains of mundanity. It showed you a whole new world, a world of women. It gave you a new perspective on life. Unlocked a realm of brand-new possibilities all ready and waiting for you to venture, and yet, you don’t want to explore any of them.  

It's not that you haven’t tried.  

You’d have been an idiot to assume that it’s only her that can make you feel like this. That would be giving her an awful lot of credit. Yes, she was your first woman, but that didn’t mean that she needed to be your last. The way your mind and body reacted to her, maybe you could have been slightly gayer than you thought, but it doesn’t really look to be the case.  

A pair of lesbian sisters always seemed incredibly unlikely to you, and your sister’s already called dibs on the label. Maybe it’s the mere existence of your younger sister that eradicates the possibility of any real queerness in yourself. That’s probably how the handing out of sexualities works, right? 

It’s a working theory, and one that you seem to be proving the accuracy of.  

You’ve been to a few more clubs since your entanglement with the Spanish mystery. Only returning back to that specific one, once. It gave you a headache just stepping through the door. She was still everywhere in the room, her spirit living in the walls. You barely managed to stay inside for even a second before it became too much for you, sending your heart and mind racing.  

You took yourself back home, reminiscing every single kiss you’d shared with her on that fanciful journey back to her hotel together. Looking up at the floor she had been staying on, as you hastily walked past it on your own.  

Even the nightclubs that aren’t haunted by her ghost, haven’t yielded much greater success with you. 

You paid a visit to a smaller bar, a fair few nights after your perfect one, and had found a woman interested in you. More than interested. She was pretty, and friendly enough. She was flirty and bought you a few drinks. She didn’t try to play it weird by aiding you in your consumption of alcohol. There was no intriguing salt and lime foreplay. She was far more straightforward, far less irritating.  

Maybe that’s why it didn’t work. Maybe she was too plain. Maybe she was too simple and easy for you to understand. Or maybe it’s the fact that when she pressed herself against you in search of a kiss, an alarm bell rang out inside of your head. You suddenly found yourself all too aware that she was a woman, and you simply no longer wanted to follow through with your curiosities.  

It doesn’t help in your confusion, why the femininity of one woman can leave you feeling more certain of your straightness, while another’s femininity has you still helplessly pining after her.  

It’s not like you were under any illusion with the Spanish woman. You were entirely aware that she was also a woman, and it wasn’t off putting to you at all. You enjoyed her being a woman. She smelt nice, she tasted nice. Her body was beautiful, and her lips were soft, and it doesn’t make any sense that she’s allowed to put a yearning in you that no other woman is able to satisfy.  

That does seem very typical of her, though. She really was very cocky and frustrating.ﾠﾠ

Until she wasn’t, of course.  

Then, she was just sweet and considerate. Cautious and careful. Flirty and undemanding. She took you back to hers and she still had no expectations from you. She was still willing to let you walk away. Maybe you should have.ﾠﾠ

You knew even then that you should have.  

It was daft of you to follow after her. Foolish to lose yourself with her, spending the night together, giggling under the sheets. Sharing kisses as you drowned yourselves in each other. Learning her body, every mark, scar and freckle, and committing them all to your memory. Tracing her curves and her tattoos and discovering what it is that makes her tick.ﾠ

She was patient, and understanding, she wasn’t in a rush with you. She spent the whole night exploring with you. Studying your body, wanting to learn all the things you liked her doing, and the things you really liked her doing. She turned what could have been a terrifying, embarrassing, disaster of an experience, into the most incredible encounter of your life.  

She brought you more pleasure than your pathetic ex-boyfriend had ever managed to give you in your whole 5-year relationship, in less than 5 minutes of her having your clothes off. She had the most unholy of noises spilling from your lips with her fingers and tongue inside of you, and she wasn’t exactly quiet herself, in letting you know when you were doing the right thing with her.  

She was intoxicating, exhilarating. She was life-affirming.  

She’s a far more dangerous addiction to you than alcohol could ever manage to be. You’ve never been tempted by drugs before, but you can’t even imagine the high from them being able to compete against what she’s done to you.  

It was just one night.  

It was one perfect night.  

________________

Living back with your younger sister isn’t exactly where you saw yourself being at 26. Your London flat had started feeling a little too big for you, without a traitorous arsehole of a man invading your space. So, you invited her to move in with you, not wanting to have to give up your dream property just because he had decided to try ruining your life. You needed help with the rent, and she had gratefully accepted.  

You didn’t necessarily expect her to also invite her idiot new girlfriend into your home with her. That wasn’t really part of the deal, though you didn’t explicitly tell her that she couldn’t. You can’t really blame her. If you were able to spend every waking moment of your life with ‘A’ right beside you, you’d jump at the opportunity headfirst.   

It still doesn’t aid in the dispelling of your confusion. There’s no jealousy when you see them together. Her girlfriend does nothing for you, none of her girlfriends ever have. You both have decidedly different tastes in women. Your sister’s taste is entirely questionable, yours is perfection.  

You haven’t mentioned your Spanish predicament to your sister. She’d probably laugh at you for it, call you tragic, and embarrassing. Tell you everything you’ve already been telling yourself on repeat in your head. She wouldn’t be very helpful; she very rarely is. She’s your very annoying, smart-arse of a little sister, who couldn’t possibly give you any decent advice. She’s 2 years younger than you and she's an idiot.  

She’s not the one who’s still hung up on a stranger after over a month, though. It’s rarely taken her longer than 24 hours to get over someone she’s been with. She’s not the one who’s been questioning herself every night. She’s never questioned herself at all. You’re fairly certain her very first thought, straight out of the womb was about another woman.  

She didn’t really have to come out to the family at any point, she kissed her first girl when she was 8. Always been a bit of a Casanova, your sister. A walking stereotype of a lesbian. Short, brightly coloured, undercut hair, quite a few piercings, heavily tattooed. She’s obsessed with women’s football, always watching re-runs of ‘The L Word,’ and overwhelmingly insistent in trying to prove to you that Taylor Swift is also secretly gay.  

Your sister’s certainty in her own sexual identity isn’t something that’s ever irritated you before. Not when you were always so sure of yourself, too. You appreciated her confidence. It was admirable, given the way people can be with her. She’s your self-assured little sister, who isn’t great at confrontation. So, you support her whenever anyone tries to tear her down.  

Now, however, this too-late-in-life existential crisis you’re struggling with, has you wishing she’d try to be a little bit more questioning herself. Her surety and cockiness about her sexuality is suddenly the most prominent attribute of her personality, and it’s really starting to drive you up the wall.  

It’s a rare evening where it’s only the two of you at home together. You don’t really know where her girlfriend is, and you don’t much care. You only feel responsible for one annoying lesbian, the one who shares your surname.  

She’s being rather antisocial with you, playing video games alone in her bedroom, and you’ve just finished tidying up the dining table after sharing the dinner you cooked for you both. You’re not exactly sure how you’ve found yourself solo parenting your stroppy little sibling when you’re really not much older than her yourself, but there you go.  

Maybe you should try speaking to her. See what she can possibly offer you by way of sapphic guidance. If she’s going to continue having her nuisance girlfriend living here rent-free, she should at least try giving you something to make it worth your while.  

You walk straight through to her bedroom and collapse your head onto her stomach on the bed. Making sure to do so with just enough force behind it to ensure you manage to leave her winded and interrupt her gaming. She grunts under you, and you earn an overly aggressive smack to your shoulder for achieving your goal. As, whatever other little child she’s playing her game against, has just managed to score past her.  

“You’re a twat!” She scolds, and you backhand her face to shut her up. She raises her fist above your stomach, and you flinch, bracing for impact.  

“I have a question!” You shout, before she has chance to attack.  

She pauses her lifted fist above you, and reluctantly agrees to a truce, providing your question is of interest to her. “What?” She groans, and you fiddle with your fingers, trying to find the right wording.  

“Why do you like women?” You ask, your face grimacing as you await her response.  

It isn’t your smoothest ever phrasing, not your wittiest form of delivery. It’s honestly, rather annoyingly, not the most subtle line of questioning. Despite it not being entirely to the point, your sister isn’t stupid.  

“What?” 

Oh ..maybe she is! 

That’s not going to be super helpful with your impending interrogation.  

“Why not men?” You suggest, still trying not to be too blatant. “How did you know you liked women?” 

“I looked at one.” She tells you, like it’s the most obvious answer in the world. “Why?” 

“Do you find every woman attractive?” 

“No, but I find enough of them attractive to sense a pattern.” She explains. “Why?” 

“And you’ve never been attracted to a man? Not even tempted?” 

“No. Not once. Why?” 

“Never ever?” 

“Y/N!” 

“I was just wondering.” You tell her quickly, drumming your fingers on top of your stomach.  

“About women?” She queries. 

“About ..why women. What it is about them.” 

“Aside from the obvious?” She snickers, nudging your arm.  

You quickly bounce your head back against her stomach winding her again.  

“Stop doing that!” 

“Stop being annoying!” You warn her. Your frustration at yourself getting the better of you.

She tries to push you off of her, but you mess with the analogue sticks on her controller, and she turns her focus back to salvaging her match. “You really are a twat! Get out!” 

“I need your help.” 

“I don’t care!” 

“..I’m sorry.” You mumble, and she scoffs at you, pushing you off of her bed unceremoniously.  

You can’t say you blame her, you’re a constant threat to her in that position, it’s too big of a risk. You enjoy bouncing your head and ruining her childish little game far too much.  

“Why do you like men?” She counters, and you find yourself stuck for words as you sit on her floor.  

It’s the question that’s been floating around your own head for a little while now. You’d never thought about it before. You just were. You had crushes on them all throughout your childhood, you’d had meaningless boyfriends in your teens, you met your bastard ex at university and figured that was it.  

You didn’t need to question why you were attracted to them, it just always made sense.  

“I don’t know.” You answer honestly, letting out a groan as you grab one of her pillows and bury your head into it.  

“What’s going on?” She asks, as she prods at your shoulder with her foot.  

“Nothing. I was just—” 

“Thinking about women?” 

“No!”  

It isn’t really a lie, you’re not thinking about women, just the one. The one woman who’s been invading all of your thoughts for the past 30 something days. The one who won’t let you sleep properly at night, who won’t let you focus completely at work.  

The one woman who refuses to leave your head for even a second just to let you rest, to let you breathe, to let you remember what life was like, prior to her entering it and recklessly setting fire to everything, before she ran away from you and disappeared into thin air.ﾠﾠ

“I kissed one.” You confess, trying to suffocate yourself with her pillow.  

This really does take her by surprise. You can hear her movements on top of the mattress as she turns her game off and pulls her pillow from you with a rather startling urgency. There’s great confusion on her face as she looks at you. She really must think you’re very boring if that’s enough to render her speechless. Imagine her reaction if you admitted to all the other things you did to the Spanish enigma.  

“You kissed a woman?” She asks, frowning at you.  

You’re not entirely sure why she looks quite so cross about it. You’re not trying to steal her thunder here. You’re not about to start trying to catch up with her numerous exploits of female companions.  

“Mhmm.” You mumble in reply, smoothing your hair back from over your face.  

“Why? For a man?” 

“No! I just wanted to ..I thought it’d be fun.” 

“..and ..was it?” 

“Mhmm.” 

She looks at you with a very distinct air of incredulity. It’s a rather annoying look, weirdly condescending. She doesn’t believe you. Why she thinks you’d bother lying about it, you really do not know. You’re not that desperate for a story to tell her.  

It’s almost offensive that she thinks you’re so incapable. You didn’t just kiss a woman. You went down on one, you had your fingers inside of her. You evoked moans from her, she scratched her nails down your back. You’re not some virginal prude. You’re not inept. It can’t be that shocking and inconceivable that you could share a single kiss with someone of the same sex.  

You were right, telling your sister was pointless. She’s offered you no assistance and no support. She’s a useless little waste of space and her horrible girlfriend is an advantage-taking little freeloader.  

“Thanks, very much! This was really helpful!”  

Your words are laced in sarcasm as you slide yourself up away from her bed with a sigh, throwing your middle finger up back in her direction as you exit the room, and slam her bedroom door shut behind you.   

You slam your own bedroom door shut behind you too, just in case she hadn’t picked up on how pissed off you are.  

You’re not really pissed off with her. She doesn’t know what’s going on inside of your head. You’re pissed off with yourself, for still being all entirely far too consumed with a woman whose name you do not know. Who wouldn’t even bother sharing her profession with you. It isn’t fair.  

You collapse headfirst onto your bed and let out a rather guttural groan into your duvet. You’re very frustrated. Your brain’s a mess, your sexuality’s up in the air, and you allowed yourself to picture, far too clearly, your memories of having sex with the gorgeous Spanish woman and now that ache that she’d put inside of you is back.  

There’s a knock at your door, and you’re not in the mood. You grab your duvet and burrito yourself in it down to the foot of your bed.  

“Y/N?”  

You don’t even grace your sister with a response. She doesn’t deserve it. She’s a swine.  

No, but she really is a swine, as you can hear her turning the doorknob and just walking right into your bedroom anyway. She’s really, unbelievably terrible at reading social cues.  

“Do you want to come to Spain with me next week?” 

See what I mean? What the hell?  

That’s a very serendipitous little offer, though. You didn’t even mention to her that the woman that you kissed was Spanish.  

Did you?  

She can’t have worked that out by herself. That would be insane. She’s already proved herself to not be the sharpest tool in the shed. That wouldn’t make any sense. What an intriguing little invitation.  

It’s very embarrassing that just the mention of the country sends a shiver down the back of your neck. All this instant adrenaline running through you, as if she’ll just be waiting for you there as soon as you land down in a random Spanish airport. Yeah, that seems likely!  

Spain’s not the biggest country in the world, but it certainly isn’t small. You’re not going to accidentally stumble into her again on the beach, or in a marketplace. She’s definitely not going to be staying in the same hotel that you’d be in.  

It shouldn’t have your heart racing like this. The chances of finding her again are so infinitesimally small, so extremely impossible, so overwhelmingly unlikely ..but you do stand a better chance, if you’re in the right country.  

“Next week?” You mumble under the sheets, playing it incredibly cool, as you try to ignore the way your heart’s started thumping at a thousand beats per minute.  

“Yeah.” 

“I thought you were going away with your girlfriend?” 

“..we broke up.” 

Shit. She would make this all about herself.  

You wiggle yourself free of your duvet cocoon and open up your arms for her to crash into you. She might be a useless little swine, but she’s your useless little swine. “Are you okay?”  

“Mhmm.” She grumbles, as she starfishes herself on top of you.  

“I’m sorry.” 

“No, you’re not. You never liked her.” 

“That’s not true.” You protest half-heartedly, kissing the side of her head.  

“I am fine ..I broke up with her.” 

“Well, thank fuck for that!” 

“See!” She laughs, rolling off the side of you. “You hated her!” 

“She was horrible!” 

“You could’ve said.” 

“You wouldn’t have left her if I told you to. You’d be getting bloody married to the girl. Twat.” She giggles defencelessly next to you on the bed, because you’re absolutely right. She has always been a contrarian little thing. “Are you sure you’re okay?” 

“Yeah. I’ll find someone else tomorrow.” 

“Unbelievable.” You chuckle, shaking your head as you push her away. “You can’t just give me her ticket. Did she not pay for it?” 

The embarrassed little look on your sister’s face is all the wordless response you need. Her girlfriend never paid for anything. She really was an advantage-taking little freeloader.  

“Where are you going in Spain?” 

“Barcelona.” 

“Why?” 

“Football.” 

“Oh! Give me a break!” You exclaim and roll down away from her back to the foot of the bed. “Why are you going all the way to Spain just to watch some football? You can bloody watch it here.” 

“It’s the Champions League!” She informs you excitedly, and you can’t even pretend to match her enthusiasm. “Chelsea’s playing Barcelona.” 

“Woo.” You respond flatly, rolling your eyes with a shake of your head. “You watched them play together today, didn’t you? Why are they so bloody obsessed with each other? Even I know there’s more teams than that.” 

“It’s the second leg..” She starts explaining, but none of it means anything to you, and you really just can’t bring yourself to care.  

Going all the way out to Spain to be stuck inside a stadium with thousands of screaming fans? What sort of holiday is that? You don’t care about Chelsea’s success or failure. Your sister’s dirty crush on their star-striker is just another one of her many celebrity infatuations that you can’t make any sense of.  

You don’t want to sit next to her as she gets herself all hot and bothered watching women run around a football pitch. You don’t even enjoy watching men do it, you have no interest in watching women.  

“No. I’m good, thanks.” You tell her, dismissively.  

“Please? We can do more than just watch the football.” She offers, pouting pathetically. “You have to come with me! I’ve just been dumped!”  

“No, you haven’t!” You remind her, laughing at her useless attempt at guilt tripping. “And you haven’t really left me much time to negotiate with work.” 

“You work too hard and you’re due some time off! Your boss isn’t going to refuse you, just bat your eyelashes at him. The filthy pervert.” 

“Hm.” You mumble, drumming your fingers over your stomach as you think.  

She isn’t wrong, about you working hard, at least. You do like to bury yourself in your work. You enjoy your job, and the harder you work, the more you earn. You haven’t had time off in a while, and your boss is unlikely to say no to you, you are his favourite employee. You don’t agree that it’s because he has a crush on you, you get good results for the company, and attract lucrative clientele.  

If batting your eyelashes could get you back in the arms of your Spanish one-night stand more easily, though, you’re not above flirting with him to get you there. You could take a few days of leave, go off to Spain, and possibly run into the woman who’s been living inside of your head.  

It’s such an incredibly remote possibility. An absolute stab in the dark chance of finding her. She probably isn’t even in Barcelona. You’re not cultured enough to be able to pin her accent to a specific city. She’s just Spanish. There’s much more places in Spain than just Barcelona. Barcelona isn’t even the capital. Maybe she’s in Madrid, Valencia, Marbella. She could be a party girl living on the island of Ibiza, you had originally found her in a bar. You don’t get a body like hers drinking yourself senseless every night, though.  

What if you do find her, and she wants nothing to do with you? There was only ever the promise of one night together. You already pushed your luck by spending the rest of the morning with each other, she doesn’t owe you anything more. It’s unlikely that she’s been spiralling quite as pathetically as you have. She’s not going to be fending off a sexuality migraine.  

You undoubtedly won’t have been the absolutely mind-blowing experience to her, that she was to you. She’ll have had sex with countless women. She definitely enjoyed herself with you, that much you’re certainly sure of. You can’t fake every bodily reaction to someone, but the rest of it could have been for show. The display of heartbreak afterwards.  

So, maybe she’s an actress, that would certainly make sense. It would explain why she had money, and why she had a company paying for her hotel. Maybe that was her little ‘business trip’. Perhaps she was in London promoting a Spanish movie. Maybe the entire thing was all a performance, and you fell for it. Hook, line, and sinker.  

Either way, stalking her in Spain would be far too pathetic. Even if she does want you to find her, it’s so desperate and needy of you to go all that way, and if she doesn’t want you to find her, you end up looking insane. Travelling to Spain, to possibly just show up right there on her doorstep? What a terrifying thing for you to do to the woman.  

But what if it’s a sign? 

Your clueless little sister, inviting you all the way to Spain, with absolutely no idea that the woman you’re harbouring all of these confusing emotions for, lives there? Maybe it’s fate. Maybe it’s the universe trying to get you back together. Maybe she didn’t fake it, she does feel the same, you’ll find her in Spain and spend the rest of your lives together.  

Please. Behave and be so goddamn serious with yourself. You sweet and simple, delusional little fool.  

“The woman I kissed was from Spain.” You inform your sister thoughtfully, and she sits herself up on your bed to frown at you.  

“You’re still going with that?” 

“Why don’t you believe me?” 

“You’re straight. Straight straight straight.” She points out, with such an incredibly annoying inflection to her voice, it makes you want to bang your head against the wall. “You’re also 26. You were in love with an ugly bastard for 5 years and you’ve never shown an interest in a woman before.” 

“I hadn’t met her before.” 

“Gayyy!” She giggles, and you give her an almighty clack on her arm with the back of your hand, to wipe the smug little smile from off her face.  

“Go with the woman you’re hooking up with tomorrow.” You instruct her. “I’d be a nightmare to watch football with, you’d have to keep explaining things to me.” 

“I don’t mind doing that.” 

“Do you have no other friends to go with you?” You laugh and she pouts dramatically again, shaking her head. “You’re a lonely little loser!” You tell her with a smile.  

“Is that a ‘yes’?” She asks, rolling her eyes at you.  

You take in a deep breath and let out a very heavy sigh. 

What’s the worst that can happen?  

She’s already completely upturned your life. It couldn’t make things any worse for you. Whether you’re able to bump into her or not. You’ll either find yourself some peace, lounging in the Spanish sun, or you’ll be left in exactly the same position you’re in now, but with a much healthier glow to your skin.  

You could even find yourself a Spanish man while you’re out there.  

Mm.  

It’s really not a good sign for your heterosexuality, that that’s no longer an appealing option to you.  

“If I can sort it with work,” you reason, “yes. I’ll come to Barcelona with you.”  

She lets out an embarrassingly girly squeal and crashes her head against your stomach, with just enough force behind it to manage to leave you winded.  

“Twat! I’m making no promises about going to the game, mind. I’m just coming for the tan.” 

“Maybe your ‘Spanish lesbian’ is also a fan of football.” She encourages  

“Mhmm. I’m pretty sure she is.” You admit contemplatively. “Is that an entry-level of requirement for lesbianism, then?” You ask, rolling your eyes. “Because if that’s the case, I really can stop questioning myself.” 

________________

Booking time off work really is as easy as your sister thought it would be. Maybe your boss does have an inappropriate crush on you like she suspects. 

She’s very excited about having you for company, and she tries to educate you on all of Chelsea’s history, the players’ statistics, and their personal lives, all before you go on your little trip together. It really does just go right in one ear, and straight back out of the other. You’re not fussed on the facts and figures; it’s not why you’re going.  

There’s not enough room in your brain to care about the ins and outs of Sam Kerr and Kristie Mewis’ relationship. You’re not interested in the fact that Chelsea currently have 6 WSL titles, and are going for their fifth-straight one, and you really aren’t bothered that the semifinal’s first leg match against Barcelona ended in a draw.  

That is a fair amount of information for you to have retained already despite not being interested. Your sister really has been going on at you, you’re almost a footballing expert.  

Touching down late in the morning in Barcelona, you can’t pretend there isn’t a tiny part of you that’s letting yourself get a little carried away with dreaming. You’ve played through enough countless scenarios in your head of running into the Spanish wonder again back in London, of course your mind’s racing with the possibilities in Spain.  

You drop your bags off at the hotel your sister’s booked for you both, with the intention of heading back out to explore the city together. It’s a peculiar looking building, bright red, oddly shaped. She really never has been one for subtlety, it’s the perfect sort of accommodation for her.  

She insists on wanting to have a look at the Olympic Stadium before the big match, as well as seeing the state of Camp Nou’s renovations, and you really can’t indulge her any more than you already have. You probably will end up joining her for the game tomorrow, but you’re absolutely not walking around the outside of football grounds for fun.  

You’ve seen the exterior of Stamford Bridge more than your fair share of times, Wembley, the Emirates. There’s not that much difference between the lot of them, and they’ve never really been your favourite form of modern architecture.  

So, you agree to go your separate ways for your first afternoon in the city, you’ll meet back up with each other tonight.  

Playing tourist around the streets of Barcelona on your own, is quite an exciting little experience for you. You’re not very worried about getting lost, despite not speaking too much Spanish beyond the basics. Your hotel’s a distinctive looking building, it’s not going to be super difficult to find your own way back to it.  

You get a taxi further into the main hub of town and you’re able to mosey about with a rather unrestrained confidence, turning down tight alleyways and strolling aimlessly along multiple cobbled streets. You manage to find yourself being comfortably led astray, by allowing nothing more than just the warm gentle breeze to guide you as it blows against your body.  

It turns into a more casual exploration of the more authentic side of Barcelona away from most of the tourist hotspots. You have no real idea where you are, and you’re quite enjoying the small rush of adventure.  

A coffee is what you start craving, and you’re not exactly limited by options. Every other building on the peacefully quiet backstreet you’ve found yourself on, seems to be a tiny café. You could start ip dip doo-ing all the individual offerings, but that’s putting far too much consideration into it. You decide to go for the smallest one, the most unassuming. The best coffees always come from the places that aren’t trying to market themselves to any foreign tourists.  

A little bell rings out as you step through the door and the barista almost jumps out of his skin at the sight of you, he clearly isn’t used to getting anyone other than his regular patrons. You offer up your friendliest of smiles and a quick ‘hola’ to show him that you mean no harm, and you tap your finger gently on the countertop as you inspect the board behind his head.  

Choosing the littlest coffee shop might have been a tiny mistake because absolutely everything on the menu is written in what you can only assume, is a rather confusing variation of Spanish. You can’t back out now, the barista already has an adorably excited look on his face at having someone new in his little shop, you can’t break his heart like that.  

You study the chalk written on the board for entirely far too long, in the hope that the words will slowly start translating themselves for you. It doesn’t work, obviously. So, you take a punt at a random one of them, with the rather daring assumption that you haven’t just ordered yourself a troubling batch of Spanish poison.  

“¡Dos, por favor!” Comes a call from behind you, from a woman you surely do not know. It’s recognisably ballsy of her, almost rude.

Her words echo in your ears, as time stands still around you. You’d recognise that voice anywhere, with that unmistakable, and entirely enchanting, cocky little tone to it.  

You can’t really have found her so easily. Life’s never been that kind.  

You can feel your heart clattering around in your chest instantly. Like it’s trying to escape from your ribs, to go off and say hello to hers, all by itself. Your chest’s rising and falling intensely as your breathing shallows and picks up pace.  

It can’t be her; it can’t be. This city’s just absolutely full of Spanish women.

She holds out her card right over you to pay, gently resting her arm down onto your shoulder, and you’ve definitely seen that tattoo before. The ‘11’ printed on her wrist.  

She’d refused to explain the meaning when you’d asked her about it. She wouldn’t give you the backstory behind any of her tattoos. It was too personal; you weren’t allowed to know.  

She thought you might have really fallen for each other if you both started sharing too much information about yourselves, and you only had the single night to spend together.  

“It would be too painful.” She had reasoned with you.

That was very clever thinking on her part. She absolutely managed to prevent you from having an awful lot of heartache and suffering about the whole thing, by letting you know absolutely nothing about her..ﾠ

You still can’t bring yourself to turn around and look. Even though you know it must be her. It can’t be likely that there’s multiple Spanish women that have branded themselves with that specific number on that specific part of their body. Surely to god.  

“..gracias.” You manage to choke out very shakily, in little more than a whisper, still facing forward.  

You have to turn around at some point. You can’t very well drink your coffee on the tiny little counter right in front of the barista when you can’t even have a conversation with him. Just staring at him, silently, neither of you able to speak each other’s language? That would freak him out! You’ll find yourself back on a plane headed for England before you know it, with a restraining order hanging over your head.  

Grow up and turn around. Just turn around.  

It’s her. It has to be her.  

The barista accepts the woman’s payment method with a familiar little smile back at her, and she carefully retracts her arm from over your shoulder slowly. You can smell her perfume on her wrist as it wafts back past the side your face. You recognise the scent, and you find yourself following it round you like a lost little puppy, your knees almost giving way beneath you.  

You didn’t accidentally stumble upon her at the beach. It’s not a Spanish marketplace. She definitely isn’t staying at the same hotel that you’re in.  

You’ve found her, while getting yourself lost. In the tiniest little café, on an unnamed, tumbleweed backstreet, right in the very heart of Barcelona.  

There’s a wide smile of disbelief on her face. Which is hopefully an indication, that she isn’t terrified of you being here, she hadn’t faked her feelings, and she, much like you are with her, is a little overwhelmed to see you.  

“Hi.” Is all that drops out of your mouth, as your mind goes blank at the sight of her.  

“Hi.” She says back, with the exact same breathlessness as you, her voice cracking ever so slightly.  

“….Hi.” 

“You’ve already said that.” She reminds you, and she’s clearly able to bring herself back to her senses far more quickly than you are, because there’s that charming little smirk tugging at the corner of her lips again.  

You’re not really sure which one of you instigated it, you both just sort of ended up colliding into each other, gripping at the material of each other’s clothes. It’s a very desperate hug. Even more so than the one you shared outside of the hotel elevator. You melt into each other, merging yourselves together like two corresponding puzzle pieces.  

It’s an embrace, holding not just the 12 hours of curious devotion between you, but over 30 days' worth of frenzied yearning. It has you both clinging to each other with everything you have, as it defies everything you came to accept as truly achievable, that heartbreaking belief in you, that this reunion would never really happen.  

It’s an impossible hug, and it’s one that neither of you want to pull away from. 

“What are you doing here?” You mumble against her, clinging to her shirt as she buries her head in the crook of your neck.  

“I think it should be me asking that question.” She tells you, chuckling. “I have far more right to be in Barcelona than you do.” 

“This is where you live?” You ask. “You’re from Barcelona?” 

“Mhmm.” She murmurs. “Mollet del Vallès.” 

There’s really no reason for that to be the most beautiful thing you’ve ever heard. It’s only a place name. It’s a good job she didn’t spend much time speaking Spanish to you back in London, you really would have been like putty in her hands.  

“What are you doing here?” She questions.  

“I thought you might want your sweatshirt back.” You joke casually, and she loosens her grip on you slightly so she can face you.  

“Do you not want it anymore?” She asks, furrowing her brow as she studies your face. 

There’s a clear look of uncertainty in her eyes, a small sense of worry, and you do feel mildly guilty for teasing her. “I was hoping ..maybe I could swap it for another.” You smile. “It doesn’t really smell like you anymore.”

She doesn’t allow you to feel guilty for too long. That small air of arrogance that’s always threatening to escape her, does so, in a predictable little smirk at the implication.  

“You’ve been wearing it that much?” She asks you proudly, and you push your tongue against the inside of your mouth as you roll your eyes at her typical display of cockiness. She carefully closes the small distance between you both again, gently pressing herself flush against you. “Does it smell of you?” She whispers in your ear, sending a ripple of goosebumps down the side of your neck. 

“Mhmm.” 

“Mm. Maybe I could be persuaded to make a trade, then.” 

She’s impossible for you to resist when she’s like this. It’s still an intriguing talent she has, evoking such a physical reaction from you, by doing hardly anything at all. A quiet little whisper in your ear and your body’s immediately burning up next to her? You’re still so incredibly tragic.  

You might no longer be certain of your sexuality, but maybe it really doesn’t matter. Why do you need to understand it? Why does it need an explanation? No one else in the world is important at all when she’s standing here in front of you. No one else would ever really stand a chance. How could you ever be interested in anyone else, when you know that this woman right here exists? How could any other person ever truly compare? 

There’s a desire in you that’s clearly also felt in her, when she moves herself to look at you. It’s written all over her face, the twinkle in her beautiful eyes, and the fact that her lips are so incredibly close to yours.  

You lean in, and so does she, but it’s like something quickly shoots through her body, as though she’s suddenly being brought back into the room. She does a quick scan of the café, and she collects herself before she lets you both get carried away.  

“We can’t kiss in here.” She tells you quietly, and you frown at her as you pull yourself back.  

“Why not?” You ask, doing your own quick search to try and find what she saw to put her off.  

No one seems too interested in you, though there’s admittedly a couple of people discreetly watching her. She is very beautiful, so it’s not surprising, but you do sort of wish they’d stop their gawking. This gorgeous woman is here with you, and you’re not really in the mood for sharing.

“There’s not another bloody homophobe about, is there?” 

“No!” She laughs, shaking her head. “Well, I don’t know, actually. I haven’t asked around, but we just ..can’t kiss in here.” 

It’s curious. She didn’t have any issues kissing you in front of people before. Spanish people are very famously more physically affectionate with each other than British people are. So, it seems unlikely that the two of you would turn too many heads just by kissing.  

“Okay..” you accept reluctantly, pouting a little at the rejection, “so ..should we just quickly nip outside to do it then, or?” You joke cheekily, pointing to the door with your thumb.

She chuckles with you, resting her forehead to your shoulder. “You’re still as straight as ever!” She grins, as she wraps you back up in her arms.  

It’s quite nice just losing yourself in her embrace. Burying your head in her neck and holding her tight against you. Having her arms back around you, her perfume overwhelming your senses. The rest of the coffee shop fades into a blur with her in your arms. She’s comforting, reassuring. She’s real, and she’s here.  

“Ale!” Is called out by the barista not a minute later, and you’d have very happily paid it no attention at all. The immediate flinch from the woman that you’re holding, in response to it, however, tells you that you might have just found out a very valuable piece of information indeed.  

You repeat it under your breath, as she pulls away from you and goes to collect your coffees from the counter.  

She says a quiet ‘moltes gràcies’ to the barista, and she narrows her eyes with a small grimace as she returns to you. There’s still a clear reluctance in her to give too much away, she’s not entirely grateful to her little coffee friend for unknowingly revealing slightly more to you than just her first initial.  

Ale. It must still be short for something, you figure. You start reeling off name possibilities at her in quick succession. Alessia, Alex, Alexis, Alexa. You’re like a dog with a bone, because she makes it clear that you’re getting closer, but she still shakes her head at every guess.  

It’s very frustrating, as she offers you absolutely no assistance with your guessing, but it can’t be as convoluted a mission as trying to discover Rumpelstiltskin’s ridiculous name. Thankfully, it isn’t. It’s on only your 5th attempt that you cause the same small flinch in her, and she smiles softly at you before looking down very quickly. You’ve struck gold.  

Alexia. 

It’s a beautiful name. Your favourite name, you’ve decided. It rolls off your tongue with so much ease, you want to repeat it again and again. 

“Now you know too much.” She sighs whimsically, handing you your coffee as she walks past you to collect her bag from the table she was previously sitting at.  

She gestures for you to follow her and leads you to a quieter area away from the other customers right at the back of the shop. She pulls out your chair for you to sit down, and you can’t not smile at the tiny act of chivalry. She really is very sweet. It’s a shame that she won’t let you kiss her.  

You reveal your own name to her, as she joins you on the other side of the table and she repeats it back to you quietly. Whether it’s the sexy Spanish accent, or just the fact that it’s her saying it to you for the first time, you’re not entirely sure, but your heart skips a few beats after hearing it. 

“Now we both know too much.” She tells you, and she takes a small sip of her coffee.  

There’s the tiniest level of nervousness, that blankets itself over you both as you sit together. It’s a little absurd, you’ve seen this woman naked. She’s seen you naked. It isn’t technically a first date between you, neither of you asked the other to be here, but you both clearly have the little jitters of being on one, coursing through your bodies.  

You find yourself just watching her a few times as you talk over your drinks together. You still can’t really believe you found her so quickly. So, you don’t want to risk taking your eyes off of her for too long, in case she just disappears into thin air while you’re not looking.  

She’s also the most beautiful sight in the café. So, why would you want to waste your time looking at anything else? 

You’re not being very discreet about your staring at all, and neither is she, really. You keep exchanging shy smiles over your cups as you catch each other looking. Both of you blushing and quickly averting your eyes as they meet, and then gradually repeating the whole thing all over again. You’ve definitely caught her gazing a few more times than she’s caught you. So, maybe she’s even more tragic than you are.  

The little coffee you ordered by chance, is Alexia’s usual order, so she tells you. It’s not the most life-changing piece of information for her to share with you, but it’s something else for you to know about her, and you’re absolutely sure to make a note of it. It probably keeps you on an even tally too, she already knows that you enjoy drinking a tequila.  

You’re still not allowed to kiss each other, for whatever obscure reason, but she has reached for you hand under the table. Interlacing your fingers together isn’t a new thing between you both, and neither are those tingles that immediately shoot up through your arm at even the most innocent of touches from her. She really does have an incredible effect on you, it should probably be more terrifying to you than it is.

“Why are you really here?” She asks after a moment, as she strokes her thumb over your knuckles.  

“My sister dragged me here.” You answer. “It’s a very important football match tomorrow, apparently.” 

“The one against Chelsea?” She asks, with an unmistakable look of interest in her eyes, that has you rolling your own lightly back at her.  

“I think she’d say against Barcelona,” you point out with a sigh, “but yeah, that one.” 

You had managed to work out that Alexia was probably a bit of a football fan. She has a little stick figure tattoo of a footballer on her leg, the outline of a baby being given a ball on her back, and you have exceptional detective skills. It doesn’t take a genius to figure it out.  

So, it isn’t a surprise that she’d be excited by your footballing interests, but it is unfortunate that you really don’t share the same passion for it as her.  

“Unless you’re a very daring rebel,” you start, “I assume you’ll be supporting Barcelona tomorrow?” 

“Mhmm,” she murmurs, with a small twinkle in her eye, “and you’ll be supporting Chelsea?” 

“Not emphatically,” you admit with a smile, “but I’ll be in that section of the crowd, yeah.”  

“You don’t really care about football at all, do you?” She asks knowingly, with an edge to her smirk that’s intriguing, as you shake your head at her in apology. “Maybe you should introduce me to your sister instead, then!” She winks, and you very quickly remove your hand back out of her hold.  

“Don’t.” You tell her. “Please. Don’t even joke about it.” 

It’s admittedly a little cute that she finds herself quite so hilarious for her disgusting little joke, but you are very unamused by the idea. If the childish look of mischief on her face wasn’t so entirely endearing to you, you may very well have got up and left her right then and there.  

She rests the back of her hand on your thigh with her palm outstretched, and you roll your eyes at her before placing your own hand back into it. She raises it to her lips to place a lingering kiss to your fingers, leaving you with the faintest of blushes across your cheeks. So, maybe you can find it in yourself to forgive her just this once.  

“I have a sister.” She reveals. “Her name's Alba. She’s a few years younger than me. I’m the older sibling, like you are.”  

“Uh oh!” 

“What?” 

“Well, now I really do know too much.” You tell her with a wink.

“My sister’s Emily.” You inform her rebalancing the tally of facts you keep sharing with each other. “Though she’d kill you for calling her that. I think she’d change her name completely if she didn’t think it would upset our Dad so much. She just goes by Em these days ..so ..she probably would have enjoyed your silly little initial idea, actually,” you admit thoughtfully, frowning a little at the realisation, “maybe I really should introduce you to her instead..” 

“Por favor.” She says quietly, quickly shaking her head at you and raising your hand to her lips once again. “Don’t even joke about it.” 

“Will you be going to the game tomorrow?” You ask, a not-so-subtle attempt at finding out if you might be getting to see each other again so soon. “We’d be like star-crossed lovers in the stands. Very Romeo and Juliet of us!” 

“I don’t know that we want to be comparing ourselves to those two! I don’t remember it ending very well for them.” She reminds you, narrowing her eyes at you as her intriguing little smirk returns to her face. “And no. I’m working tomorrow, I won’t be in the stands.” 

“Boo. You can’t be that big of a fan, then!” You tut in disappointment. “I’ve come all this way to support my team!” 

“Your team!” She chuckles. “Will you be there in a Chelsea shirt?” 

“Absolutely not. I’ll be in very neutral colours.” 

She smiles, nibbling at the inside of her mouth as she lowers her eyes to look at the table. She knocks her hand gently on it a few times before turning her attention back to you. It’s impossible to know what she’s thinking, but she’s definitely debating something silently in her head.  

“I could give you a Barcelona one?” She suggests a little cautiously, and you have to smile at the idea. Your sister would certainly disown you if you took one of those back home with you. It’d be worth it, just to see the look on her face.

“You have a very weird habit of offering me your clothes.” You tell her slyly.  

“Mhmm. I really like seeing you in them.” She admits sultrily, and your breath catches as her eyes darken looking at you. “I think I have one in my bag, if you want it.” 

It’s a surprisingly sexy little offer, and you do quite like having her clothes on your body. It’s hard not to laugh at her peculiarity, though, even your sister isn’t that crazy of a football fan.  

“You just ..carry it around with you at all times?” You ask, furrowing your brow as you chuckle at her. “That’s really weird of you! Do you sell them? You go round offering them to unsuspecting tourists? Is that your job? Is it a fake? Are yo—”

“You need to stop trying to know things about me.” She interrupts softly, shaking her head as she chuckles.  

“And just ..blindly accept that you always have a football shirt on you?” 

“Mhmm.” She giggles, and you narrow your eyes at her.

She really is very curious.  

She pulls it out from her little duffle bag from under the table and hands it to you with a gleam in her eye as you take it from her. You push your empty coffee cup to the side and spread the shirt out over the table to study it.  

They’re not exactly your colours, but you can probably make them work. You hold it up against you to check that it will suit, and she bites her lip as she watches you. There’s a name printed on the back of it, you realise, and you smile a little as you read it in your head.  

“Don’t most adults keep it blank? Or just go for their favourite player?” You ask smirking. You turn the shirt around and rest it over yourself, and she gently bites at the skin around her fingernail as you trace the lettering over your chest. “I thought it was just little kids that got their own name on the back. Do you quite like pretending you’re also on the team?” 

“Mhmm ..maybe.” She mumbles, stifling a giggle as she rests her head in her hand. She smiles at you fondly, as she continues gazing at your little shirt inspection.  

“That’s really very cute of you.” You tell her, placing the shirt back on the table and leaning over it as you trace your fingers over the number. “Why ‘11’?” 

“Hm?” 

“11. You have it tattooed on you. You’ve chosen it for your shirt.” You point out. “Is it your birthday? You were born on the 11th? You were born in November? Born on New Year’s Day? Is it just your lucky number? Is it—” 

“Stop, trying to know things about me.” She interrupts again quietly, reaching for your hand and meeting you across the table to rest her forehead to yours.  

“But I want to know things about you.” You whisper. “I want to know when your birthday is. I’d like to know your surname. I want to know what you do for a living, how you got those scars on your knee, how much you weighed when you were born. The name of your first crush, where you went to school, the meaning behind your tattoos. I want to know each and every incredible milestone you’ve ever achieved, and all the unfathomably boring things that you got up to in between each of them. I want to know every single detail about you, and your life, Alexia. I really, really want to know you.”   

It’s quite the thing for you to confess to the poor woman after only meeting her on two separate occasions, but the way her grip on your hand kept tightening as you spoke, the slight clenching of her jaw, and the fact that her lips are dangerously close to yours once again, probably means you haven’t just completely scared her off with it.  

“We’d have to spend a lifetime together, trying to learn all of that about each other.” She whispers to you, her lips lightly brushing against yours.  

“Is that a proposal?” You chuckle, gently bumping your nose to hers. Your eyes trail to her lips, and it’s really very hard to not act on your impulses. “Am I really not allowed to kiss you in h—“ 

It seems that you are allowed to kiss her in here, when it’s right at the back where no one’s watching. Or she’s allowed to kiss you, at least, because there's no doubt which one of you instigated this. Her lips move against yours, and your pulse reacts to her immediately.

It's a kiss harbouring an awful lot of emotion, for two people who still hardly know each other. It's slow, passionate, careful, and every confusing little worry that's been plaguing your brain since the last time you kissed, instantly melts away into nothing as her tongue slips back into your mouth. You're the only two people in the world when her hand's pulling you in by the back of your neck, and you’re tugging her closer by grabbing at her shirt.

It’s probably a good job she did decide to take you further away from everybody else, because it doesn’t stay an entirely family-friendly kiss for very long. It’s not wildly inappropriate, you’re not animals, and the bastard table’s in the way of you doing too much with each other. Thank goodness it is, because it’s been over a month, after all, and you’re both clearly quite a bit needy. You really can’t be doing that in public.  

“I’ve missed you.” She murmurs against your lips, pulling you impossibly further into her.  

“I really missed you too.” 

Hours feel like minutes, in Alexia’s company, as you spend the afternoon roaming Barcelona together. She still refuses to tell you everything about herself. You don’t learn her surname, and she still won’t tell you what she does for a living, but you do both share other things about yourselves with each other. 

It doesn’t matter how insignificant any of the details probably are. Every single one of them still feels important to you, because it’s another little glimpse into her. Every single fact, story and secret that she shares, is what makes Alexia, who she is, and she was absolutely right, you do find yourself falling more for her, with all of the little things you keep discovering.  

She eventually agrees to tell you her birthday. Which makes the whole ‘11’ obsession even more intriguing to you, because the 4th of February ’94 does absolutely nothing to clear that little mystery up. It does tell you that the man in his twenties that you were looking for the night you first met, didn’t even turn out to be a woman in her twenties at all. She turned 30 nearly 3 months ago. She’s absolutely decrepit! 

She gives you a tiny tour on your stroll together, bringing some clarity to the Catalonian streets you’ve been carelessly walking down. Explaining the extra confusing writing on the menu board, and casually revealing to you that she can speak 3 different languages. So, your drunken boast about your GCSE level German, probably wasn’t very impressive to her at all.  

You’re both approached a fair few times by people asking for directions. You can never understand what it is that they’re saying, and you're not really of much use to them just standing there being awkward. So, you hang off a little to the side taking in your surroundings, waiting for her to help them out, before she excitedly returns back to you. You’re not at all bothered by the interruptions. Your patience with it keeps earning you a quick discreet kiss from her as she wraps her arms around your waist, and you return the same display of affection, for her unrelenting kindness to strangers.

Alexia insists that she isn’t a tour-guide, and she’s also not an actress. So, you are very slowly whittling down the options of what it is she could possibly do for a living. She asks you about your own career, which is incredibly cheeky of her, considering. So, you simply refuse to tell her.

Maybe it’s that competitive streak in you, but if she wants to play it secretive, you can absolutely match her for it. You only agree to give her the corresponding facts to the one’s she’s willing to give to you. That way, if she’s falling for you with each new piece of information the same way that you’re doing for her, at least you’re both crashing down for each other, at exactly the same speed.

There’s slightly less careless abandon with being too physical with each other, walking hand in hand around Barcelona. It’s arguably tame compared to how you both were back in London. Whether it’s the lack of alcohol that’s keeping her more reserved, or maybe just because it isn’t yet nighttime, you’re not entirely sure.  

You’re still stealing kisses as you waltz along the streets, but you’re not pushing each other up against the walls of buildings out in the open. Maybe that would be a little indecent of you both. You’re pulling each other down quiet alleyways, instead, pressing yourselves together in secret coves.  

It doesn’t feel entirely necessary, the streets you’re exploring aren’t particularly packed with people, but you don’t question it too much. You’ve really just missed having her lips on yours, and whatever capacity she feels comfortable doing it in, you’re more than willing to oblige.  

You couldn’t really care less who sees you kissing her. You all but forget that they exist when she's pulling you into her and leaving her mark on you. It is arguably far more exciting, however, trying to be sneaky about it with each other. You're both almost actively searching for places that you're unlikely to get caught in. Finding hidden areas and seeing how much you can get away with together.

Your hands find their way under her shirt on more than one occasion. She really does have the most beautiful body. She jokingly reprimands you for it each time, but she doesn’t really discourage you from doing it. She does continually tease you, for your ever-decreasing signs of straightness, though.

Each newly shared kiss with Alexia, is somehow even better than the last. Whether she’s passionately throwing caution to the wind with you, by kissing down your neck, or trapping your bottom lip between her teeth. Even when she’s just being painfully frustrating, by giving you the quickest of pecks before skipping away. Every single one of them still sets your soul on fire, and they still manage to pull all the air right out from your lungs, every single time.

Alexia waits with you, as it turns to evening, on a bench by the road for your taxi back to your hotel. You try not to let the mild burning in your eyes ruin your final moments with her, but you can feel yourself starting to break.

She pulls out the football shirt from her bag again and holds it out for you to take with a shy smile. “I really hope you enjoy the game tomorrow.” She says, and you try to allow yourself to chuckle a little while nodding your head. 

“Mhmm. Thank you, I’ll try.” You tell her, throwing her shirt over your shoulder and quickly rubbing the corner of your eyes. “I’ll have to get Em’s permission to wear this, first. She’ll be very unimpressed with me.” 

“Just don’t let her burn it!”  

“I won't.” You promise, interlacing your fingers with hers and placing a kiss to the back of her hand. “The other fans might throw tomatoes at it, mind!” 

She chuckles, pressing a kiss to your temple, and there’s that familiar sense of dread in your stomach, as you watch the road, knowing your time together is quickly running out again.

You catch her gazing at you as you turn to her, and maybe there’s a little butterfly or two in your stomach as well, at the way her eyes are watching over you. “Are you okay?” You ask.

“Mhmm. You haven’t even gone yet,” she tells you smiling, tucking your hair back behind your ear, “and I already can’t wait to see you again.” 

“You’re really that certain that you will? You’re still sure you don’t want us to swap numbers?”  

“We’ve already bumped into each other a couple of times now. I have no doubt we’ll manage it again.”

It’s nowhere near as reassuring to you as it seems to be to her, but there’s a certain level of romance in her conviction in fortuity. Maybe you are beginning to believe in the possible existence of fate, though you're not completely enamoured by continuing to leave your encounters with Alexia, entirely up to chance. She cradles your head in her hands and gently wipes the tears that are threatening to spill from your eyes with her thumbs.

"I'll never forgive you," you warn her weakly, "if this ends up being it for us."

"Trust me." Is all she asks of you, and she pulls you back into her, resting her head against yours as she runs her fingers over your back.

It feels like an unspoken promise from her, to keep at least trying to find you, and there's a power in her certainty that has you desperate to believe in it too.

It’s still a little hard for you both to say goodbye to each other, but she’s already told you she has a busy day tomorrow, and you can’t really bring her back to your hotel when your sister’s already sharing the bed with you. You share another long hug, and a few more secret kisses before your taxi pulls up, and you finally hesitantly agree to part ways. She places a kiss to your cheek, by way of goodbye as you clamber yourself into the back of the car, setting off without her once again.  

You try to reassure yourself, on the taxi ride back to your hotel. You've ran into each other twice, in two separate countries, by pure dumb luck. It can't be impossible for it to happen again. Maybe there’s something connecting you both, an invisible string, an intangible little bungee cord, that's making sure that neither of you is ever able to truly stray too far away from the other. Alexia has ‘no doubt’ that you’ll manage another meeting again, and you take some comfort in knowing, that you still have 2 days left in the city, to do exactly that.

________________

Collapsing back down to lay on the bed in your hotel room, you have a sneaking suspicion, that you’ll have a far better night’s sleep than you’ve managed to have in a long time, tonight. Your mind isn’t spiralling with confusion anymore, and there’s no longer a gaping hole inside of your chest.  

There’s an excitement in you, a warmth. An encouraging little hope that you really have found something special. Someone special. That once-in-a-lifetime connection with another person who’s also trapped in this world along with you.  

It definitely isn’t the someone you expected to intertwine your soul with. Any younger version of yourself would be very confused about where she’s ended up. It isn’t a connection you want to keep questioning either. It’s not one you really have any doubts on the existence of at all. She’s just it for you, and maybe it’s okay that that’s all you can say to justify it.   

You don’t need to be attracted to other women; you don’t really care about your weakening attraction to men. It just makes sense when you’re together with her. There’s no confusion, no uncertainty, there’s no warning alarms ringing out in your head. There’s just Alexia, and the existence of anything and anybody else, will always pale in comparison to her. 

Your sister arrives a little after you, plodding back into the hotel room, clearly wiped from whatever individual Spanish adventure she got up to today, and she flops herself into one of the armchairs with a very heavy sigh.  

“Long day?” You ask. 

“Mhmm.” She mumbles, frowning at you suspiciously. “You look very happy?” 

“I am very happy!” You tell her with a smile. You excitedly roll over and reach down the side of the bed to retrieve your souvenir of the day from its hiding spot. You launch it right into your sister’s face and she grunts a little under the impact. “Will you hate me, if I wear that tomorrow?” You ask, trying to contain your newfound enthusiasm. 

She pulls it off from where it’s wrapped itself around her head, and she gives you a very unimpressed look. “You bought a Barcelona shirt?” She asks, clearly disgusted with your choice of fashion.  

“I was given it.” 

“By?” 

“..a woman.” You tell her, gently biting your bottom lip as you smile up at the ceiling.  

“Mm.” She mutters with a sigh, moving to join you over on the bed. She thwacks the shirt down over your stomach and lets out a huff next to you. “Well, at least she has good taste.” She tells you. “Or she’s just a bit basic.” 

That’s a little rude ..and very confusing.  

“What do you mean?” 

“Going for the best player on the team.” 

That’s less rude ..but even more confusing.  

“..What do you mean?” 

“Are you joking?” She asks, with a very clear tone of annoyance to her voice. She grabs the shirt and thwacks you with it again. “A woman gives you a shirt with a name on the back, and you don’t even care enough to ask who the bloody player is?”   

Maybe your head is racing again. That’s incredibly confusing. It really doesn’t make any sense. It’s her name, not a player’s name. Maybe they just share a name. It’s not an incredibly rare name, that’s not impossible. 

Your Alexia has a mild interest in football, she’s not playing it professionally. Who would keep that a secret? She’s reticent with sharing information, that’s for certain, but she’s not a bloody liar, and she told you she wouldn’t even be there tomorrow.  

No.  

She said that she was working tomorrow, and that she wouldn’t be in the stands with you. 

Your mind has started racing, and so has your little heart.  

“What. do. you. mean?” You repeat slowly, trying to keep yourself calm.  

“Alexia Putellas.” She tells you, very nonchalantly, and your brain all but short circuits at the name.  

“Who is Alexia Putellas?” 

She thwacks you again with your shirt in dismay, and you’ve really had just about enough of being treated like a piñata. You sit up, pull it from her hands and thwack it across her face as you ask her to explain herself.  

“She’s a footballer, for fuck’s sake!” She shouts, rubbing the palm of her hand against her eyelid. “She’s Spanish. She plays for Barcelona!” She pulls out her phone, to search for her Instagram and bonks you on the head with it. “That’s Alexia Putellas, you twat.” 

You look at the profile, and the hotel room blurs around you. You can feel your heart thumping in your chest, hear the blood pumping around in your ears.  

Your Alexia, is Alexia Putellas.  

She doesn’t sell shirts for a living, she’s not an actress nor a tour-guide, she really isn’t even a spy. Though she’d probably make a pretty good one, the way she never gave this piece of information away.  

Your unexplainable connection with another human being, and she plays football for a living? Clearly very well too, as 2 of her pinned photos have her holding a massive award for it right next to her face. Every other post on her page is about football. She’s Barcelona, through and through.  

She’s verified, she has over 3 million followers. She’s been out here, existing on the world’s stage, all this time, without you ever knowing. Your own sister’s been privy to more information about her than you have.  

She was in London a month ago for football, according to her Instagram posts. The cryptic little ‘business trip’ she was on, was a quarter-final match against Arsenal. An embarrassingly easy win for Barcelona, she must have been out celebrating it when she found you in that club.  

She was back in London again last week for football. You could have seen her then. You missed a chance at an earlier reunion with her, because you refused to go with your little sister to watch her in the first leg against Chelsea.  

Your breathing’s very shallow as you scroll through the endless stream of photos. Your mind is absolutely spinning. It’s all a bit much to take in. You lock your sister’s phone and place it back on her chest as you try to collect yourself. You really don’t want to risk learning too much about her. You want her to tell you everything, you don’t want to find it all out behind her back.  

You’ve been waiting with bated breath all afternoon, savouring every little piece of information she’s given you, and your smart-arse little sister could probably tell you loads about her if you asked. Lots of the details you’re so desperate to know about Alexia are probably only a quick google search away, but you feel guilty enough just knowing her surname without her having been the one to tell it to you.  

She hadn’t been super willing to even give you her first, and no wonder! It’s the single name that’s plastered on her shirt, it’s the name she’s known mononymously as. She’s women’s football’s answer to Beyoncé, Adele. 

Of course, she didn’t want to kiss you in front of people in the café, out there on the streets. It’ll be why she only kissed your cheek in front of the taxi driver. She probably is a little liar, because she almost certainly wasn’t giving directions to people when they approached you both. She presumably isn’t old friends with the two men who wanted a photo with her. They all just know who she is. The whole damn city of Barcelona knows exactly who she is.  

Maybe she was testing you, waiting for you to crack, to confess to knowing everything about her. How couldn’t you know about her? How unbelievably rude of you.  

She’s a celebrity footballer, and you’ve treated her like she’s one of the most normal people in the world. You’ve flirted with her, teased her, kissed her, slept with her, and she’s welcomed it all with that adorable little smirk.  

So, maybe she’s liked that you didn’t know, that you really had no idea about who she was at all. You can’t have had any preconceived thoughts about the woman when you’ve had no prior knowledge about her. Perhaps it’s been part of the fun for her, just being with someone who really couldn’t care about the noise surrounding her. Maybe that’s the reason she didn’t really want you knowing about it. Her fame could have changed things, pushed you away.  

It wouldn’t have. She’d have to do something intrinsically evil to frighten you off. Especially now, after the afternoon you’ve just spent together, learning more, and falling deeper for her. She’s still just the woman that baffled you with a lime in a nightclub, wound you up by kissing someone else. Rescued you from a night of undeniable regret, and turned it into the start of something magical.

She’s your once-in-a-lifetime connection, your confusing, and frustrating, perfect one-night stand companion. She’s the woman that's turned your whole world on its head, and it just turns out, that she quite likes to kick a ball around, with a bunch of other women for a living, and people from all over the world, have been watching her excel at it for years.

She has to know that you’ll have found out already, you’ve told her your sister’s football obsessed. Even if your sister didn’t know who she is, there’s bound to be other people wearing her name on their backs tomorrow. Probably not many of them were given their shirts by the woman herself. There’ll be even less of them with one of her sweatshirts in their bag.  

Maybe she’s excited for you to connect all the pieces together. Giving you her shirt was far too bold a move for her to still not want you to know. She’d have just talked you out of going to the game, if that was the case.  

She wants you there, being a very daring rebel, with her name boldly resting between your shoulder blades, rooting for her and Barcelona, right in the middle of the Chelsea fans. You’ll probably stand out like a sore thumb with your red stripes in the sea of blue you’ll be standing in, and maybe that’s exactly what she’s hoping for. She had ‘no doubt’ that you'd see each other again, after all. 

“She’s the best player on the team?” You ask your sister dreamily, collapsing back down on the bed and clinging to the shirt in your hand as you hold it against your body.  

“Mhmm. Best in the world.” She tells you, and there’s that exhilarating little thrill shooting right up through your body.  

“Oof. I’ll tell Sam Kerr you said that!”  

She scoffs to the side of you and flicks your forehead playfully. You lift Alexia’s shirt, holding it out in between your fingers to study her name again in disbelief.  

You're falling in love, with the ‘best in the world,’ and she seems to be falling for you, too. A little nobody from London, who’s spent the past month pining after who she thought, was a little nobody from Spain. She’s once again turned your whole damn world on its head.  

She really is absolutely everything.  

“I will hate you if you wear that thing tomorrow.” Your sister warns you, as she hits the shirt with the back of her hand. “I offered you a Chelsea shirt and you gagged at it!” 

“I’ve not gagged at this one.” You point out with a grin. “It’s a shame you won’t be friends with me tomorrow.” You tell her, resting the shirt back out over your torso.  

“You can’t wear it!” 

“I bloody can, and I very much will.” You inform her. “You should rethink wearing a Chelsea shirt. You’ll be very disappointed when we beat you tomorrow.” 

“‘We?’ You really are a twat. You’re Barcelona’s biggest fan all of a sudden?” 

“Too bloody right, I am!” You tell her decidedly, hugging the shirt against you. “I’ve always loved football, me.” 

[serawritesthings]

WHERE THE DEERS REST, first part

Pairing | LowHonor!Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader Summary | How can we do good when all we were raised to do is bad? A cruel fate, indeed. Yet when your past, and a certain outlaw, finds a way to set its claws in you once more, perhaps you'll soon find there is a way to change fate's design. Tags | sexual content 18+ minors dni, smut, heavy description of violence and wounds, angsty Word Count | 22k A/N | Oh god, I'm so nervous about posting this. First of all, thank you SO much for the love you showed to Our Dear, Green Little Friend. It has completely warmed my heart that so many of you like it, and even though it's taken me very long to post my next fic, it was one of the key motivations for me to continue writing on it. So thank you very, very much! <3 Also, like I said earlier, I'm very nervous about posting this fic since it's very long and perhaps quite different than what I've written before, but I hope to god you like it! I haven't been in the best mindset when writing it since I've dealt with some stress both privately and at work. I will let you know that I will soon go through it once more and edit it slightly, but I felt like I had to get it out to you guys since I feel bad that I haven't posted in a while, and I'm honestly quite sick of rereading the story time and time again. Please let me know if there are any serious misspellings, and I'll fix it directly! Anyway, sorry for the long text, and I hope you like it!<3

For some, it might’ve seemed cowardly, yet you couldn’t bear to unravel some memories, for they hurt too deeply–wounded too far. However, the thought of letting them fade was somehow worse, and while you feared the pain they would surely bring when confronted, you hadn’t been forced to face them until now. So, it turned out to be quite the coincidence they would come to haunt you now that time seemed to be at a standstill; the world around you had never been this calm before.  

“Miss, would you mind taking these back?” A hearty voice broke your thoughts, speaking in a mumbling fashion as the loud sound of books hit the wooden table. Wading through the dust that floated around you that stirred from Eustace’s sudden motion, you found his ageing eyes gazing at you amusedly, chuckling at the sour expression that formed on your otherwise soft features. 

“I don’t mind,” you said, giving him a small smile that turned vicious once the heavy pile of books was cradled in your arms. “If you don’t mind taking a round with the whisk.” You didn’t get the chance to see the irked look on his face, disappearing quickly into the towering bookshelves. 

“Don’t forget to dust the higher places as well!” Chuckling warmly at the man’s miffed mumbling, you walked on carefully, making sure not to stumble on the ratty carpet as his grumbling grew distant.

The bickering that seemed constant when you conversed with the older man was by all means with no ill intent, more so done in jest. And, while your friendship might seem rather unusual, there was no doubt that his presence brought you an undeniable comfort in a world that had done you more wrong than right. Sure, it might sound dreary, but you recently concluded that you grew more and more content with the thought of staying here.

You loved how a sense of calm always seemed to rest over the building, the smell of old books filling your senses, although an ever-so-poignant whiff of hot steel and grease found its way in from the open window as the train chugged to a stop and steam billowed through the surrounding air. Sighing, you took the liberty of closing the window, the sharp whistle making you cringe as it brought you out of your solitude.

Eustace had taken you under his wing when the bearings of your life had become too heavy, giving you a roof over your head and warm food in your stomach. It made you wonder how sparse kind souls like his were in this world, never having met one quite like him. While your compromised situation originally had been the reason for his kindness, he had found your fascination and vast knowledge of books intriguing and, therefore, refused to take no for an answer when he asked you to start helping him around his bookstore. Yet, despite how much you appreciated it, you couldn’t flee from the unease that still hooked its claws in you when you pondered the reason you had ended up here in the first place, the tendrils of it creeping into the sanctuary of the bookshop like ivy upon ancient stone. Despite your dislike of it, you bore the weight of it every second, and although well hidden, you had become tethered to the memories that followed your past. 

Like shattered glass, memories pierced your heart with sharp edges at every twist and turn. Distant echoes of laughter that had long since faded into silence, the faces blurred by time yet etched into your very being passing before you as your pace slowed down, the wooden panels creaking something so terribly under your weight.

With a heavy sigh, you moved among the hundreds of books, fingers deftly tracing the spines as you sought their rightful place amongst their brethren. Arranging them on the shelves, you tried to distract yourself from your thoughts by humming quietly in the otherwise quiet room. The shop had been empty for quite some time now; the townsfolk’s interest in the subtle words on the pages dimmed in their struggle to survive their daily life—only pretentious men stepped inside at times who, by crook or hook, imagined they would leave a mark on this world with their clever words and supposed hierarchy in society. It lessened, though, as they went for bigger–more extraordinary–things than this muck of a town, wherever that might be.

Amidst the quiet rustle of pages and the soft creak of wood–and your less than favourable words, the air suddenly turned congeal, thick with a sudden tension that tickled your senses with its uncertainty. A chill coursed down your spine as you felt an ominous presence looming behind you, casting you in its shadow as the weight of something cold and unyielding pressed against the tender flesh of your temple. With a tremble, you froze, the books once held tightly against your chest cascading to the ground in a tumble.

Your heart was hammering against your chest, beating against your ribs like a caged bird as its frantic beat drowned out the world around you. You grew too fearful to move, the clicking sound of a gun daring you to resist. 

“Easy there, miss,” a gravelly voice spoke, vibrating dangerously in your ear as warm breaths turned cold on the bare skin of your neck. “No sudden moves, and I won’t have to hurt you.”

You remembered that voice, feeling it dance just beyond the reaches of your consciousness, its familiarity almost touchable. How could you not voice it when the name lingered on your tongue, teasing and beckoning you? There had to be a mistake; there was no other conclusion to be made, for if it happened to be someone you had known, they might be less agreeable than the common bypasser.

“What do you want?” you managed to whisper, voice barely above a breath.

“Money, jewels. Whatever you got,” the voice replied, words heavy with a certain kind of roughness only a man holding a gun to a woman’s head could possess. “Just keep quiet and do as you’re told, and we’ll be on our way.”

Your mind raced in a jumbled mess of fear and uncertainty at the sudden intrusion you should have known was a high possibility in such a city as Blackwater. Yet, the thought only made your heart heavier against your chest, knowing all too well what kind of men hid in the darker corners of the alleyways. For one to threaten a woman in broad daylight, though, seemed very daring yet not an ounce less terrifying.

Summoning every bit of courage you possessed, you tilted your head to glimpse at the man pushing his head against the side of your face, opposite where the cold metal touched your temple dauntingly. As you did, you met the eyes of the man who held your fate in his hands–and in that fleeting moment, as your gazes met, you saw something flicker behind the hardened exterior of the outlaw.

Recognition dawned like a bolt of lightning. What stared back at you was not the face of a stranger but the familiar features of a man you had once known—a man whose presence had once held the promise of escape amidst the terrible deeds that clouded your life. Arthur Morgan, that’s who was standing behind you. His name echoed in your mind like from a long-forgotten dream, memories hidden so well you could barely remember them. 

Two broken souls, trying to find what others seemed to have handed to them on a silver platter: warmth and solace, the comforting thought of finding a home–somewhere to belong. Yet, the relationship wasn’t made to be perfect, and in your despair, nothing good could’ve come from it. As many things go, it became too fragile. It couldn’t—didn’t—last, and what you once saw as a light beyond the heavy curtains of darkness was quickly swallowed up.

Instead of the kind ones you remember, dark, dangerous eyes stared into yours, the swirls of blue coated in a rich black that ran like coal through his acidic gaze. So harsh and cold were they, burning through yours as thick brows fell like a shield over the dark pools, hiding behind his squint and hostile snarl. Almost unrecognizable, he was seemingly both older and larger as the lines on his face were more defined and wrinkles on his nose nearly etched onto his face. 

As your fearful eyes stared into his stoic yet calculating ones, you felt your body shiver in fright, every bell of alarm that once sounded so clearly in your mind turning quiet, now only the clock ticking discernible as blood rushed in your ears like a flood. The gun cocked dangerously, dread creeping through you at the wordless threat when you stayed quiet for longer than he had the patience for.

 “You deaf?” His growling voice burned deep in his throat. A warm breath brushed against your cheek as he kept your gaze wholly, completely disregarding the unmistakable fear in your expression. 

“I-”

You stumbled over your words, voice thick before a gasp left you. Between the disbelief of seeing Arthur’s face once again, although more weathered than you remember, and the thought of having a gun pressed to your temple, there was not a single word you could utter that would seem sensible.

Suddenly, you were turned around, hands pushing you against the bookshelves in a hasty motion, never minding their grip on you. Your head craned as the gun now found your neck, trying desperately to get away from it but instead having it digging harder into your skin. 

“Now, are you going to do as I say?” You could feel the tendrils of disgust burn through you, face contorting as you twisted in his arms, proving futile against his leverage. 

“Nah, none of that. You hear me?” His grumbling could be heard from deep within his chest while his face soured, the sharp lines of his frown growing darker under the shadow of his hat. Tightening the grip he had on you, his arms wound themselves like vices around you, daring you to make another move. 

He was close now, his hot breath chilling the skin on your face as the smell of sweat and leather filled your senses–tears almost welled up in your eyes from the stinging feel of smoke emitted from his clothing. Every calm yet strained breath that left him was audible, contrasting heavily with your hectic breathing that filled the now-empty room. 

It was daunting yet all too familiar as memories clouded your mind of the same man who was now threatening your life. Did he even recognize you? Or was he too far gone? Had the devil set its claws so deep inside him that he couldn’t longer differentiate friend from foe? It would seem so, you concluded, gazing again at his hardened face, which only recognized a stranger before him–a puppet to get what he desired the most.

“We ain’t got much.” Your voice strained against your throat, thick with unshed tears that lingered in the corners of your eyes. All you got in return was a faint squint of his eyes, gazing at you cautiously as he looked behind him calmly before returning his eyes to you. 

“Do as I say.” Not a word left you, and whether it was from stubbornness or fear, you couldn’t be sure, but the look you were given made sure to convey that crossing him would not end well for you. 

That was until it changed. Arthur’s features softened after he observed your face, running his eyes over your eyes and the slope of your nose until they reached your lips, quickly averting his gaze as he turned his head away momentarily. Did he remember you, you wondered, finding no other explanation to make sense.

It was a long time ago, too long for you to consider the shadow of a man standing before you a friend, yet you had never remembered him to be quite so harsh. So, brutal, perhaps? You had undoubtedly missed a few chapters, but the years were far apart, and time had a funny way of doing its worst to those who deserved it the least. Like wet paint, it spreads, leaching onto good people like a virus–just like bad fosters bad, and good fosters good. 

“Please…” You pleaded with him, fright seeping like syrup into your shaking voice, pathetic and childish. “I-”

There was no time to finish your sentence. The loud thundering of hooves broke through the room’s tension, audible even through the closed window. Loud calls could be heard, as well as swear words further into the building that you did not recognize as Eustace. Worry filled you when you realized Arthur hadn’t come alone in his business to rob you blind, and now you were fearful that your companion might be in an even worse predicament.

The frown on his face deepened, the hold on his gun softening just enough as he pushed you hastily back towards the bookshelf, your legs weakening underneath you as you fell towards the ground. In long strides, he marched towards the window, hiding behind the wall as he peered out, almost blending into the shadows as the light from outside shone brightly. You could see people running past it, in too much of a hurry to peer inside as the shouts grew louder.

“Arthur!” A voice called out, recognizable as the rich timbre echoed through the corridor, gravelly yet smooth. “We have to leave!” As the last syllable left his mouth, you jerked as the first sound of a gun going off could be heard, hands quick to cover your ears as the noise punched a hole in your gut. “Now, Arthur!” 

Everything after that became a blur, your whole body growing rigid as the world turned into chaos. Bullets could be heard going off left and right, rather like a thunderstorm than a gunfight echoing outside the room that now held you in prison. Your body stiffened, muscles tensing as you were brought back to the sounds that filled you with dread, memories flooding you, both unbidden and unwelcome. 

Faces twisted in fear, the acrid smell of burning flesh, rising smoke, and gunpowder–sounds of screams echoing in your ears. You wished for it to cease, for the images to disappear, searching every corner of the room for an escape, somewhere you could go to to rid yourself of the horrid thoughts.

Momentarily, amidst your glancing around in stress, you found a pair of calculating eyes boring into yours, seemingly undecided as they stayed planted beside the window. Your breath came out in ragged gasps, the staccato rhythm of gunfire echoing through the building, mingling with shouts of panic and the sound of breaking glass.

Arthur’s gaze was fixated intensely on you, and a sense of uneasiness settled when you realized. It was heavy, and your heart raced as your eyes stayed plastered to the others–the urgent shouts from outside pierced through the silence as danger lurked outside the room’s walls. Yet, you couldn’t help but feel as if he was searching for something in the depths of your soul, piercing you with a scrutiny that left you barer than if he were to strip you of all your clothes and examine you naked. You found yourself unable to look away, moved by the indescribable way he didn’t seem to be either.

“Arthur!” 

Barreling through the door in a flash of binges breaking loose and dust clouding your vision, a pair of men fell roughly onto the ground a few meters before you, blood seeping through their clothes like a rich, red paint. Splattering on the ground, it almost reached your clothes as bullets rained after them, shooting holes in the walls the few times it missed their targets. 

Frantic eyes searched the now corpses in front of you, expecting to see Eustace's body among them. Yet, you found none–and hadn’t you been too preoccupied with the currants of relief coursing through you, you would have seen the young faces of the poor boys who had found their doom that day only because their perpetrators wanted to fill their pockets.

It didn’t seem that Arthur paid any mind to the mess that transpired in front of your very eyes, more so, still focusing on you like you were the only one in the room. Visibly distressed, it didn’t seem to deter him, his fingers flexing as his gaze burned dangerously under the shadow of his hat. 

That was until he suddenly tore his attention from you in annoyance, seemingly finding the dead bodies in front of you a menace, a simple block in the road. That was until a faint grunt seemed to leave one of them, a grunt filled with pain as frantic eyes flickered around while the rest of his limbs appeared paralyzed, only able to stare at the roof.

Rounding him immediately, Arthur stepped around the man, walking with his dirty boots and rattling spurs into the blood that loitered the floor as the sound of the thick, wet fluid reverberated in your ears. Without a single word, he gave you one last glance. You stayed on the floor, clutching your shoulders with your hands as he bent over the man and stared him unapologetically in the eyes–the only sound after being the loud bang of his gun. 

The sight was gruesome, and to think a man could do something like that without a blink of an eye, you considered even more cruel. You had seen your fair share of malice and anger, anger that turned even the kindest of men into herds of both sheep and wolves, meaning you couldn’t possibly be surprised. Yet, it reminded you too terribly of a time you thought you now would get the chance to lay behind you, never more having to stare these horrible men in the eyes any longer but instead keep them closed.

And you did keep your eyes closed this time, waiting for the moment pain would fill your chest. Yet, it didn’t come since only silence followed, and when you opened them again, the room was devoid of any life except your own; Arthur now only seemed to have been a figment of your imagination if it weren't for the poor victim, his blue eyes staring lifelessly into yous, wide open and terrified, seemingly having turned to you in the last second, hoping you would save him from his terrible fate.

—

Some would say you were of the quiet sort, choosing the words that fell from your lips carefully, both pondering and cautious. It came from a life where those assets were vital, a simple way to keep your tongue in check and do what you had to survive –which you would like to say wasn’t easy when it felt like your mind ran a thousand miles a second, never resting and finding it troublesome to make sense of the world that unveiled itself before you. 

With your mother gone, you found yourself thrust into a world of uncertainty, your father's callousness only serving to worsen the fate you seemed to have been handed as he appeared indifferent to your loss, attention consumed by the demands of those around him. But alas, he was affected too, and you had come to learn that different people react differently to whatever hardships they come by–and those who don’t respond at all seem to be the ones that eventually act the harshest.

That was at least how your father had acted; you perceived his anger as something only a daughter could experience from a father. It was brutal and sudden, only appearing after a silence that rang like sirens in your ears–then grappling and choking. What could possess a man to harbor such anger, you couldn’t say, and while you knew he had it worse when he was little, you wondered if the thought of you only being a child ever crossed his mind.

You should be filled with anger and resentment, so much it could consume your life, fuel every action, and affect every choice you make. You should’ve been immersed in sadness, crying until your voice gave out and tears dried up, yet you couldn’t. They were inside of you; you could feel them leaking into your chest, and as you stared into your own dry eyes, you could only see the malice of your father reflected in them–the malice that seemed to be reflected in most eyes these days.

 It didn’t matter if it was the ladies who sometimes passed by the dusty town of Blackwater or the lone man begging for coins in the corner of some run-down store. Deep-seated anger was in them all, rooted so gravely it felt like the air blackened when you stepped outside. Like a curse, it seeped into the very bones and festered there. 

Why? Perhaps that’s just how humans work, always needing something to prove that the inhabited anger they felt had a cause, always searching to direct it to someone else less deserving of it. So, perhaps there wasn’t anyone to blame for the whole thing—maybe it was just the nature of humans–just like happiness or sadness is a natural way of expressing oneself. It seemed more manageable for you to grapple with it when thought of that way, for it became more of a fact than somewhere to cast your blame. 

That’s why, when the bodies being dragged out the door left their track of dark, red blood, you could only gaze at Eustace, who spoke to one of the officers, refusing to look at the bloodshed around you. It turned out that your old man had been fine, answering in irritation while he told the sheriff that the outlaws probably hadn’t found him big enough of a threat as they searched every cabinet and shelf, taking no care to be careful of the things around them as it tumbled in heaps to the floor.

You couldn’t be sure if you felt relieved or not to have been further away from Eustace than you had been, wondering how your fate would have been decided if the lot of them had found you instead. Perhaps it had been your saving grace to see that the man from your past reached you first, but you couldn’t possibly say. Or maybe your saving grace was the officers who reached you just in time, for there was no telling what Arthur would have done with you had they not arrived when they did.

When you thought about it,  he’d always been unpredictable. While his face was familiar to you, he was unrecognizable in many ways. His movements had been calculating and menacing, and his eyes looked right through you as if it didn’t matter who was standing before him. The only thought reflected in his eyes was the hope of shiny gold and glittering diamonds. But there was also greed–greed and hunger.

You could tell, for you had seen it before. There was a time when that was all you saw, and for a long while, you wondered how far a man could go to satiate his needs–if greed only could grow, worsen like a drug. The more you got, the more you needed, the high never enough, and the thought of gaining more pleasurable to the point of doing anything to receive it.

 However, it was never a look you had seen coming from Arthur when you’d known him, as he’d been more prone to emit a childish want for justice and righteousness, pride, and a strong sense of doing what was right though the act was considered wrong. But it was a long time ago, and you realized that your vision might be clouded by a young girl's naivety that the world was a good place–that people could be wholeheartedly good.

“Dear girl.” Your thoughts were broken by Eustace’s low, seemingly now more careful voice, walking over to where you stood amidst the rushing forms of lawmen. “Are you alright?”

Were you? It was hard to tell, so you had no straight answer to give him. It was too crowded, and since you had nowhere to gather yourself, you weren’t in the right mind to devise a sensible response. So, instead, you answered in a way that would get you the least amount of questions–even though it might have been considered lying.

“Oh, I’m alright, Eustace; they never got the chance to find me.” Giving him a tight-knit smile, you touched his arm, grateful for his concern. “They didn’t hurt you, did they?” 

You glanced up at him, finding his sharp eyes doubtful. You should have known. He never took kindly to lying and had an incredible knack for noticing when someone did. It would indeed be your doom one day–and many others, no doubt. 

“No, I suspect they didn’t find the old man much of a threat.” 

“Well, I’m glad they didn’t.” His eyes softened, and he heard your words despite your mumbling. Your gaze stayed stuck on his shoulder, deep in thought. 

Even though the danger had passed for some time, it still felt like your heart resided somewhere deep in your stomach. Your thoughts and the looming dread–the slightly metallic smell of blood filling your nose—were heavy. It didn’t help that Arthur’s face became more prone to showing up after that incident, his grim expression wearing a sharp nose and piercing eyes cutting through the yellowed paper plastered on the city walls, surrounded by his unlawful friends that didn’t look any less menacingly. 

5000§. That was the price for a man taking what he deemed his own, countless murders and robberies on his hands, blood heavy on his mind, and dollars flooding his pockets. It didn’t help your case that the poor boy selling newspapers in the corner outside the bookstore had pipes to last for days, reminding both you and the townspeople of their latest misfortune of having a gang hiding in the shadows. 

Since trouble always seemed to find you, there wasn’t much for you to chastise yourself with, all too familiar with the thought of being at the deep end of one conflict or another. It was laughable, really, that one person could be doomed with such a case of bad luck and an increasing magnetism towards people who fought with bloodied knuckles for power and status. But, in the end, maybe the weak belonged to the strong—just like flies sought feed from the skin of rotting corpses to consume the waste left by those who always strived forward, no matter their intentions or values. Perhaps it was an unspoken law of nature, an inevitable dance between vulnerability and dominance, where the fragile were snared in its horrid embrace. 

What could you possibly do against nature’s firm grip on the world? It wasn’t as if it was an imagined force you could call upon when needed—it was just how it was, and no amount of will or strength could make that fact undeniable. You came to terms with that realization long ago, but the gnawing feeling in your chest was more stomach-twisting than anything you had felt before. What you were scared of, you possibly couldn’t say. Perhaps it was the leftover tremors that still coursed through you or the dampening feeling of nausea that persisted, yet somehow, it was something else, a faint sense that the danger wasn’t over yet.

Could Arthur be the one causing the cold sweat to run down your back even though the room was boiling from the heat outside, making you twist and turn in your bed as you prayed that the wind that sometimes passed through the slightly open window would carry an ounce of coldness so you could feel anything but the enclosing heat that now seemed to warm you to the bone? Your eyes closed tight as if you pressed them hard enough; you would fool your mind that you were asleep, the gnawing voices in your head ceasing so you could, perhaps, finally rest.

There was no doubt about it—you were frightened. It was unusual, this feeling, since while you’ve had many instances in your life where fear was the key factor, after some time, your body—or mind perhaps— grows familiar with it, so familiar that it washes away with the wind. Some fare well when scared, responding automatically as if their minds grow clearer when faced with the means to survive. In others, which is the category where you fit in, grow blank, like a heavy fog settles, keeping you from sensing left and right. A perfect prey, indeed.

And a perfect prey you were, the open window inviting anyone who happened to pass by, and in excellent condition for someone to climb the two stories to reach the wooden frames and then slink into the room with their grubby fingers and glinting eyes—stupid girl, to think so carelessly as if the streets were safe and people were kind. 

Clothes rustling into the quiet night could be heard if you focused your ears hard enough, the floorboards creaking under the soles of muddy boots and clinking metal. Whoever could it be, one might wonder—and you grew paralyzed as the thought hit you, only able to stare at the tapestry that covered the wall in intricate patterns. The room’s darkness lets you hear every slight sound that would otherwise blend into the background, your senses heightened.

Perhaps the perpetrator thought you were asleep, your dreams already taking you to a land where you were dancing among clouds, not a single thought of the fright that would soon take over and turn the clouds so dark you couldn’t differentiate them from reality. Then, you thought, maybe you had been asleep as the sounds disappeared, all too familiar with waking up along the frantic beating of your heart, wide awake as horrible nightmares chased you till morning.

Your laboured breaths were the only thing that could be heard now, only a fool mistaking them for sleeping as you tried to steady your erratic heart. But you would soon find that the cold chill that ran up your clothed arm wasn’t the wind from the window caressing you but the hand of something more foul, riddled with scars that seemed insignificant in contrast to its owner’s sin.

Creaking under you, the bed groaned from the sudden weight, bedsheets rustling slightly as you closed your eyes tightly shut. The figure loomed over you, its large hand carefully moving further down your arm. You wondered, perhaps, if you stayed still long enough, you would be left alone or maybe dismissed as dead if you held your breath long enough. The thought seemed more appealing when you felt the cold skin burn through the garment, the smell of smoke so strong it felt as if you took a drag of the tobacco and let it scald its way to your lungs. It was vile, and in the presence of the sweat that bit its way through your nose, your eyes watered, your body begging to escape the horrid stench.

That was until the pressure lessened, and the room stayed quiet for a while, your heart beating so heavily it felt like someone held it right up to your ear, breath shaking with every small intake. But then, as the silence continued, you felt a warmth spread slowly down your arms, the substance thick like syrup as it made its way through the cotton of your shirt, spreading til the white fabric darkened to a deep, unsettling red. The scent of iron filled the air, subtle yet unmistakable as the shirt clung tighter to the skin beneath. 

You shot your squinting eyes wide open just in time to feel a heavy weight falling over you, unmoving and grim as what you now saw was a man gasping for air. Your first instinct was to scream, but you didn’t get the chance as a hand roughly placed its palm against your mouth, leaving the terrified noise that escaped you muted while your eyes flickered around wildly, trying to make sense of what was going on.

“Quiet now,” a rough voice spoke, removing its hand from your mouth when you became quiet, too shocked when recognizing who it was that spoke. It only grew heavier when your eyes got more familiar with your surroundings, the heaviness that lingered over you being in the form of a man, the warmth you had felt turning out to be from the deep cut across his neck, blood seeping like a waterfall from the paling flesh.

Another scream left you as you struggled to get the limbs away, squirming and trashing as you pushed the hand off you in the process as you begged for the suffocating smell of iron and sweat to disappear. When it did, you crawled backward, body bathing in the slick, blood-soaked sheets. Pushed to the floor, the man was left in a lifeless heap, eyes staring vacantly into the distance.

Those eyes–the sharp nose and squinting eyes—seemed familiar, reminding you of someone you couldn’t quite put your finger on, not while the room remained dark. However, you didn’t have the chance to ponder any longer as more harshly than before, a hand covered your mouth as you remained pushed up against the bedframe, coddling your hands to your chest.

Wet eyes stared into a pair of dark pools, once blue eyes now appearing black in the obscurity of the night as its facial features bathed in the light from the moon. Even still, it was hard to make out who it was, but his voice alone was enough for the realization to set in, now undoubtedly aware of who held your mouth with one hand and the shining blade of a knife in the other. 

“Keep screaming, and you’ll damn us both.” A familiar, grumbling voice spoke out, hushed, yet the warning of danger lay smoldering underneath the surface. 

“Arthur?” Your voice was hoarse when you spoke, riddled with shock when you realized that the man you had feared was in your bedroom, unwelcomed and unwished for. 

“Wh-” You didn’t get to finish your question before he ripped his hand from you, casting you a dark look as he stepped off the bed, the floorboards groaning awfully at the sudden weight.

“Quiet.” There was no need for him to say anything else as you complied, the rattling anger in his voice only fueling his hasty, rigid movements as he bent down, checking the pulse of the man bleeding out on the floor. 

The sight was gruesome, blank eyes shining in the moonlight as if they were somewhere far away, lost in a dream. A dream, you pondered amidst your shock. Yes, this could all very well be a dream—a bad dream, perhaps, yet the thought of it maybe not being real brought you a sense of comfort. But how could it be? It felt too real, and you could vividly recall every moment as it played out in front of you, feel every touch, and smell every scent.

Lost in a haze, you stared down at your body, the thick, red blood more visible as your eyes got used to your surroundings. Closing your eyes, you cast away the faint memories that grew bolder as the smell of iron crawled up your nose, almost gagged by the sight and the imposing smell that grew stuffier, fuller somehow.

Your eyes shot open, watching the dead body heaved on Arthur’s shoulder being thrown over the window sill, the impact noticeable with a loud thud. You could only stare at him as he leaned over, looking around quickly before turning towards you again, nodding his head towards the window. 

If you had been in the right mindset and not scared witless, you would have laughed at his blatant naivety for thinking you would dive head-first into the darkness of the night, with him no less. There might have been a time when you knew him, but that wasn’t the case anymore—the dark eyes cowering behind his hat were unrecognizable, and the unkind tone of his voice was entirely someone else’s. 

“Shit,” you heard him mumble when you made no motion to move from your spot, only cradling your arms tighter around you. Rubbing his eyes in stress, he glanced at you again, almost scoffing at you when you gave him a blank stare.

“Come on then, I ain’t got all day.” As you made no further movement that would give him the impression you were complying, he sighed and, with heavy steps, stalked towards you as the bed rattled slightly from his movements. You only held out your hands when he grabbed your waist roughly, fingers betraying you as they trembled wildly against his chest.

“What are you doing, Arthur?” His movements halted, his leatherbound hands stopped around your middle, and his eyes twitched when he heard his name being spoken. Along the ridges of harshness, you could see a faint confusion lingering in his stare, blatantly staring deep into your eyes unabashedly as he lifted you from the bed. 

“Wha—” You pushed against his chest, and while it didn’t succeed in making him back off, it only made his brows furrow deeper.

“Listen here,” he said darkly, grabbing your upper arms and shaking you slightly. “Do as I say—follow my every word, and you won’t die.” 

You stopped for a moment, bewildered by his words. You couldn’t make sense of it—none of it. Questions were brewing in your mind, but you couldn’t find the words to speak them, couldn’t find the words to scream for help. It might seem funny to be scared of a man you once knew to have a good heart, but you have known men your whole life, and it never takes much for them to see right from wrong and still do the wrong thing.

“What’s going on, Arthur?” you breathed shakily, glancing at his hands, which gripped your arms when they tightened. It was hard to imagine that they had once been so gentle, the thought seemingly miles away as you returned your gaze to his squinting eyes, so close now that you could feel his breath against your skin. “Why are you here?”

Your voice had grown quiet as the question hung loose in the air. Shuddering, the wind flowed wildly into the room, banging the windows against the wall.

“Come on,” Arthur curtly said as he pushed you in front of him. You quickly realized you could hear footsteps from the stairs behind the shut door—Eustace, you thought, a cold chill running up your back as you gasped. 

When you stopped before Arthur in protest, he only gave you a mean glance when you gazed back in concern, telling you all you needed to know. Disbelief was written on your face when you realized his cruelty, feeling it reverberating in your head a few moments before you could make sense of it. 

“Don’t-” 

“Then do as I say.” He whispered harshly, pushing you forward to make you move, and this time, your feet strode hastily toward the window. Two stories high, the room was, and before you could glance back in protest, Arthur pushed past you quickly, landing with a heavy thud against the dusty ground, clouds of it forming as it danced in the falling glow from the lamppost. 

The street below was bathing in darkness, the sullied street more daunting from this high up and saddening when Eustace’s voice could be heard echoing through the hallway, his worried tone reverberating through the walls. It was hard to leave and listen to him calling out for you, yet you realized there wasn’t a choice for you now, and a big part of you refused to see him come to harm. If Arthur would’ve stayed true to his threat, that is.

You couldn’t say why you were so scared, having faced dangers more bone-chilling than this. But perhaps you feared to once more fall into the wrong arms, the arms of a man who reminded you of a past you’d rather lay behind you. But that might’ve always been the case for people who lived a hard life, feeling it better to put it to rest than reawaken it.

Without casting a glance behind you to see the shadow in the hallway flicker wildly as a stressed cane could be heard audibly hitting the wooden floor; you climbed over the window frame, the chipping paint sticking to your tightly gripping hands. It wasn’t until the trashing of air surrounded you that you fell into a pair of arms that immediately embraced you, hands gripping under your waist to ease your landing. 

Quickly, before his hand could linger, you backed away, relieved when you no longer felt the tight hold he had managed to capture you in. His gaze remained heavy on you, and you did your utmost to avoid him, letting your eyes falter, not daring to meet him. How he could act so carelessly, you couldn’t possibly justify, yet his presence alone made you take a few steps back.

His movements were harsh as he adverted his eyes, and you could see how his body was rigid and tense, as if he’d been bathing in ice-cold water. He glanced towards the window, walking towards you as he motioned you to turn around and walk through the streets until the building disappeared behind tons of others, his grip on your arm tight like he worried you would slip out his grasp—or attempt to. Most likely, you thought, knowing exactly what he would do if you tried when considering his earlier threat.

“Where are you taking me?” You applauded yourself for dampening the tremble in your voice when you spoke, somehow finding the simple thought mildly embarrassing while aware it would be entirely valid if you did. This time, you found yourself getting an answer to your question, and although harsh and hasty, it gave you reason to question its meaning. 

“Somewhere safe,” Arthur grumbled under his breath before pushing your back against the local general’s store wall, your figure hidden behind his large frame in the deserted alley. You made another attempt to question him further, only managing to open your mouth before the leather of his gloves covered it, hushing you as his eyes found yours, a threat lying deep within them. 

A few moments passed in silence, the brick wall against your back cold as the small stones pressed uncomfortably against your shoulder blades. Moving slightly, you turned your head to gaze out towards the street, finding Arthur’s hand turning your face back instantly, shaking his head.

It wasn’t long before loud footsteps could be heard through the streets, metal clanking and murmurs echoing as their shadows grew taller from the orange light of the lamppost.

“Be still,” Arthur whispered under his breath, the sound of his gun cocking slowly as if to make as little noise as possible. Stepping away from you, he motioned you to step further into the alley, where the darkness would almost swallow you whole. “Stay there until l come back, and keep quiet.”

You didn’t get the chance to follow his command, though; the sharp sound of a gun went off, the noise so bone-rattling in the quiet, sleeping town it likened to the sound of thunder—a thunder turning into a full-blown storm as it didn’t even take a millisecond before bullets rained through the air, shooting holes into walls and shattering surrounding windows. 

Your back found the brick wall again, Arthur’s back meeting your front as he shielded you with his body. Peeking from behind the building, the sound of his gun went off booming in your ear, his face growing even more grim, cursing under his breath as a bullet flew right past him. His weight pushed against yours when he once more took cover, taking the chance to reload as you gazed at the small cut on his neck where the bullet had grazed him—happy that it hadn’t been you.

Your hands turned pale as they gripped Arthur’s jacket, eyes screwing shut as the noise around you only grew nearer, each intake of breath shallow and rapid, as if the air in and of itself had turned hostile. Desperation clawed at your mind, begging you to slip away from the man holding you back and make a run for it, but you found that you couldn’t, damning yourself for staying still when all you wanted to do was get away.

Although warmth suddenly enveloped your hand, the rough leather and warm fingers wrapped around your sweaty ones. You opened your eyes, breathing erratically as you were once more met with the familiarity of Arthur’s jacket. As you glanced down, you caught a glimpse of his hand encasing you before the sight disappeared just as the feeling passed. You wondered if the hard, cold man in front of you had been the one to do it or if you’d imagined it.

With no more time to ponder, Arthur hastily stepped out on the streets, wildly looking around him with his gun raised as he turned his body in all directions. All dead, you presumed, as no more shots were being fired, yet you could hear more footsteps coming your way, alarmed voices shouting as doors slammed open in the distance. 

“Shit,” Arthur muttered, a loud whistle cutting through the air before he returned to you, casting a glance your way as you gazed worryingly towards the direction of the loud calls, stumbling towards Arthur, feeling like the ground was tilting beneath your feet. 

“What’s happening?”

“Law,” he stated, grasping your waist and hoisting you up what you discovered was his horse. The strong muscles flexed under your weight as you sat behind the saddle, and the chestnut coat softened under your fingers as you tried to find stability.

“Hold on,” Arthur said after heaving himself onto the saddle, casting a look backward when you took too long to follow his words, only setting off when your hands crawled tentatively around his waist, gripping the material under your hands firmly.

You wanted to ask him where he was taking you, but fear choked up your words and rattled your brain as you tried to comprehend your current predicament. So, instead, you held onto his jacket til your fingers turned a paler shade, closing your eyes as you wished that with it, you could disappear—perhaps wake up in your bed once more and feel the morning sun shine brightly upon you as it had done now for quite some time, instead of the cold, harsh air blowing against you, seeping through every garment you were wearing.

You had happily laid the unknown fate behind you when you found Eustace, not knowing the past from the present—not knowing what lay before you. As a child, it had been everything you’d known. And, being brought up always moving, you’d grown used to a stable home, a far-off dream, if even that, since you had never known that stability existed. Food on the table, clean clothes that didn’t reek of sweat and were stained with dirt, and clean water that would surely do you better than the burning alcohol you often got as a substitute for liquid. 

All in all, finding a home with Eustace had been a blessing, no matter how absurd your situation may have looked to others. Therefore, suddenly, having to leave made everything ten times worse—you didn’t want to go, and you cursed the man in front of you, cursing him for disrupting your peace, for taking you away for—well, you weren’t quite so sure yet. 

Although it itched inside you to ask him, you hadn’t missed the part where Arthur seemingly wasn’t the man you had once known. Therefore, you kept your mouth shut, not daring to speak a word while you gazed behind you as the city lights dimmed with time, buildings replaced with trees, and people with animals that scourged away into the woods surrounding the path when the clacking of hooves grew near. 

You rode for a long while in silence, and with every chance you got, you glanced behind you, expecting to see the sheriff’s men closing in on you despite Arthur’s brutal pace—to see the pistols aimed at you in a way you’d thought you’d laid behind you after all those years on the run. But no, no galloping horses followed you, only darkness engulfing your sight as you looked back, the only noise the huffing of the horse beneath you.

Night turned to day, and you never stopped to regain your breath, to make sense of your surroundings. It was consuming, yet you took the chance to feel the now brisk air of the morning caress your cheeks softly, smell the bracing dew and the carrying of fresh air before the heat would set in a few hours. For a long while, you’d forgotten how good it felt to be outside of the city map with no walls confining you, no bustling crowds jostling for space. Nature’s gentle, soothing sounds replaced the constant hum of urban life—machinery and voices. The rustling leaves, the chirping of birds, and the distant call of wildlife may have once done their best to soothe your rattled nerves, yet it didn’t ease now, and you found yourself only growing more nervous.

—

“We ain’t got no other choice but to stay here tonight,” Arthur said as the horse slowed to a trot, examining the area as he squinted against the sharp evening sun. “Reckon, we’ll be safe enough out here. If they ain’t following us, of course.”

A small sigh left you, almost letting a groan escape you as you moved slightly behind the saddle. Feeling the muscles ache deep within, you were unwilling to face a second longer seated atop the horse. You didn’t even register his last words and their hidden threat, trying to remind you what heap of danger you were in—as if you weren’t aware, as if he didn’t already make you more at edge.

As the horse finally stopped at a place Arthur found agreeable, you didn’t wait a second to glide down towards the ground, feeling your feet planted on firm ground, the grass underneath them heavenly as you stretched with your newly-found freedom. 

“Don’t run away,” Arthur muttered as his gaze stayed on you, warning laying deep in his voice.

“And where would I go?” Raising your arms, you gave him a frustrated look, not understanding how he would even make the assumption that you could, the landscape stretching on for miles with only vegetation and no roads as far as the eye could see, only lurking animals awaiting you with open mouths and greedy arms.

“I don’t know, just don’t do it,” he grumbled, sliding off the saddle before throwing you a blanket. As he crouched down, making you believe he was setting up a fire, you walked closer to him, carefully watching the guns on his back, like devil horns sprouting like bone from his shoulders.

“Arthur,” you began, hugging the blanket to your chest. “Will you tell me who those men were?” His mood was terrible, yet somehow, the words left you before you could stop them. There was, of course, still lingering anger at him inside of you, the underlying tones of sorrow that stung its way through you. Yet, you had to know—had to understand why he had turned his visit into a raging bloodbath and who that man was whose blood had dried up your clothes as the fabric had now grown thick and pasty.

“The law, I already told ya,” 

“I know that,” you sighed, trying again, finding it easier to look at him when his back was turned. “But the men before that, and the man in my bedroom….” you trailed off, recalling the horrid moment and the consuming smell of blood, the lifeless eyes once again staring straight through you, brows still furrowed while the eyes stayed wide open.

He halted slightly in his motions, casting a glance sideways yet not entirely looking at you as he rubbed his eyes. Sweat ran down his face as he lowered his hat to rid himself of the still-blazing sun, cursing under his breath at the damned warmth that almost felt torturous when the wind laid to rest.

“Jesse’s men,” he said, continuing his earlier action. Your stomach plunged, shock traveling through your body as you froze, wishing sincerely he’d said any name but that. 

“And the man in my be-”

“Jesse.”

“Oh.”

Backing slightly, you could feel your throat constricting when the familiar name left Arthur’s mouth. It had been a long time ago, yet now it seemed so near, almost too near, being able to grasp the memories that made your heart lurch and stomach turn, something waxy and cold lining your insides at the thought.

Although, with it being given more thought, wasn’t this just your luck? Had it not always been your luck? To find yourself amid everything terrible, of all that was rancid and chaotic—entangled in the embrace of men who, above all else, desired more, strove towards gaining what they deemed necessary. Because of this, there had been many instances where you had felt greed, the familiarity with currents so strong there was no other explanation than rendering yourself no better than others when it came to it. And, unfortunately, it was consistent, for it appeared in everyone—everywhere—whether consciously or not, there had been no way for you to unsee it. 

“But I don’t understand,” you said, your voice quiet as you spoke to yourself, gaze far off as you absentmindedly stared into thin air. “Jesse already killed Charlie. Why would he go after me, and now of all times? He couldn’t possibly be that greedy?” Silence followed, Arthur’s eyes finally meeting yours with reluctance, as if your question bothered him more than he wanted to let on. “Could he?”

“It ain’t—” he trailed off, eyes flickering as if pondering how best to form the words soon to be said. “Well,” he said more directly this time. “Death ain’t enough for some, I guess.”

As his words sunk in, Arthur avoided your gaze, the silence from you enough to tell him that he’d struck a chord in you with his admittance. Horrifying, yet how could it surprise you when you had faced the inner turmoil of men many times, knowing the ways of honor and respect they so desperately clung to? Although there was an underlying dread to his words—like someone had wrapped a bag over your lungs when you thought of what could’ve been—where you could’ve been if Arthur hadn’t been there that night.

When you were both smaller and much more naive than today, you’d seen the bullet that flew right through your father’s skull with both eyes by the hand of Jesse, wide open and undoubtedly too young to stand witness to such a thing—no less it being a parent. You’d been too little; you simply didn’t understand it, and while you can honestly say it didn’t impact you then, being too used to seeing things like that firsthand and not particularly close to your father, it plastered itself onto you like a stamp whether you liked it or not.

Charlie, your father, had grown too careless and brave to think himself above others, particularly Jesse. All in all, that didn’t sit right with him, and as your father went through the grief of losing your mother, growing both colder and meaner with time—an image of his former self—he didn’t have much to care for except the gluttony that grew more consistent as the years passed. Sometimes, you’d ponder if any man could be blamed for it, for it seemingly was engraved in our bones, perhaps a fundamental part of the human mind. 

You’d concluded you couldn’t cast that blame at your father when he tried to usurp Jesse, for then greed battled greed, and you had to choose which one was more deserving of understanding. Yet, you soon came to realize it didn’t matter who was more deserving, for power played a bigger part, and it didn’t care for either justice or discernment—only in which hands it could grow stronger, in which mind it could spread its dark tendrils until it grew satisfied. The only problem was that it never did, and you deemed it the downfall of many, both great and horrible men, those who deserved it and those who didn’t.

After that, you didn’t have much more to say, continuing the late evening in silence as your mind raced terribly after your conversation. You couldn’t help but stay unsurprised by Arthur’s theory, somewhere deep down knowing they probably did have much more in the plan for their leader’s revenge. Death, all in all, might not be so horrible after all when you’d imagine all the other vile and stomach-wrenching things one could do to deem their revenge agreeable—righteous. 

It was impossible to imagine yourself being the one to endure it. You almost felt lighthearted at the thought of men’s grabby hands and hungry eyes, conjuring up bone-chilling scenarios that would make any sane person’s face pale and skin gray. The slap of a harsh backside of someone’s palm was, of course, humiliating enough for you. Still, with time, it somehow felt less personal, as if the memory healed with the bruise, while someone infringed on the fleshier part of yourself, not quite humiliation, for it stretched farther than that—scarred deeper. Pure rot and filth would surely spread through your body and mind, growing until it became a part of you, your past, and your future. 

Your fright for Arthur did lessen as you pondered, growing thankful when you deemed his company much more preferable than the men who sought after you. It reminded you of a time he’d been the safest point in your life—perhaps the first since you laid in your mother’s arms, the warmth only a child could feel from a parent. Safe and undoubtedly free, his arms around you not encasing you—caging you in—but pushing you forward so you could feel the air of the wild blow through your hair, showing you there was more to life than death and violence, that there could be more to a man than his demons.

Of course, you had known what he was capable of—the brutality he wielded with his hands, the blood that tainted them, tainted him. In some deranged way, that thought had always made him even more comforting than he would be without it. It was what you’d known your whole life, and there was no hiding it. It drew you in, but never once had he made the slightest incantation of hurting you, and that’s what made you stay. 

God, you’d been so alike, you and Arthur, and your childhood likewise. It felt like he’d been explaining your life when he told you of his. It didn’t help, for it glued you together, and you wondered if it could even be undone, knowing the rip of the glue, if you ever did, would strip away both skin and bones—take so much from you you were unsure if it could ever heal again. To think it would be horrifying indeed, and in the end, it was; the bruising went so deep you’d wanted to dry-heave when you left, almost ripping your heart out with everything else as you pushed him away.

You wondered, the saddest smile almost showing on your lips, if he had realized how carefully he had handled you since you first laid eyes on him, thinking not of his threats and harsh demeanor but the thoughts behind his actions. Ever so thoughtful and very unbecoming of him, yet somehow entirely expected of his character. You lowered your head, letting your hair fall around you as you tried hiding how the corners of your lips suddenly turned into a frowning smile like you were in on a sad secret only you knew about. 

As you tried forcing your lips to maintain their straight appearance, you raised your eyes carefully after some time, observing Arthur through your lashes as he gazed into the fire. Leaning against an oak, he sought shade from the sun after providing you with something to eat. He seemed deep in thought as the flames caressed his face in the darkening evening, highlighting his sharp, harsh features. A heavy shadow cast over his eyes, hiding what thoughts lay behind them. 

He looked no doubt like a man to fear, with features just as deadly as he was, like the guns resting on his hips and the twitching of his fingers ready for even the slightest inclination of danger. It looked like he was sleeping, yet he was vibrating with tension, like his mind was resting without his body, as if it ran on auto, already aware of every danger that could occur upon you as if it was plastered in the back of his eyelids. 

You conclude that living the life he did would surely do that to a person. You’re not sure what he’s been through since you last saw him but deem it nothing good. Your eyes wandered over his face, gazing over the slightly suntanned skin, watching how the evening breeze made his roughly cut hair tickle his face. The trail of beard started to form, littering down to his neck, where a cluster of chest hair took over, disappearing invitingly into the unbuttoned part of his shirt.

Lingering over the bare skin that glistened with an inclination of sweat from the still humid air and fading sun, they followed over the expanse of his chest that stretched the fabric of his shirt, rising steadily in harmony with his breathing. The faint feeling of his skin under your fingertips ran through your mind, the slight memory so far away that only the feeling persisted. The sharp, musky smell of smoke was almost burning under your nostrils as the feeling persisted, coupled with a smoldering scent that was hard to word; you could nearly feel the warm skin underneath you—the faint sense of hair tickling your cheek. 

It calmed you to watch him, the slow breaths that left him making your eyes grow heavy as time ticked on, the chilling fog of night settling in, accompanied by the warmth of the fire you so desperately relied on. It wasn’t until you were at the brink of sleep a pair of darkened eyes met yours, bathing in the glow from the fire, that your eyes faltered, a scorching blush fighting its way up the skin of your chest till it covered your cheeks wholly—shit. It grew hotter, the air suddenly turning stuffed as embarrassment from your delirious, wandering eyes had been caught red-handed.

You could only stare at the ground in shame, the small pebbles suddenly turning interesting as your eyes stared in false interest. You blamed it on your worn-out mind, the fatigue that had overtaken your body, trying to justify it to yourself. You felt the brutality of another pair planted on you, unwavering, hoping to higher powers they would dissipate so you could pity yourself without an audience. 

“Cold?” Arthur’s gruff voice broke the silence, the words still quiet, making it sound more like a statement than a question.

Did he mistake your blushing cheeks for you being cold? Or, had your distracted mind kept you from realizing that the cold air had done so when the darkening sky fell upon you, too? Crossing your arms over your chest, you felt a shudder run through you, hairs raising as if on cue. 

“I suppose so,” you mumbled, inching closer to the fire that had begun to falter. The embers around it were glowing red as they crackled loudly into the night, the sudden noise making you jump slightly. 

“Mmh.” 

You stared into the flames as silence followed, refusing to meet his eyes. Your pulse was still pounding quickly, and your mind was caught in the horrible moment. Hell, you’d say it bordered on humiliating, throwing off your facade of irritation directed at Arthur and his actions that you were so dead-set on keeping up as well as your walls—so high he couldn’t peer over them the way you couldn’t look over his.

“Come here.”

Your eyes fitted to his, in an instance, baffled by the words that left his mouth, if even that was what he said and not something your sleep-deprived mind made up.

You could only stare at him for a while, trying to decipher the hidden meaning behind his words. Your face was straight as Arthur stared back at you with an expression that could rival yours, arms crossed over his chest, and he leaned against the tall oak. You damned his ability to keep his face so unreadable, eyes still as sharp as they always seemed. His voice was calmer, perhaps slightly warmer, heating like embers glowing in the hearth.

“What?” you mumbled tiredly, voice laced with a sleepy confusion.

“You’ll die of hypothermia before I even get the chance to get you out of here.” His tone was laced with annoyance, grumbling irritably as if the mere thought of the conversation you had bothered him immensely—as if the words leaving him were reluctant and bothersome. 

He didn’t continue, staring at the flames flickering wildly when the wind suddenly picked up—if it was a means to avoid your now wakened eyes or the nonchalance in his spoken words, you couldn’t tell.

The irritation that had been simmering in your mind grew at his words. Your throat constricted with words you wanted to speak, wanting to tell him that there wasn’t a single fiber of your being wishing to be close to him, to give him such a privilege. Had the world turned his head that daft, or had he simply stopped caring what effect his words and actions had on others, no less you?

A few moments passed, and you stared at him, eyes growing hard and sharp like glass, where confusion and fear were replenished. So, to rid both of you from the onslaught of feelings coursing through you, you turned around on the hard ground, bringing your arms tighter against you for warmth as a shudder ran through you.

“When did you grow so cruel?” you asked quietly into the night, watching the warm air leaving your mouth become clouds when you breathed a shaking breath. You weren’t sure if you were speaking about his sudden audacity or the change in his character that so starkly contrasted the one you had known. Nonetheless, you didn’t expect an answer, but you did get one, and a humorless laugh accompanied it as if the truth was some masochistic joke.

“If you only knew.”

—

The night continued in silence, and you woke between the hours from the cold, staring heedlessly into the darkness, ears taut as every noise made your breath hitch, almost expecting to find prying eyes staring back at you when you got the guts to open them. But, as sunlight found its way to you behind the trees, rising warmly over the cliffs, you could finally feel yourself relaxing against the hard ground, bringing the jacket that lay over you closer as you breathed in the scent of smoke and something warmer, muskier.

Blue orbs, hidden beneath the surface of anger and hatred, gazed at you through squinted eyes as the orange tendrils hit the skin of your cheeks just above ĥis jacket. They followed along the strands of hair that ran down your face, tickling your skin slightly as you shook them away from your face in deep sleep.

For far too long, they had only seen gruesome sights—things that would make even the strongest men empty their stomachs. So they stayed a while longer, feasting their eyes on something lovelier—a forbidden fruit laid out before them. The steady breathing lulled them closer as if calling for them, begging them to stray nearer until skin touched skin.

The skin he had once known so well, so well the mere thought of it had become less of a luxury and more of a second nature, a constant need. You might’ve let time do its part in receding the memories, but not him—not when every thought of you had become his way of finding something good in this world—his world. Whatever was left of it gnawed at him, clawed at the inside of his flesh, the scars with age growing visible, larger to only himself; only the aftermath of anger and resentment was what was shown to the world. 

Embedded in the darkest corners of his mind, you laid like a hidden haven, formless yet shaped by recollection. He rarely touched it, for every time he did, he found the flesh of you that was once so bright, so warm, turned colder and grayer, rot spreading its way up your delicate skin, his disease only managing to span through your body. The eyes had grown too lifeless to be associated with yours, the sunken eyes dull and almost bordering on hateful. He couldn’t stand it, so he let it be after some time, outmost refusing to taint your memory with his cruelty and violence, refusing to cover you any longer with his filthy hands. 

It was a part of his life he’d had to lay behind him, a chapter that he had looked upon so fondly laid to rest, only for the next to take form. Oh, how it was riddled with filth and violence, the edge of the papers burnt and soiled. It was simply how it was, he’d concluded at the time, all too aware that it was what lay before him, what had always been destined to be his life. 

What once was a heroic attempt, a means to do good, had been overtaken by gluttony, the constant want for more. A bare and raw sin was what he had turned into, a hungry wolf, led by his brutality and fear—a fear of realizing what he was, what he had always been.

So, he couldn’t help but just for once take you in now that your watchful eyes weren’t gazing at him in fright—a fright he had grown all too used to when others looked at him, whether it was by the end of his gun or in the final short few breaths of their life. You had turned in your sleep, chin resting against the hard ground, when his eyes fitted over you, resting in the soft curves of your face and lashes that lay delicately on your skin. 

The gentle rise and fall of your chest was a lullaby of sorts, a contrast to the storm inside of him. He wondered what dreams might be drifting through your mind, hoping they were far removed from the darkness that often clouded his own, hoping he wasn’t turning them vile.

Arthur gazed over the plump cheeks that seemed fuller, akin to his memories, a soft glow over them as the morning sun washed over you. You had always looked prettier in the sunlight; it was something he had always thought, for it was like two twins meeting each other again, laden with the same light and warmth. The ghost of a wistful smile begged to tug at the corners of his mouth as he indulged in this rare moment of stillness—the rough edges of his hardened soul seemed to soften, if only for a heartbeat.

He wanted to reach out a hand, rough and scarred, and try to let it hesitate above your cheek as he thought it would break the spell of sleep that enveloped you. He could feel his breath caught in his throat, a mixture of awe and sorrow, for deep down, he was aware that the world he lived in had no place for such beauty and peace. He was a ghost in your serene world, an intruder with no right to stay. Still, he would linger, savoring the moment like a condemned man savoring his last meal. 

A dream was all it was, to imagine a different life where you could bask in the sun’s glow without fear and violence. But, as the sun climbed higher, reality would begin to seep back in, and he would reluctantly pull his hand away, the humid air now filling the spaces between you. The weight of his choices and the path he’s walked pressed down on him, so for now,  he’d indulge in the simple act of watching over you as you rested—not sure where to go where the men now seeking your death couldn’t find you yet promising to himself he would keep you far, far away from them.

—

When the sun’s warmth began to cover your skin in a faint layer of sweat, you awoke, being met with the smoking of a dying fire and a soreness in your body that only laying on hard ground could create. You had almost expected to awake in the comfort of your old bed, feeling the soft wind caress your face as it blew through the open window, curtains fluttering in the air as the far-away sound of people chattering could be heard, and the constant chugging of the train.

Homesickness, you thought. It was strange; never before had that feeling grappled you so intensely; never had the thought of being back with Eustace seemed so wishful, so desperate. It pulled something inside of you, and as you sat up, you could only find yourself wishing the feeling away, rubbing your eyes as you set your gaze forward, refusing to ponder over it any longer. 

“No sight of Jesse’s men yet, so I think we’re good,” a voice called out nearby. Looking behind you, you found Arthur going through the saddlebag, his back facing you as you slowly stood up.

“Do you-” You cleared your throat, still riddled with sleep, both rough and quiet. “Do you think they’re still after us?”

“Sure,” he drawled, fastening the bag before patting his horse encouragingly. “We just killed their leader; I don’t think we’re off the hook that easily.”

“You,” you stated, dragging your fingers through your hair as you felt the various knots get stuck in your hand. You tried to sort them out but found your effort unsuccessful. 

“What?” he said.

“You killed their leader, you mean.”

“Yeah, I guess, but they’re still coming for you nonetheless.”

“And the law?”

“If we keep away from Blackwater, we’ll be fine,” he said, turning towards you.

“Then where do we go now?” you asked, staring at the ground as you grieved at the thought of not being able to head back to Blackwater, back to Eustace. He only glanced at you, the slight movement of his shoulders indicating he wasn’t so sure either. 

You walked tentatively towards him, meeting his gaze as he leaned towards the tree where his horse was stabled. He watched you cautiously as if he had any reason to be careful around you.

“How did you know Jesse’s men were after me?”

Arthur shifted uncomfortably, his eyes narrowing as he considered his response. “I have my ways,” he muttered, eyes darting to the horizon. “Words travel fast in these parts, and I keep my ears open.”

You only gazed at him for a while, hearing him sigh when you didn’t let your eyes waver, his eyes narrowing as he studied you, measuring how much truth to reveal. He adjusted his hat, the shadow casting a veil over his expression. “We heard things. Rumors in the towns. Jesse’s men have a way of making themselves known.” You nodded, absorbing the information. It made sense in a twisted way; your past seemed to chase you no matter where you ran or how far you went.

Arthur shifted his weight, his voice dropping lower, more serious. “And when we ran into some of his boys a few days back, well,” He stared at you hard. “They mentioned you.”

“Me?” Your breath got caught in your throat, your voice barely above a whisper.

He nodded.

“How did you know I was in Blackwater?”

Arthur’s eyes darkened slightly, a shadow crossing his face. He took a moment before answering, his voice low and steady. “I’ve been keeping tabs on you,” he admitted tersely.

You blinked in surprise, the revelation catching you off guard. “Why?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper, your tone betraying none of the turmoil. 

He only sighed, glancing away briefly before meeting your questioning eyes again. “Because I had to make sure you weren’t getting yourself killed,” he retorted sharply, his words tinged with frustration. “Especially after everything that happened all those years ago.”

Many emotions flooded through you—confusion riddled with anger, a strange sense of relief you wanted to cast far away. Anger at his presumption, a deep ache for the man he once was when he mentioned the past. “So you’ve been watching me all these years?” you countered, your voice carrying a cutting edge.

Arthur’s jaw clenched, his temper flaring. “I’ve been trying to keep you safe,” he mumbled, his voice growing snappier. 

The reality of his words sank in, and you struggled to process the implications. You met his gaze, trying to keep your composure, refusing to let his anger shake you. “Protecting me by keeping me under surveillance?” you shot back.

“Call it what you want, but I had to make sure you wouldn’t end up lying dead somewhere,” he said gruffly, staring stubbornly at you. “Jesse’s men aren’t exactly known for sending love letters.” 

“And did it ever occur to you that I might’ve been wanting to be left alone?”

“You don’t get it, do you? They’ve been after you this whole time; they still are. You think you can just walk away and be fine?” 

The air hung tense between you and Arthur, his words cutting through the warm air like a sharp blade. “You had no right,” you hissed, your voice low but filled with simmering anger. You knew you were right, and you were sure Arthur knew as he quieted down, grumbling as he strode past you, stepping on the fire’s dying embers to put it out, his movements stiff and rigid.

“We’ll keep moving, get you out of the wild for a bit.” You stayed facing away from him when he spoke, only moving when he extended his hand, motioning you towards the horse. 

“Listen,” he murmured, turning you around before you could sit behind the saddle. “I didn’t—” he turned his head away from you for a moment as if thinking about his following words, hands gripping your shoulders carefully, flexing slightly. “I know how these types of men work, and you would thank me for keeping an eye on you if I told you what they would’ve done to you.”

“And how are you so different from these men you talk of, Arthur?” Your voice was accusing and bitter, and only silence followed from his side. “I used to know a different man,” you murmured. One who was understanding,” you finally said, your voice barely a whisper as your walls crashed, a somber look glazing over your eyes. “Kind.”

You felt him stiffen before you, and he didn’t respond immediately, as if surprised by your words. “Things change,” he replied curtly, his voice devoid of sentiment.

“I can see that,” you said, lifting your hand as if to move his hat out of the way but faltering at the last second. “ I barely recognize you.”

You hadn’t failed to realize it, and it had consumed your thoughts fully since you first discovered it was him when he held that gun toward your head. Never did you imagine he would be the type of man to wield such a dangerous weapon towards a woman—towards you—yet that’s precisely what he’d done.

“You don’t understand the world we live in now,” he said, his tone hardening. “Things aren’t as simple as they used to be.”

“Maybe not,” you replied, feeling the weight of your disappointment settle in your chest. “But I didn’t think you’d let it change like this; I didn’t think you’d become-”

“What? Like them?” he interrupted, his eyes narrowing. “You think I had a choice?

“There’s always a choice,” you shot back. “You used to be a different man.”

“And what good did that ever do me?” he snapped, stepping closer. His breath was warm against your cheek when you lowered your face, staring at the fabric of his shirt. 

“The world is cruel, whether you want to acknowledge it or not, and I had to make sure to keep the gang safe, and I still do.” The last part, he muttered to himself. “And since you decided to leave me-”

“Leave you?!” you gasped, appalled at his choice of words. The familiar stabbing pain gripped your heart when he accused you, and you stepped backward slightly only to find his hands rooting you in place. “I had no choice!”

“No choice, huh?” He said, his lips curling into a bitter smile as if your words were ridiculous and filled with lies.

“I asked-, no begged, you to come with me, but you refused! Talking all sorts of rubbish about loyalty and Dutch this and Dutch that!” It felt like a stone the size of your fist was plunged down your throat while the muscle could only constrict around it, twisting your body slightly so he would let go of you. 

“I realized there wasn’t a place for me there, with you, any longer, so I had to leave before I went insane!” you said. “I couldn’t bear it, living that life anymore. My whole life had been filled with cruelty and violence, and I needed to feel as if I was the one living it instead of watching myself from the sidelines!” Flashes of faces, both grim and cruel, passed your vision, the image of a younger you looking for somewhere to hide but only finding broken souls wandering around you.

Like lost in a maze, you had tried left and right, but with no guidance, it proved useless as you kept wandering, trying to make sense of the world that you grew up in, parentless and abandoned in a gang whose hearts had been ripped out of their chests and feasted on by the devil. His pupils were all that was left, and you, a lost child, were made to endure a world that had been stripped of both kindness and care.

“But you-” your voice was choked up, trembling as your frenzied eyes flickered around you. “You didn’t care enough to see that, and now I can see why.”

“You’re just like them.” As your words ended, the onslaught of feeling simmered underneath your hectic breathing, and you finally felt the pressure loosen on your shoulders. Taking a few steps back, you passed the back of your hands over your eyes, feeling the warm liquid rub into your skin.

Those years felt distant now that they were brought up, and you had done your utmost to keep them far away until one day, you woke up feeling like that life hadn’t been your own; the person you were hadn’t been you and the memories entirely someone else’s. It had become too much, the air around you thick and nauseating when it felt like none of it would stop, like you were in a loop that never ended, only bringing you back to where you first started but with different people this time.

You soon realized that since you managed to remove yourself from Jesse and his men, you’d only wound up sleeping on a hard ground once more, the twigs and sticks poking you through your back like they’d always done. However, the people around you were new, but they were still the same lost souls as you, and the thought terrified you. You couldn’t handle the idea of that being your life, of always following someone who strived towards a goal that, when reached, would only be replaced by another one.

You didn’t dare glance at Arthur, yet you felt his eyes on you. As you tried to calm your breathing, you wondered why he didn’t say anything, defend himself, or retort and fight back like you thought he would. Yet, his lack of words made you second guess your revelations, shame soon filling your body when you realized how much of yourself you’d given a man who no longer cared to understand, who was so far gone your words meant nothing, just like the men he killed in cold-blood—a menace and an obstacle.

“Let’s go,” was all that he replied with after some time, avoiding glancing at you before grabbing your waist carefully to sit you behind the saddle, stomping one last time at the dying fire before sitting before you, no doubt noticing how your hands ghosted around his waist as if touching him alone was a vile and horrid thought.

—

You couldn’t help but ponder over what transpired this morning, all too aware it had to be spoken about sooner or later, but you wished he’d tell you more, explain why he’d acted the way he did and why he’d changed so much even though the words might’ve been said in anger. Yet, perhaps, that is a ridiculous exception, for who can say why they’d change if they even stopped enough to notice they did?  Still, you realized what he had to say might not be what you wanted to hear, and the thought didn’t fail to make your heart sink.

It’s terrible what time can do to one person, but you could not understand how it could wound its way into Arthur so firmly, as if not considering his past self that had been so different from who was before you now. Perhaps being young and in love had made you fail to realize that maybe the man he was now is only an older version of who he’d been then and that he’d only shown the sides he felt deemed to you. Why, you wondered. Had it been shame or fear, knowing very well the cruel place you came from, not wanting to admit that he was a criminal—that he did exactly what every other man would do when following another blindly?

Bringing yourself out of your thoughts, you observed that day had once more turned into night, the familiar setting sun casting its warm gaze over the landscape as the horse huffed underneath you in exhaustion from running all day—tired from the lack of rest and the growing tension that was heavy between its riders. 

Rising your gaze to look at his back for the first time since you set off, you let the follow along the chestnut tone of his hair, trailing over his tense back, eyes focusing on the various scratches and stains on his clothing, the blood that had been rubbed so many times it had turned into a lighter shade, yet the slight pinkness still resided, marking him unknowingly, as if his clothing represented his being. 

It was so unfair, you concluded, yet you felt angry at him, furious at yourself and the world for being unpredictable, for never making anything easy, and more so for laying trouble over minds that from the start were pure, a blank canvas now to be trifled with. But there was also a tinge of sadness over the people you had turned out to be and grieving over the man you seemed to have lost behind smokes of black and anguish.

The pit of darkness that now filled you turned into thunder, and as the rain began to pour, the cold drops doing nothing to wash away the hollowness you felt, you failed to hear the hooves that could be heard from a distance. Arthur, though, had sensed them for some time now, trying to make his abrupt, faster pace less noticeable, hoping to gain some distance before you could see their dark figures form behind you.

Unfortunately, they only gained on you with every minute that passed, reaching out for you with their slinky arms and wild gazes, bullets vibrating in the metal, begging to be released so they could bury themselves into your flesh. Yet, it was hard for them to see, the heavy downpour blurring their vision of you, the fading sun offering them no help, and the galloping of their horses dizzied their sight.

A gasp left you as the horse suddenly stopped abruptly, the reigns held tightly as it skidded across the slippery ground. You didn’t get the chance to be surprised, hastily brought down to the ground, Arthur’s hands almost lifting you with the way he pushed you as you clumsily glided across the ground, grasping onto his arms to find stability as you walked up the small stairs that appeared on front of you.

A small porch, desolated and lonely, spread out around you; from the hasty look you could get, the windows seemed dark and lifeless—not a single light shining through them. The two-story structure seemed to stand on the outskirts of a forgotten, overgrown field, its once-white paint nor a peeling, weather-beaten gray where ivy and wild vines clung to the sides, creeping through the cracks in the wooden boards. The roof sagged precariously, shingles missing in place, revealing patches of rotting wood underneath.

“Shit!” You could hear Arthur shout as the loud weather dampened his voice, grasping the handle as it refused to open. 

“What’s going on, Arthur?!” you said loudly so he could hear you, but you got no answer to your question. He pushed you to the side with one motion, trashing his shoulder into the door, and rusty hinges groaned in protest; the flimsy wood bent slightly before he bolted against it again. With this attempt, he opened it, and it smashed against the wall; the smell of something musty reached your nose as it escaped the house, contrasting heavily with the freshness of the rain. 

“Get inside!” he shouted, and as you hurried inside, you heard the door slam shut. Your back pressed against the wall beside it, and Arthur stood before you, peeking out carefully from the window beside it.

It grew quiet the minute you stepped inside, the rain reduced to a slight humming as it splattered against the one-story house that seemed long abandoned, the faint smell of mold and neglect traveling through the air–the stale, dry air left a metallic tang in your mouth, the taste of dust was ever-present, gritty and unpleasant, seemingly coating your tongue and throat with each short, terrified breath you took.

“Arthur,” you whispered, craning your neck so you could gaze up at him where he leaned against the window, his eyes scanning the storm outside as his hands squeezed your arms gently but firmly.

“I gotta hide you,” he said, his voice low, his throat straining around the words when he finally looked into your eyes.

He pulled you from the wall, leading you deeper into the cabin. The floorboards creaked underfoot, threatening to give away with each step you took. Moving through the tiny parlor, past the broken chairs and sagging sofa, you moved into the kitchen where the cabinets hung open, their contents long since scavenged or rotted away. 

As you gazed back, you found Arthurs’s eyes darting around the place, searching for a place where you would be hidden from the gruesome and horrible event that would soon take place in this already damned building. A small pantry, its doors hanging loosely on its hinges, seemed to be the only hiding place he deemed approvable.

“In here,” he said, guiding you towards it. 

“Why?” you asked, hesitating to enter the small space.

“They caught up to us,” he murmured, watching your hand grasp his shirt. “Jesse’s men.”

“What about you?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

“I’ll be fine,” Arthur replied, momentarily passing his hand over yours. “I’ll handle them, just please-” he trailed off, grasping your cheeks between your hands so you would focus entirely on his and his words. “Please don’t come out until I tell you.”

A few moments passed before you tentatively nodded, feeling his hands leave you so you could squeeze into the pantry. The small space was barely big enough to hold you as the doors were closed gently, slightly ajar so you could breathe through the thick, consuming air.

A few moments passed, your eyes wide in the darkness as you took in his words. It surprised you there were still so many, remembering the night in Blackwater where it seemed like bodies littered every corner of the streets when you passed them, lifeless and now soulless. How many, you wondered, were outside now, and how had you not managed to feel their presence before, to catch sight of them behind you, yet Arthur could without a glance?

As the first sign could be heard, you held your breath, the beating of your heart almost audible in the small space as it fought against your chest, your hands covering it as if it would give away your position. That was when the door burst open, and you could only clamp a hand over your mouth to stifle a gasp that escaped against your will, listening tentatively at every noise that could reach you.

You could only make out Arthur’s voice, low and steady, even though you couldn’t make out the words that left him, almost wanting to cover your ears as if it would help against the terror you knew would soon erupt, praying-no begging Arthur would be alright, that you wouldn’t have to be dragged away from there a weeping mess as Arthur lifeless eyes stared into your own, bullets imbedded in his flesh as you awaited your fate.

The sound of struggle filtered through the storm—the clatter of boots, shouts of men that boomed through the cabin, and the crackle of gunfire. Each noise made you cringe, squeezing your eyes shut as you tried to block out the terrifying reality, hands shooting up to cover your ears as the loud sounds lessened; instead, the more vile noise of flesh hitting flesh ensued, the noise bones made when broked and the bloodily smack of skin against skin. 

It ensued for a while, the disgusting sound of grunting and groaning making you remember the many times you had to hide your smaller self and only listen. Listen till the danger was over, examining every sound that could be heard to tell if you’d be alright stepping out or whether it would lead to your death—which had most of the time been the biggest possibility. You felt like you had traveled back in time, with not an ounce more courage than you had lacked back then, quivering like a fool while others fought like madmen around you, wishing you could be somewhere else—for someone to swoop down and save you like in some sad fairytale.

Minutes felt like hours as you waited, heart pounding in your ears as you didn’t dare to peek out from the cracks. Then, amidst the chaos, you heard a voice—Arthur’s voice, calling your name as you heard him breathing heavily, your name strained as he spoke. A sense of relief coursed through you, now knowing he was alright, yet you still lingered for a second, hand hesitating at the door as you feared what sight you’d be presented with. Yet, as you pushed it open, you stepped into the cabin again, taking small steps leading further into the house, trailing over the dark red liquid as you closed your eyes at the bodies it came from.

“They won’t hurt you no more,” Arthur murmured. 

He stood there, hands at his side, his eyes as blood-filled as his hands, the red liquid dripping onto the wooden planks, staining them til they flowed beneath the cracks. Fitting to yours, you could only gasp, taking a step back as you were filled with dread over what he just did, the brutality of his actions, and the lives that now lay devoid of it around you. There had been too much death over the last few days, and although it was either their life or yours, you couldn’t help but detest the constant smell of the deceased resting just under the tip of your nose. 

You gazed over the chaos; the broken glass shattered on the floor, blinding you when the sun was reflected on their surface. The white porcelain was stained red, and the walls had been painted the same color. You felt his eyes stay on you, unmoving and seemingly not bothered by the brutality he just possessed—always had possessed—but not making any attempt to move, as if he was waiting for you to make the first move, speak the first word. 

He looked tense where he stood, and despite his horrible deeds, he looked at you as if he searched for your acceptance, as if trying to convey that he did this for you, that he dirtied his hands only to keep you safe, just like he’d always done. And, as you stared at him, you could almost see his hand flex slightly, as if it wanted to reach out to you, yet was held back, rooting him to the spot.

It might surprise him what you would do next, as the first tentative step towards him—although riddled with a faint fright and shaking hands—never wavered, carefully stepping over the bodies in your way until you stood in front of Arthur, ignoring their deathly, vengeful eyes that almost followed you, rolling into the back of their heads when you went out of sight. 

His hands were still shut tight, knuckles white against the suntanned skin that flexed slightly when your fingers ran over them, bringing them higher as you felt the callousness that bruised his hands. They contrasted so heavily with your own, soft against hard, the veins beneath his skin protruding til the blue shades created valleys, irritated and angry. The warmth of your touch contrasted starkly with the cold reality of his actions, a shiver running down your spine when the blood on his hands painted your untouched skin. Arthur didn’t attempt to push away from your touch but stood like a statue, eyes cautious when you brought his knuckles to your lips, closing your eyes as you ghosted over them.

Every breath you took was heavy; each inhale difficult to make as his gaze remained locked onto yours. The bluish shade grew molten on the edges, warming up the coldness of the otherwise sharp hues, staring into yours like he was waiting for something or perhaps fearing something. It made the ache in your heart settle daftly, staring into the eyes you could now recognize from the ones you had known many years ago, see the man you hadn’t been able to remember till now rightfully.

You pulled away slightly when you realized that man wasn’t standing before you but a figment of him, perhaps a vivid remembrance yet not reality. Your fingers lingered on his skin, though, as if afraid to let go, afraid you might’ve lost him as you’d done before even though he wasn’t whole—the pieces of him scattered wherever he went, falling away like fragments with every step.

Brutally and cold, the devil resided in his eyes, each glance laden with sin and searing pain that engulfed like wildfire, encircling and trapping in its flickering, scorching embrace. It was a warmth that turned cold, caressing with its chilling touch, raising the hairs on your skin in protest—an unwelcome sensation that one dared not wish for. Yet, amidst this, your heart beats heavily–not in fear, but in yearning for his touch to linger.

How could your heart betray you so? How could it stray so far from reason, captivated by a man who made you unable to tell between reason and desire? Traitorously, it thudded heavily within, not out of fear but wishfully. It created an ache that settled so deep in your bones it hurt, a pain born of longing—a desire that scorched like a fever. Every instinct screamed for you to flee, to turn away against your now abandonment of all sense and sensibility—to run far away from the life he reminded you of, a life you’d so desperately feared.

You were caught between shame and confusion as if he could sense your pulse racing against the barriers of cotton and leather. Did he notice your heart’s betrayal and the quivering of your lips as your shaking breath rose like wisps of smoke in the cold air? Maybe he did, for as you closed your eyes, unable to handle the downpour of emotions coursing through you, you suddenly felt his breath against your lips as his presence enveloped you, casting a shadow over the world when he drew closer. Your breath caught in your throat as your eyes opened in protest; the space between you dwindled, narrowing to nothingness until you could feel the heat of his breath mingling with your own. 

His eyes burned like smoldering coal, holding you captive as every voice in your head told you to run, hit, scream–anything to get away from him—only to silence when his lips brushed against yours in a feather-light caress. It was far away and fleeting, the small touch of skin almost ghostly as they moved over your trembling lips. His breath was warm, so warm it made heat crawl up your neck, spreading slowly throughout your body.

His careful touch made you wonder when the world turned him so cold. To carry the burns of his soul, hideous and bare, with not a single kindness seemingly left inside him. Was he ashamed of his skin, which wrapped so harshly around his bones, scarred yet strong–cold but fond? Was it right for you to fear the hands that once fell so delicately on your skin, porcelain never having been touched as carefully as he had touched you? There were days you now could remember so clearly, the warm look in his eyes as they caressed over your skin, the naivety and desperation that shone so bright within them—a want so fundamental it made you wonder if it was even possible. 

The years had passed now, and you were both older and saner, but through the shades of blue in his eyes that were covered with darkness that rested like a veil over them, you thought you could still see the same man you had once known, and as his lips met yours firmer if felt like the past washed over you again. And it was good, so good you felt your knees almost give out, stumbling backward slightly but finding yourself not falling heedlessly towards the ground. Instead, the pressure of standing on the ground disappeared as your felt fingers worm their way under your thigh, lifting you in the air. 

Softly, your back met the planks that creaked audibly when Arthur pushed you against them, the material groaning and protesting when he leaned more of his weight against you as if the pressure was too much to bear. You were trapped in his embrace that spoke only of desperation—desperation so raw you wondered if it spread from his skin to yours like a disease, if it traveled through your body, infecting everything it passed in its way.

A certain rigidness could be felt in the hands that held you, their grip tight yet unmoving as if he battled against letting them touch any other part of you. They were there, yet somehow unwilling, like he needed to touch you but couldn’t bring himself to go any further. Perhaps, you thought, he shouldn’t. Maybe it would be best to end it here, not to get any more pain that would surely hurt more than do good. Yet you missed him, missed Arthur so much it felt like a part of you had returned when he was this close as if you could imagine him being who he once was. 

You chastised yourself for it when his lips caressed you softly, letting them push further against yours. The distant sound of chattering and calls beckoned you from afar, the clanking of pots loud in your ears as he had you pushed up against a tree, far and hidden from curious eyes, all your senses focused on him. It had been so simple then, such a warm, inviting touch, the feeling differing strongly against the violence and pain that had followed you until you met Arthur. It was the only reason you’d stayed with him for as long as you had, for never had hands handled you so carefully, so tender; never before had you stared into a pair of eyes that, without a blink, promised to keep you safe and sane.

It felt different yet the same; for now, those feelings mingled together, the brutality shining so strongly within him. Yet, his hands were so gentle, his means to keep you and cradle you in his arms til no one else could touch you so palpable it made every fear you had for him dissipate with the wind that flew through the cracks in the wall. It felt like you held a giant in your grasp, a lost soul seeking the goodness of his past, wishing to erase the bad and expel the vile, monstrous thoughts that he’d been forced upon—expectations he grew up with. How could you possibly blame him? How unfair was it for you to tell him he was wrong, that he acted wrongfully?

Your hands shook as you brought them up to his cheeks, claiming< them in your grasp, feeling him sigh when your fingertips ghosted over him as if the feeling alone chilled his blazing—scorching—skin. Following that means of human nature, his hands that kept you lifted from the ground raised one, caressed its way over the swell of your hips, letting it feel the warm flesh emitting from under your clothes until it followed the path of your sides til it found the valley which where your waist sunk in, letting fingers grip under the harsh bones of your ribs.

A gasp left you, lips parting as if to speak but only inhaling his warm breath, pushing your head away, yet your grasp on his cheeks making him follow you—ordering him to chase the pink, swollen skin that begged for the sensation of more—demanded it. You realized soon that you didn’t have to, his imposing frame pressing you further into the wall, no longer needing to hold you by the tight to keep you from the ground as his lips sensually now found yours again, a deep, dark rumbling—like thunder brewing—could be heard deep into his chest.

It was sickening, the air thick and pasty, like breathing into sourdough bread, the swelling yeast filling all spaces around you, making it difficult to breathe. When you needed air too much, begged for the oxygen yet displeased with the thought of parting with Arthur, he pulled his head away slightly, eyes opening to gaze at your closed eyes, the warm tint of red rising from your chest to your cheeks.

 Opening them, you’d only be given a moment to stare upon his face until he leaned in again, his lips finding their way to the dip of your collarbone, rising to cover the space where your shoulders dipped up to the slope of your neck. Inhaling, exhaling, he breathed in the dizzying warmth of your neck, groaning when he let his tongue taste the humid skin that was scorching under his wet, slippery touch. 

So divine, yet so dangerous to touch what wasn’t his anymore, what couldn’t be his—but he couldn’t deny he longed for you, couldn’t deny that your smell alone awakened the man he had been, your hands reaching out to him like the gates of heaven shining with its door wide open. A cruel joke was what it was, but he had no want to dispel it, to turn it away. It taunted him, laughed at him, giving him a fair bit of pleasure so the rest of his living days would turn to torture, a small taste of what he could’ve had before dooming him to an eternal defeat—dooming him to live the rest of his days a hollow shell.

Your hands found the back of his head, fingers threading through the strips of hair that felt like velvet under your skin. You couldn’t help but push on the back of his scalp to bring him even closer, dismayed when you realized he was as close as he could be, fingers gripping his hair so tight you feared you would leave tufts of it when you released your grip. You only got a hum of satisfaction in return, the feeling of a wet muscle traveling down your collarbones til they ghosted over the swell of your breasts carefully, like waiting on a signal before they could devour, let their touch consume you.

“Arthur,” you mumbled, lost in what was wholly him, the very fibre of your being begging for him never to stop, wishing he’d never done all those years ago.

You only got a low, appreciating groan in return, only gained the feeling of cold air hitting your legs as he snaked his hands under your skirt, hitching it up as he let them run over the bare skin like a starved man, not even an inch of you left untouched. The wind’s chill lessened when his rough, warm hands caressed you, soothing your aching, quivering legs. Almost, it seemed, he mended every bruise and hurt, internally or externally, replacing them with something that felt so divine you were nearly sure you were dreaming when he returned to your lips, his once guarded eyes bare before you.

He took a few steps back, letting your feet hit the floor as you followed him. You did not let him back away further as you walked with him, rising on your toes and writhing your arms around his neck. You were now the one to cage him in—cage him with your want and desire, your love and hope. It would be a terrible defeat if he stepped away from you, and your stomach twisted at the thought, the familiar pang of sadness only love could create.

“Don’t go,” you whispered, feeling his arms wound around your waist as he stumbled backward, his tall frame big and clumsy in the tiny house. He frantically ran his hands over you before hoisting you up again, seating you on the dark wooden table in the kitchen’s front of the sink. Your mind had grown clouded, his whole being morphing into the man that had once caressed you so gently—and when he did now, it made you dizzy, wondering if they were so unlike as you thought.

“I won’t,” he mumbled against your lips, the words hasty and muted when he didn’t want to waste a second of feeling you against him.

“I won’t,” he spoke once more, this time the words only coming out in nonsensical grumbling as he pushed you softly towards the poorly sawed planks after pushing the various knickknacks of it, plates falling audibly to the floor to join the rest of the mess, burying his face into the nape of your neck to once more take a final breath before standing up.

The mess around you turned vile and filthy compared to the wondrous look on your face as you watched him, the familiar pang of pleasure beating so heavily in his stomach he thought he might puke—coupled with the still warm, wet blood now lining the skin of your legs from his hands. A few moments passed where he stared at you, ignoring your hands that reached out to him as the horrid monster clad in black garments and poisonous fingers got to him first, digging its claws into his back, wrapping its fabric over his mouth till he felt himself suffocating. 

It wasn’t until he felt nimble fingers ghosting over his hands, running along the inside of his wrist until they intertwined with his, that the small, supple kisses on his cheeks became his saving grace. Diminished the cruel and twisted devil that rested on his back, all he could think about was the gentleness of your hands, gazing to watch your furrowed eyes filled with understanding—yet a gracious knowledge at that.

“I know you, Arthur,” you whispered, laying your head on his chest. Listening to his wildly beating heart, you found comfort in his erratic breathing.

“No,” he mumbled, resting his head on top of yours. His arms were slack on his sides as your hands passed over the broadness of his back. You gripped the dark leather of his haunches as you slid them down his arms, letting them hang in the stuffy, thick air. “Not anymore, you don’t.”

“Well, you’re still as stubborn as you used to be,” you said softly, the corners of your mouth rising slightly when a grumble left him, acting like you couldn’t feel his slight smile against your head. “Still as warm as you were then,” you mumbled, hands slowly running over his arms that flexed slightly at your touch, mouth opening slightly as they came to rest on the table, trapping you beneath them. “Still as strong,” you gasped when he leaned over you, pressing his weight into you.

He closed his eyes as you spoke, basking in your quiet, warm tone, which he missed hearing. “That don’t matter anymore,” he said, feeling you snake your arms around his neck, arching your body against his, as one of his hands naturally found sanction on your waist. “What I’ve done—” he trailed off. “What I am, it’s not something I can run from.”

You felt your brows furrow, grief finding you at his words that rang so melancholy into the quiet air, the heaviness of his voice alone ripping the tapestry and breaking the windows. As you were about to tell him he was wrong—that although his actions had been so blood-filled and vile, you knew who he was deep down, for you had seen it, seen it in his eyes when he looked at you, seen it in the way he still cared about you—he instead laid you back down on the table carefully, covering you with his body as he hitched your legs around his waist.

Your breath hitched when you felt the rigidness rest against your warmth, feeling it lay heavily under the fabric of his pants. “Yes, you can,” you gasped, hands finding his shirt as you searched for something to hold onto, wishing it away so you could see the skin underneath it and feel it against your own. 

You didn’t gain an answer, only the tugging of your undergarments, the chill from being bare cold against your skin, yet Arthur’s hands warming them straight back up when he tenderly caressed your inner thighs, stabilizing their trembling although never letting his palms stray too far, ignoring the way your legs tightened around him, trying to chase his touch as they attempted to chase his touch but finding his hips pressing into yours further, leaving you no place to go but stay in place.

The motion made a groan, quiet and unprepared, leave him, yet you had heard him. As your hands wound their way beneath his shirt to palm over the broadness of his chest, hips moving against him with the bit of space you had in protest, you looked up to find his gaze planted on you, head raised. Yet, eyes looking down at you, like he was trying to hold himself away, failing to escape from the softness of your touch. 

He was too deep into it now. He felt the restraints that once were so tight around him lessen as he kept staring into your eyes, those deep and fascinating eyes that he didn’t deserve—that no one would ever get the chance to deserve. It was selfish for him to continue, but he wished to feel you one more time so he could restore his memory of you until he turned viler, meaner, the black poison coiling around his heart til he faced its death wrapped up in its grasp.

So, he found himself leaning into you once more, focusing on your hands that now had seen the planes of his back, his muscles flexing involuntarily as you did, his hand hitching your dress up further, letting it go past the delicious curve of your waist, groaning internally when he realized he couldn’t rise it further. So, he let his head rest between your breasts, pulled out from the tightness of the fabric, letting his tongue run over the warm skin. 

You felt the arms of your dress hastily go over your shoulders down your arms, breath hitching when you felt his mouth able to travel lower until it caressed the inside of your breast, his rough stubble like sandpaper against the sensitive flesh. It was addictive, his whole persona making you desperately cling to every bit of him you could manage, grasping wildly as if he was made from thin air, trying to find something that would turn him back into a solid form, something you could touch. 

The slight feeling of him grinding into you made you clasp harder. Your hands found his biceps as the back of your head hit harshly against the table, and your hips wound tighter against his waist. The roof above you blended, the colors of brown and ashen blond mingling as the morning sun shone through the windows, the tendrils of the light casting the room in a way that almost looked ethereal—too good to be true.

And it was, the whole moment was, and you memorized the touch of his hands and traveling mouth, imprinting it in your mind so you could remember it forever. It still, despite his words, felt like he would somehow dissipate, and it turned into your worst nightmare, like the last pages of a book that would send you reeling, biting at the corners in despair and slamming yourself against the wall in anger. It was pitiful, the way you were brought to your knees in front of the man you had not nearly long ago feared—more so wondering if you feared his actuality or feared how long a time had passed, how time changed and ruled people's character, how you didn’t know him anymore.

Or perhaps you feared the way you knew it had been doomed from the start, always known, the very first day he had planted his brisk, blue eyes on you, full of life yet the underlying promise of something that could only be transcribed into pain—of hurt and blame. Perhaps you were afraid of knowing that it didn’t matter how often you’d come upon one another; it would always end the same way, for you were both too broken by the life you laid upon you. The chance of redemption was maybe possible once when you were younger, but you feared that it was lost. And, while Arthur reminded you of a past you’d rather lay behind you, prayed and prayed through years of peril and hurt, wished you could run from it, you perhaps had reminded him of what he’d once had and what he could never deserve to have again.

As Arthur lifted his head, you could see in his eyes that he knew, knew there might not be a time when you could live out your life together, for he too was aware that it might be too late, that the world's grip on the both of you was too firm. Yet you both ignored it, entangled with one another as your limbs melted into the others, your motions becoming erratic and desperate, wishing—no, seeking desperately to bring the other back to life, back to what you once had been. 

“Please, Arthur.” Clawing and almost beating his chest in desperation, the tension so ripe it felt like you might combust, you begged him to let his skin lay upon yours, bare and exposed, as close to each other as was humanly possible. It felt like a border, keeping you apart in a pitiful, almost laughable way. 

“I know, honey,” he murmured, his voice steady, yet the beating of his heart speaking more than his tone ever could. “I know.”

Rising from you for the slightest of seconds, he hoisted his pants down his hips and over his thighs, dark, desirous eyes never taking their gaze off you where you lay breathless on the table that, compared to you, looked like rotting wood. He damned himself for letting you lay upon such misery, to unveil you in such an appalling space that now reeked of death and foulness.

When your hands reached out to him, he let them bring him back down, watching the way your eyes fluttered when he graced upon your pulsating warmth, his own eyes closing for a second before opening again, looking away so he could regain his senses, regain his clouded vision that only flashed with pictures of you beneath him, as if you had surrounded him. That is, only for a short while, not taking long before he had to—needed to— return to you once more, to slip through the warmth of your walls that wrapped around him, the palm of his hands slamming down the table as you clenched around him, the sheer bliss that left your throat burning like embers inside of him.

There was no outlet for him, nowhere to go, so he hitched you further up the table, pressing into you so he could feel you closer. The feeling of your hands in his hair was nauseating, the taste of your skin intoxicating as he kissed the corner of your neck, burying his head into it as he felt your strands tickle his cheek. Slowly pushing out to then enter you once more, he grew greedy, not wanting to spend even the slightest of time away from you.

It was tender the way he moved—careful—and you could only follow his movements as he stayed on top of you, the strokes desperate and short. The small moans that left you rose into the quiet house, your breathing hitching with every thrust of his, almost feeling like the air was being punched out from your chest as you slid further up the table. Arms wound themselves under your shoulders, one hand grasping the back of your head to keep you in place—to avoid letting your head hit the hard surface.

It wasn’t enough; how could it ever be enough? Wrapping your arms around his neck, you gasped audibly when his hips moved faster, now almost grinding into you, his breath shallow and erratic, white knuckles grasping on the end of the table, as if he was controlling himself, unsure what to do with the pleasure that was riding through his body, bleeding into his very bones.

“Come here,” he murmured, gently lifting you so you were seated upon the edge of the table, looking up to meet his eyes. Continuing his tender thrusts, your lips sought him, finding his eyes not closing but planted on you, eyes lidded and chest red from exhaust. A sheen of sweat dripped slowly down his neck to his chest, disappearing through the unbuttoned shirt, the material sticking to his skin like glue. 

Pushing your hips further against his, he groaned, resting his head atop of yours when you placed mindless kisses on his exposed skin, mumbling nonsense as he hugged you closer, his breath hot and ragged. Every movement sent a jolt of pleasure through you, sharply white and burning red, coiling tighter and increasingly tighter within you. The sound of your mingled breaths filled the room, and you could feel his muscles tensing beneath your touch, almost seeming to tremble.

You whispered his name, a plea and a promise all at once, and he responded with a low rumble that resonated deep within his chest—a guttural groan escaping his lips as he pushed deeper, the table beneath you creaking with the force of his movements. The room seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you, just like you were before, just like you once had been—Arthur guiding your movements as if he was determined to merge his body with yours. 

His arms tightened around you when you straighten your back to reach his lips, capturing them in a kiss that left you more breathless than you had already been as his pace quickened. The friction, heat, and sheer desperation were too much to bear, yet you craved more. His eyes were wild, almost desperate, as he responded to your plea, every thrust, every gasp, every whisper filling up inside you as you begged to god it would never end, hoping and demanding that nothing would take it away from you.

Yet, you knew it wouldn’t last, and therefore, you felt the tears burn at your eyelids, the hot liquid falling slowly down your cheeks as you found your back pushed against the surface of the table once more, Arthur’s hand softly wiping away the tear that fell from your eyes as despair filled his own.

“Don’t cry,” he mumbled, a low groan leaving him when you tightened around him, unable to ignore the way you sucked him back in. “I can’t-” He ground his teeth when the familiar coil spread through his stomach, wrapping itself around every organ and bone. “Please, honey, I don’t want you to cry.”

“I miss you,” you gasped under your breath, words choked up as you focused on the way he dragged himself in and out of you, feeling like someone was twisting your guts inside your stomach when you thought once more about him disappearing from you hold like ash, only leaving faint memories before blowing away with the wind. “God, I missed you, Arthur.”

He struggled to catch his breath, his hand finding your thigh as he pushed it further up the table, the new angle making your breath hitch. “I know,” he groaned. “God, I know-”

Was it all a dream, he wondered, would fade away from him as his evil deeds caught up to him, for once letting karma do its part? Would you vanish right before him, leaving him to face the consequences of his actions alone? He only held you closer as the thoughts passed, keeping you tight in his embrace as his elbows encased your head. Capturing your lips on his own, his eyes shut tightly as he tried to memorize the feel of you—the warmth of your breath, the softness of your lips, the way your body moulded against his. 

The time seemed to stand still, yet it passed too fast, the coil wrung so tight it felt like your stomach would combust, pleasure so raw filling you it felt more like torture than anything else, and as you felt his hips ground themselves into you, one hand stroking so tenderly over your brest it felt like shots of electricity zapped its way through your body, you thought yourself tightening around him, gasping for air.

“You’re alright,” he murmured against your lips, consoling you as your moans left you without your allowance, desperate and bordering on pitiful as your whole body felt like it was burning up—like the very flesh was set afire with gasoline. 

“Please, Arthur,” you gasped, not knowing what you were pleading with him for, yet the words left you involuntarily. Perhaps you wished for him to remove the hollow feeling that resided deep within you, to soothe the pain that never seemed to go. Or, possibly, it was deeper than that as you pleaded for him to return to you, to show that he was the man you’d remembered.

“That’s it,” he cooed at you, kissing your forehead softly as you clenched around him. Your hands found his shoulder as they gripped tightly, head knocked back against the table as a long, drawn-out moan left you. Staring up at the ceiling as the world grew dizzy around you, the bliss that traveled through your body was like no other. 

His movements didn’t slow as you relaxed slightly on the table, now running your hands over his skin soothingly, gazing into his eyes as he groaned audibly, chest heaving heavily as he frowningly stared into yours, observing you like you held something he couldn’t have that he strived for, pushing and pulling you closer to him.

Lost in pleasure, it felt like he was gasping for air, the sound of his skin slapping against yours echoing through the now quiet house, only the splatter of rain still audible from outside, yet his ears were focused on something else entirely as you whispered his name, beckoning him to your as your eyes were tired yet warm in the afterglow, looking like something not quite real—more or less surreal—or perhaps ethereal.

With one final thrust, he buried his head in the nape of your neck, hands grasping the edges of the bale as he grimaced, taking a few seconds before letting a guttural groan leave his chest and travel through his throat, muted into your skin as he gritted his teeth. Pulses of pleasure wound themselves through him in intervals, the warm, wet feeling of your walls encasing him, wrapping around him wholly as he, with one last movement, buried himself deep, so deep there was no way out—and god, he thought as his breathing stayed hectic, god how he wished there wasn’t.

Especially when he rested against you, trying to catch his breath, revelling in how you hugged his head closer to you, pressing small, quiet kisses against his jaw as if you tried not to disturb him, letting him regain his senses. Letting a hand travel down your sides, he caressed your skin, feeling the softness underneath it as it went further down to then rise back up again, finding pleasure in the way your breath hitched from the sensitivity as he passed a thumb over your breast. 

You didn’t speak much, for there was so much you wanted to say that it became overwhelming, leading to you saying nothing. How could you, when you weren’t even sure how to describe your emotions, which seemed still but then everywhere at the same time, running through your mind endlessly with no sense of direction or heading? Where could you go from here that would satisfy you both and let you stay with one another despite your differences? 

You wished you could drag answers out of Arthur, torture his mind and soul until he had no choice but to respond, yet you doubted he could even know what to tell you, for he wasn’t sure, and you could see it in his eyes, feel it in his touch that contradicted his mind starkly. Every motion and caress was soft yet reluctant, and you could hear the slight sway in his voice when he spoke to you as if he battled against his will and obligations. It tore you apart to realize he struggled against himself, struggled against his beliefs and wants.

You realized that whichever hands managed to strangle your relationship before would surely do it again. To be quite honest, it did scare you, more than you dared to admit, for you knew you were two different people now, and when your bond wasn’t strong enough all those years back, how could it be now that you both had your inner anguish that clawed itself inside your walls, thrashing and screaming. More so, changing for someone else is a terrifying thought per se, and there was no mistake in thinking that would be the case for both of you. A cruel, horrendous fate, indeed.

[m1dn1ght-jade]

Hello! This is the first piece of writing i've ever actually posted, so please be kind! There's no like heavy nsfw or whatever, too nervous to write that stuff yet, but just wanted to see if anyone would like this. Also apologies if the end is kinda abrupt or unfinished. If anyone does take the time to read this, please enjoy, and thank you for reading!

prof!abby anderson x reader // ~550 words // based loosely on this post I made // not proof read

includes (i dont know how to do tags, bear with me) : implied reader shower masturbation, implied shower sex, nudity, established relationship, neck kissing??

nsfw under the cut, 18+ only please and thank you! enjoy :)

Abby wasn't too proud of her decision to end her classes for the day early, but she certainly didn't regret the decision. She quickly packed up her stuff, and shot you a quick text:

Abby: "Class ended early! Omw back now."

When she didn't hear anything in response after a moment, she just clued up her belongings and decided she would meet you at home. She was hasty as she made her way out to her car in the parking lot, it was a nice day out, warm and sunny as summer was approaching, she made a mental note to ask you if you would like to go out with her this evening, perhaps for a nice walk together. She let out a soft sigh as she turned on her car, her hands smoothing over the material of her slacks, stretched over her muscular thighs. Once she was situated she finally began the short drive home, her thoughts on you the whole time. She wondered about what you may be doing right now, maybe you were making some food, or perhaps having a nap; she really hoped you hadn't left the house, she would understand if you had, but she desperately wanted to see you.

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

Once Abby made it to the complex she was quick to make it up to your guys' apartment. She unlocked the door and slipped in, she noticed your favourite shoes and your sweater by the entrance, and a smile spread across her lips as she figured you were home. She slipped off her own shoes before making her way through the apartment, undoing the top few buttons on her shirt she had worn to work, rolling out the tension in her shoulders. It wasn't long until she figured out where you were, as she heard the sound of the shower running from your shared bathroom, which was quickly followed by the quiet sounds of your moans, her own name tumbling from your lips, barely audible through the door, but she heard you.

She made her way to the bedroom instead, taking off her shirt and pants from the day, neatly putting them in the laundry bin. Once she was down to her boyshort underwear, and she took the elastic out of her hair, letting the braid it had been in fall loose, she made her way down to the bathroom. She knocked a couple times to announce her presence, before slipping into the bathroom, smirking slightly as she was greeted by the sight of you- beads of water all over your skin, your breathing slightly ragged, and most importantly, your hand nestled between your thighs.

She slipped off her final article of clothing before quickly joining you in the warm shower, her muscular arms wrapping around you, pulling you close to her. You asked her about her being home early, but her mind was already elsewhere, muttering that she had ended class early as her kisses trailed along your skin, down your neck. Her hands ran along your body, pride and arousal surging through her as she felt your hands gripping back at her, as she heard your moans echoing around her. Any thoughts or worries about ending her classes early to see you disappeared from her mind, only you consumed her thoughts now, and now that she was home, she could give you everything you craved.

[teaberrii]

Relief

You get much more than you bargained for when you visit the newest doctor in town.

Baizhu/You

Warnings: Smut

Notes: Cross-posted on Ao3

This idea came to me so suddenly and wouldn't leave me alone until I wrote it. So... HERE IT IS.

You are never a fan of visiting the doctor.

But after telling your friend about how bad your insomnia is getting, she “strongly recommends” you see the newest and, apparently, hottest doctor in town. You’ve heard about him. Tall. Mysterious. Handsome. Skilled. You raise an eyebrow at how she described him. He sounds like a male lead who walked out of a romance or erotic novel... and you cannot deny your curiosity. So, even though you always dread visiting the doctor’s office because of past experiences, you ultimately decide to try and see if this doctor is really as good and hot as everyone says.

As soon as you walk inside the clinic for your appointment, something about it already makes you feel at ease. Perhaps it’s the cool, calm colours of the wall. Or the soft hum of the music. Whatever it is, you’re not regretting it… so far.

“Hello.” A woman around your height walks up to you. “Do you have an appointment?”

“Yes.” Then, you give her your name.

She smiles. “Right this way.”

You follow the woman to a room at the back. She opens the door, and you see a man sitting at a desk. When he spins around, you meet a pair of snake-like eyes. He has a relaxed demeanour, something not too different from what you're expecting. Yet, despite his kind smile that unexpectedly makes your heart race, something about him feels off, and you don’t know why.

“Hello,” he says. Great. Even his voice is dripping like honey. He gestures for you to sit on the patient's bed. “Take a seat.”

As you do, the woman closes the door, and your hands start fiddling with each other. “Are you nervous?” he asks, eyes on your hands.

“Oh, um”—you stop fidgeting—“it’s a habit,” you say quietly.

“Don’t be nervous,” he chuckles. Then, he looks you in the eyes. “I won’t bite.”

His eyes are so entrancing that you forget to speak.

“So, what seems to be the problem today?”

His voice snaps you back, and you say, “I’m having trouble sleeping at night.”

“Is it stress, perhaps?”

“Well…” Your eyes land on a corner of the room.

“There are many reasons for insomnia, my dear.”

That’s a nickname you never imagined he would say.

“Stress… a poor environment… depression… have you talked to anyone else before me?”

You slowly look back and see him staring at you with that gentle smile. “No,” you say quietly. “But I’ve been looking things up online and trying different remedies, but nothing seems to work.”

“I see… What have you tried?”

So, you tell him about making tea, switching sleeping environments, changing your sleep schedule, and drinking less. But nothing has worked.

“Would you mind telling me when and how long your insomnia has been happening?”

You aren't surprised he asked this, but you wish he didn't. Well, at least you came prepared to answer the question.

"Um, well… I've been stressed lately. Both in my personal and professional life. And, I think it started when"—your face turns slightly red—"when I can't find pleasure in sex anymore." You're relieved when his expression doesn't change. Rather, he looks even more focused than before. "That has always relieved my stress and helped me sleep. But now it's just… frustrating."

“Did you have a partner?”

“My ex-boyfriend,” you say quietly.

“...I’d like to try something if you don’t mind.” You look at him curiously. “It’s a type of sensual massage.”

Did he just say… sensual massage? This is not what you signed up for. Rather, you’re expecting a doctor’s note for some medicine you probably never heard of.

“You… aren’t going to give me some weird medicine?”

He chuckles softly. “I could if that’s what you want. But my medicine tends to be quite bitter. Bitter than most. And”—he steps toward you and slightly leans forward—“I’d rather try something sweet on you.”

His low voice sends a delicious shiver down your spine. Good Lord. It’s only been fifteen minutes, and you’ve told this man more than you told your friend in weeks. You swallow thickly, your curiosity once again getting the best of you.

Then, before you can stop yourself, you say, “...Okay.”

"Of course, you're free to stop me whenever you feel uncomfortable," he reassures.

He grabs another pillow and gestures for you to lie on the bed. Once your head hits the pillow, you have one underneath your back. He puts one hand beside your head, and with that gentle, charming smile, he says, “Bend your knees, my dear.” You do so. Then, in a low whisper, “Now… open your legs for me.”

You can hear your heart hammering in your chest. Is it fear? Excitement? You can’t tell anymore. Your emotions are spinning round and round as he dims the lights. You hear his quiet footsteps approach you and feel the gentle touch of his hand brush your hair out of your face.

He moves behind you, and you close your eyes and hear him softly say, “Breathe in…” You do. “And out…” You do. "Now... close your eyes"—he once again watches you do as you're told—"and just feel."

His hands start warming up your shoulders and up to your neck. Your body is already relaxing despite the absurdity of the situation. It doesn't take long for him to move down, and you hear his footsteps beside you. You open your eyes and see he's looking at you, but his eyes are surprisingly… dark compared to the gold rim of his glasses. When his hand finds a clothed breast, you arch into his touch, getting lost in the way his fingers dance, knead, and pressure your bosom. The soft, breathy moan you let escape from those soft lips is everything he needs to hear.

You feel his other hand slide underneath your shirt. Slowly, he moves his hand up, the cool touch of his fingers sending a tingling shockwave throughout your hot body. He brings your shirt along until your bra is fully exposed in front of him. Your face grows warm, but the dark look in his eyes doesn’t change.

Instead, he leans over and asks, "May I, my dear?" As soon as you nod, he unclasps your bra from the front and puts it aside. Then, in a low voice, “You look absolutely beautiful.”

Your blush worsens when he cups your breasts in his hands and slowly moves his thumbs in opposite directions… until one of his hands gently squeezes a nipple while the other continues its gentle caress.

“Ah…” you sigh.

As he uses the pad of his thumb to circle a hardened nipple, he leans forward.

“How do you usually like it, my dear?” he asks lowly. “Soft? Or…” One hand suddenly gets needy… rough… as he squeezes…

“O-oh!”

…and fondles…

“Nngh…A-ah…!”

…like no one has before.

You feel something wet and see his tongue has replaced one of his hands. He looks up at you, his gaze almost daring you to tell him to stop. But that lustful look in your eyes is everything he needs to know. Your body arches as his tongue work wonders on your bosom.

Then, your eyes widen when you feel his hand massaging your inner thigh. A squeeze... and another... until he uses the heel of his hand to gently apply light, smooth strokes toward your pelvis. He stands upright and smiles at you as if admiring your flushed face.

As soon as you feel the pad of his thumb encircling your clothed sex, you gasp. He leans closer and closer until his face is inches from yours.

“I want you to do me a favour, my dear,” he says quietly. You allow him to take one of your hands and put it over a breast. “Touch yourself as I kiss you.”

It's then your lips are no longer yours. One kiss after another leaves you craving more… and more. You're glad you're lying down as you're sure your knees would give from the greedy, hungry kisses that show you're a woman to be desired, something your ex-boyfriend has never shown you before. As you fondle yourself while feeling the warm caress of his tongue, your other hand weaves its way into his hair, holding him in place. He gradually applies pressure on your sex, and you instinctively roll your hips into his touch.

More. You need more.

He stops kissing you as if reading your mind, and his lips curve into a slight smirk. You watch him move to stand in front of your open legs. He pulls off your bottoms, including your underwear. You hold your breath as he slowly massages your stomach and moves down until he's about to reach your sex.

You watch him oil his hands. Then, he starts with the outer lips, squeezing them gently with his thumb and index finger. You sigh in satisfaction when he moves to the inner lips and rubs them with his fingers.

As soon as he looks at you, you know he's taking it a step further.

“How do you want to be touched, my dear?” he asks. “Directly…?”

"Mmpth…" you sigh as he gently holds your clit. Then, he gives it a gentle tug, and you gasp.

“Or… indirectly?”

When you feel the tip of his finger circling your clit, your breathing turns heavy.

Clockwise.

“Ah…”

Counterclockwise.

You exhale deeply.

He goes harder.

“O-oh… yes…”

Slower.

“M-more,” you whimper.

He chuckles. “My… my dear. You’re so wet.” His dark gaze flashes toward you. “That’s a good sign.”

Slowly, he slides his middle finger inside and lightly pressures your walls at different points. As it gradually increases, you bite your bottom lip.

He smiles. “You’re too quiet. Should we fix that?”

He gently slides in his index finger and moves them in a come-hither motion at the top of your walls. Then, he applies more and more pressure until he moves his hand and arm up and down.

You've never been stimulated like this before. This feeling is as if your entire body is on fire. Then, feeling his lips on your inner thigh, you gasp and arch your body off the bed once more.

"Relax," he says softly, using his other hand to guide your body back down. "Just listen to my voice…." He flashes you a heated look as he continues working his fingers on your G-spot. "Do you know how hot you look right now, my dear? Face red… mouth open… eyes in a trance…" He slowly kisses further up your thigh. "It makes me want you… so. Fucking. Bad."

He suddenly applies so much pressure that you come on the spot. A long, loud moan leaves your lips as your sex releases the pent-up pleasure that almost feels foreign. Your body is still coming down from the high when he leans over and puts his hand over your heart.

“How do you feel now, my dear?”

You can’t find the words. You can only look at him as realization dawns upon you what had just happened. “I…”

He puts his finger on your lips. "Would you like me to show you how you made me feel?"

You allow his mouth to take you. Slow. Sensual. All those emotions you felt a moment ago come flooding back from this one kiss that feels so right that it proves every other kiss you had is wrong.

Then, he breaks away too fast, too soon. His gentle smile returns. “I hope you sleep better now, love.”

As he fully leans upright, you’re still lost in your emotions on how one visit to the doctor’s office has made you feel so wrong, so right all at once.

Tag list: @lxry-chxn @lordbugs @suoshiii @seirenspinel

[jagawriterr]

Personal Trainer I part 2 I

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x fem! reader Warnings: fluff, kissing, slow warming Summary: "You don't even know how long I've been waiting for this" A/N: I'm sorry you had to wait so long for the second part, forgive me for that. enjoy. likes are always welcome. Masterlist

You work hard, drops of sweat run down your face. Miguel helps wipe it off and smiles flirtatiously. You wonder if he's so nice and helpful to you because you're a pretty girl, but you try not to think about it too much. Your mind is still playing with your meetings with Miguel, and at the same time you feel nervous and excited. You enjoy spending time together, even if it means he pushes you a little harder during your workouts.

After training earlier, you feel as if your muscles have broken down. Every move hurts and burns. Pain is not good, but it is part of the post-workout process, it is inevitable. After doing a set of squats and stretches, you take deep breaths. You notice Miguel is still staring at you. He has other charges, but he's always more focused on you. What changed? The last time you trained, he stretched you so intensely you felt like he was going to eat you up. Then you felt his bold gaze and his hands touching your body. When you remember it, a wave of numbness and a nice warm shiver run through your body, making you even wetter.

You can't stop thinking about this moment. As he held you while stretching, as you finished that set of squats, he smiled at you and said. "You're doing very well. I'm proud of you!"

The sense of excitement and triumph rose as Miguel uttered these words. You were glad that he was so proud of you, how much progress you made under his care. He smiled and you replied.

"Thank you Miguel. I couldn't have done it without you" You tell him with a shy smile, still a little tired. He looks up and down at you and you catch him staring at your curves with a slight smile. It's almost too much, your body is heating up and you're trying to play cool. "Hey, um, there's something I wanted to ask you." You say, trying to hide your embarrassment.

"Would you mind if I invited you for coffee? After training?" you asked uncertainly. This question has been growing in your mind ever since that training session. How tightly he held your body, making you want to moan but had to hold back so much. You wanted much more than... much more than he could give you, but that was only your imagination. He won't let you go, even now as you stared at his muscular body covered in sweat. Looking at his perfectly toned muscles and the veins poking out slightly under the skin on his arms and belly were too hot, but you had to stop staring at him because you felt yourself start to drool.

You waited too long for his answer, but he finally answered with a smile and you could see a flash of excitement in his crimson eyes when he heard your question.

"Oh, um... sure. I don't mind" He replied and your cheeks turned red as you noticed the way he was looking at you. The whole time you thought he wasn't that interested in you, but you notice how his face changes and his body language changes when he sees you. He's not like that with anyone else, including other women who are objectively prettier than you. Not only does he treat you like a customer, he treats you like someone special. Your heart beats fast as you imagine what a date with him might be like.

"So, see you after practice." You answer him impatiently, hiding your joy and excitement when he agrees to go for coffee with you. You explain in your head that this is just a quick rendezvous after hard work in the gym, but your imagination already has another scenario to end this meeting differently. Thoughts swirl at the moment as he holds you tight and kisses you passionately on the lips. It's your dream that you cherish it so much in your mind, but it's just a dream.

You take a shower after training. You feel the water wash away the remnants of sweat and fatigue from you, you still think about this "date". Miguel doesn't agree to something every day. He was nice this time, maybe even too much judging by the way he watched your curves come together as you shed those extra pounds.

He was waiting for you at the entrance to the gym. He smiled at you as he watched you leave the locker room. As you got closer to him, the overpowering scent of citrus again invaded your nostrils and you choked on the smell. Your wet hair was stuck to your round face and Miguel seemed to tremble at the sight, and when he smelled your body...god...it drove him crazy. He just didn't want to have coffee with you. He wanted to do more with you. Much more.

He reaches out to gently wipe the wet hair off your face, but you turn at the wrong time and touch your neck instead. Your body almost went limp at the feeling of his warm and rough hand on your soft, wet neck. You can't help but complain about this feeling. He looks you in the eyes and smirks mischievously. He likes what he sees.

"Ready for coffee?" Miguel asks, offering you a helping hand. You take it nervously, your heart beating faster as he brings you to your side and you feel his chest brush against wet flesh.

"Yeah let's go" You said smiling nervously. You go with him to the coffee shop just around the corner. They serve the best coffee in town there. When you go inside, you sit down at a table and smile nervously at him, covering yourself with a menu card that happened to be right next to you. You're completely upset even though you invited him for that damn coffee and now you're hiding behind a menu card so you can look away from him and not look him in the eye. After a while, however, you regain your confidence when the waitress takes your order.

Half of his face is illuminated by the rays of the sun streaming into the cafe. The waitress brings the coffee, and you continue to sit in silence. Miguel finally breaks the already frustrating silence by asking an unexpected question.

"You have a boyfriend?" He asks, and you choke on the coffee you're drinking. You didn't expect him to ask so suddenly. You look at him surprised and answer his question.

"No. I don't have a boyfriend" You say, feeling your face turn red. You always thought you were out of his league, but now you wonder if he thinks of you that way.

"And you... Do you have someone?" You asked curiously as he took a sip of his coffee. He looked at you warmly with his crimson eyes.

"No, I don't have anyone, but that could change," he replied with the feisty, mischievous smile that suited him so well. The atmosphere changes completely and you don't know how to react. He stares at you intensely and you feel like you're about to die of embarrassment. Suddenly, he leans forward and whispers something in your ear. You can feel his warm breath brush your skin gently. You can barely make out the words, but you're sure he just told you he has a crush on you.

"Change?" You asked looking at his sincere smile. You felt his muscular legs rubbing against yours under the table. You are completely confused by the way he talks to you, the way he smiles. Your body reacts to the warmth of the moment. You can even feel his muscles tense. All eyes meet and you hold your breath for a moment. His gaze is mesmerizing and your heart beats faster as he brings his face closer to yours so you can feel his hot breath on your face and neck. His eyebrows rise and he replies to you in a carefree, passionate voice.

"Everything has changed since I met you," Miguel replies. Your body reacts, your breathing is fast and shallow. His hot breath and the feeling of being so close, so intimate that your body starts to shiver at the sound of his husky voice.

As he reaches for your chin and gently forces you to look at him, you feel your insides turn to mush and your whole body tenses in anticipation of his next move. Everything about you desperately wants to kiss him right now. Your mind races through the possibilities of what might have happened if he did, the feeling only heightening when his thumb gently caresses your bottom lip as he holds your chin, forcing you to look him in the eye. Your cheeks start to burn and your breathing quickens, this is your chance to kiss Miguel.

You come closer and your thin lips touch his. The kiss is shy, but as Miguel pulls your body into his, the kiss gets deeper. You part your lips and he sticks his tongue in. He likes that kiss. His breathing quickens, his heart flutters, and euphoria hits him with redoubled force. He wants it, he wants you.

You can't believe this is really happening. The kiss grows more passionate and you feel his strong arms wrap around you, pinning you down. The touch of his rough shoulders against your soft and now trembling body causes your body to react instinctively. His grip on his chin tightens and his tongue moves urgently, begging to be let out of his cage. It allows it, and the feeling sends shivers down your spine. He responds by gently biting his bottom lip, his lips getting hotter and more urgent against yours as his body presses harder into yours.

Suddenly, you're not just you and Miguel anymore, you're both part of an unstoppable force of passion. It seems like an eternity when you see each other in the cubicle of a quiet coffee shop, but you're both snapped back to reality by the waitress clearing her throat and saying you've been here a long time, and they're about to close the coffee shop. You are sitting at the table, blushing and gasping for breath when Miguel flashes you a seductive smile and glances at the waitress, who now looks very annoyed.

"Check please" Miguel says smoothly, still squeezing you in his arms. Now that he's kissed you that he's here with you, he won't let you go that easily. You are his now. He tenderly kissed your nose, looking deep into your eyes as the waitress comes over with the bill.

"Card or cash?" The waitress asks dryly, but Miguel doesn't seem to be listening as he automatically replies

"Card" He takes out a debit card in his wallet to pay for the coffee. You feel a bit embarrassed because you invited him for coffee and now he is paying for it, but before that he strictly forbade you to pay for this coffee.

When you left, you laughed at the whole situation in the cafe, at the waitress who obviously looked jealous when she saw a handsome man like Miguel with a girl like you, but it didn't go away. You weren't as chubby as before. You were rounder than all the other girls Miguel was around, but he didn't seem to care at all about how you looked, except you've managed to lose over fifteen kilos after you started going to the gym and working out under his watchful eye. You were proud of yourself for having achieved so much.

You didn't think Miguel's laugh was so warm, so soft, and so hard to get out of your head. You were walking through the park when suddenly Miguel grabbed your hand, lifted it to his face and kissed it tenderly. He came over to you so he could feel your hot body against his. He wiped a strand of hair from his forehead and stroked the hair on your head, staring at every line on your face.

"You don't even know how long I've been waiting for this" He replied and placed a passionate kiss on your lips and your legs buckled under the feeling of his lips brushing yours. You felt like you were floating, weightless, and he looked like he wanted to take you. Your heart sped up and your cheeks felt like they could burn at any moment. He slowly pulls away from you and the feeling of his hot breath on your wet lips lingers for a moment. His gaze penetrates yours and you want him to kiss you again. He takes your hand and leads you for a walk in the park, the fresh air cooling your hot face. He whispers to you and his voice fills you with butterflies. "Let's go to my place," he suggests timidly.

[fuckyeahdindjarin]

Behind the Seams: Part III

Welcome to the first instalment of Behind the Seams! Thank you everyone who has responded so positively to this slightly self-indulgent idea I had. I know I take so long in between chapters, this seems like a fun way to keep you guys in the loop, and also to keep myself motivated and productive while I work by sharing my thoughts as I go.

This time, I'll be rambling about focusing on the characters as I'm still in the thick of developing personalities and interpretations in the Seams universe, and I'd love to put all the thoughts that have been rattling around my brain into words to help me process it.

I will be tagging these posts as 'behind the seams' together with the chapter number 'seams iii' so you can filter this out if you don't want to see them! For those who are interested, let's dive in below the cut!

Current status: 3.2k written, fully outlined rough draft with most of the dialogue drafted.

Initial thoughts: This chapter wrote far more easily than I expected to so far. Each story is different, but I tend to find the 3rd to 5th chapters hardest to write, when you're building up the shape of the arc of the whole series.

I'm still keeping my options open with regards to what Seams is or can be, but I'm still thinking 'loose fit series' i.e. there won't be a solid, overarching story arc or ending to the series since it's not a plot-driven story. It will be interesting to see if my approach changes after a couple more chapters!

The challenge: The first two instalments were so hyper-zoomed in on Joel and Pin, I knew that the challenge for this chapter is pulling back the camera and seeing how they interact with each other outside the safety of the Outfitters, and how they fit into the wider community.

Joel and Pin: I was re-reading Threads in preparation for writing Part III, and what strikes me is that these two really don't know a lot about one another. They've barely had a fully formed conversation despite the forced proximity and some very charged moments in the last two chapters. I've tentatively written most of their dialogue in this chapter, and it's interesting that a couple of times, I've stopped myself and thought - is this too playful for a shy person like Pin? Is it too familiar with two people who are practically strangers, despite their chemistry? It's a balance that I'll have to find as I edit, and I'm excited to see how it turns out.

Tommy: For some reason, Tommy comes fairly easily to me, a testament to Pedro and Gabriel’s chemistry on screen. Without giving too much away, I'm really happy with the angle I found for Joel and Tommy in this chapter. There's a lot to unpack between the two brothers, but the happy occasion means that I can focus on the good part of their relationship for now. However, I am keeping the tensions in their history in my back pocket because I don't want to gloss over the very real and three-dimensional relationship we saw in the series.

Ellie: I've talked about how I'm nervous about writing Ellie. My Pedro boys are all lone wolves - sure they have their best friends (Teak to Palomino!Jack, Santi to Grays!Frankie, Pete/Rebecca to Consent!Dieter), but Ellie is Joel's kid, and she's part of his life more than any BFF is to my other Pedro boys. Luckily, I have found an in with Ellie that I think works well with the story in Part III, and also fits in with the broader direction of the fic. It's going to be nerve-wrecking, but I'm ready to write her into Seams!

Tess: I'm not in a place to say too much yet about Tess, but it's so important to me that she isn't erased from the Seams universe despite her not being there. I've been thinking a lot about Tess lately, about how she will fit into the story, how Joel will fit Pin into his and in relation to Tess. There are no easy answers, and it will be something to mull over in the next few chapters.

Something fun: Ok, all this character stuff is pretty heavy, so I want to end on a light-hearted note - Joel's tummy makes a cameo in a white undervest 😌

And that's it for Behind the Seams: Part III! I feel a lot lighter having found a space for all the things I have been thinking about while drafting the chapter. I hope this was a fun deep dive for you guys as well, I'll be hitting Google Docs hard this weekend to try to get all of the writing done for Part III so that I can start editing next week. My askbox is always open if anyone wants to chat 🥰

[onestormeynight]

Meeting The Canales

It was one of those rare days where everyone's schedules aligned and Rosie took the opportunity to take the twins to Oasis Springs to meet their grandfather, uncle and aunt. Rosie was nervous about how Ellie would treat them, but she steeled herself to follow through. Despite her efforts, Ellie just wasn't interested in a relationship with her except on the most surface of terms. Rosie suspected that if Ellie didn't adore Penny, she herself would not have been tolerated.

Uncle Sam, however, was more than happy to meet the girls now that they could properly remember him. He wiped at his nose and sniffed, hoping no one would notice.

"Hey Nellie, Ida," He said, nodding to each one.

"You got it backwards," Nellie said. "I'm Ida."

"I'm Nellie," Ida said.

"You're both tiny liars," Sam laughed. "I've known you your whole lives, I can tell the difference."

"Drat!" Nellie said.

"Come on, munchkins," he said ushering them towards the playground.

Rosie greeted her brother with a quick kiss on the cheek as he took her girls over to the space ship to play. Ellie gave him a judging look over her glasses as he went past.

"It's so good to see you," She said, grabbing Ellie's attention back. "It's been so long."

"Uh, yeah, I guess," Ellie said.

"Ellie," Ricky hissed. She rolled her eyes with a sigh.

"And how are you, Rosalie?"

"I'm good," She answered, slightly nervous now. "How have you guys been? How's school and work?"

"It's like, fine, or whatever." Ellie pulled her phone out and started typing away to someone.

"Things are going well," Ricky said, taking over the conversation. "I got the corner office I wanted last week."

"To our left, General!" Ida shouted to Nellie.

"That's your right, Captain!"

"No, that's left."

Sam jumped up with a roar and both girls screamed in glee. He pretended to shear off part of their ship and hustled off to "hide" in the bushes while they repaired. Captain Ida left her post to brave the outside of the ship, repairing the arm that held one of their engines.

"Oh, you don't really play chess?" Rosie said. "That's okay, I can teach you. I learned from my Grandfather Darion."

Ellie made a choking kind of laughing sound. "Um, like, okay? This is like, nerd shit, though."

"It's actually really good for your brain. I play with Sam when we hang out, too."

"Yeah. He's a nerd."

Rosie dropped her cheery demeanor. Minding the mean streak her husband and mother so recently pointed out to her, she stayed firm but without malice. Very calmly she moved one of her pieces.

"You don't like me," she said.

Ellie looked stunned to be called out so directly. "You're just not my vibe," she offered.

"That wasn't a question. You don't like me."

"Fine. You're right. I don't like you."

"Can you even give me a valid reason or is this your mother still talking?"

"Her reasons are valid. You more than likely are not Dad's. You're not my sister. You and your mother just wanted their relationship to fail and you got what you wanted."

"So," Rosie said, sitting back. "To be just perfectly clear, it's me and my mother's fault your mom decided to pick up strange and throw her marriage out the window? It's our fault that she said with her own mouth she hated being a mother and wife?"

Ellie paled under the bright sun. Clearly, Ricky had never given her the full story. Why would he? She wasn't an adult. It was complicated and heavy stuff. There was a way her body language changed, like Rosie had found the soft spot in her armour.

"Oh, I see. Well, I will say, that was really kind of Dad to spare you from," Rosie continued. "But, since we're having a heart to heart, I'll tell you. Your mother abandoned Sam because she didn't want the responsibility. My guess is that she favored you while you were small and malleable, but now that you have your own mind, she doesn't like you quite so much. She liked having a doll, she does not like having a daughter. Did I get that about right?" She looked her sister up and down. "Yeah. I think I did. One last thing, Ellie. It's fine if you want to be a heinous bitch to me, but if I see so much as a fucking sneer in my children's direction..." At this, she leaned over the chess table and made direct eye contact with Ellie. "I will solve the problem. "

"Are you threatening me?!"

"Directly."

((prev)) ((next))

[attic-club-sandwich]

Help Me Understand

a short drabble written for the @ombrotherlylove2023! I hope you all enjoy! And thank you for hosting the event! I've had so much fun writing the prompts and I can't wait to share the rest of my stories! 💜

A/N: This story is set in the Nightbringer Era so Satan is very much new to the world and how things work, so he often gets easily frustrated. A small miscommunication between the pair leads to a rare, but much needed moment of bonding between them.

Taglist: @amberrskiies, @obey-me-posts, @sassykattery, @delphi-dreamin, @bite-sized-devil, @flemmingbamse, @a-hidden-gem, @otomefoxystar, @siofrantic, @todothedodo, @marvelous-maniac, @nonbinary-disaster, @selfmadender, @animeismyhappyplace, @vampire-tr4mp, @meiloorun-tea, @ana-dear , @gaychaosgremlin, @sidgethegamer, @jasper-s-phantym

Day 1: Misunderstandings, Lucifer & Satan.

floral divider by @/saradika

Lucifer hadn’t really meant what he said. If he’s being honest, the Avatar of Pride felt…bad. He knew Satan was struggling with his emotions after his sudden and unexpected arrival into the Devildom and he wasn’t trying to do anything to trigger him too badly. He was beginning to get tired of the constant repairs on the house.

As he sat in his office, he thought back to the events that had transpired earlier that day. In truth, Lucifer had been quite preoccupied while in a meeting with Diavolo that he hadn’t thought much about the text he had received from Satan. He had just typed out a quick reply so he wasn’t making him wait too long for a response. However, his short reply really seemed to anger Satan. 

Lucifer, I am done with that book I borrowed from your office. 

Is it okay if I drop it off? I really enjoyed it. Thank you for letting me borrow it. 

....

I don’t care. 

Fuck you, Lucifer. 

Whatever, I know you don’t care. 

You never cared about me. 

The eldest demon realized by the time he got back home that had never replied to explain the miscommunication. Damn it, he thought as he rubbed his temples. I need to apologize. Lucifer figured that the younger demon would be in his room for the evening, so he began to make his way down the hallway of the House of Lamentation. He stopped once he reached Satan’s door, a nervous sweat beginning to form on his forehead. He wasn’t sure what to expect out of this interaction, but he was too sure it would end in Satan once again destroying something. Finally after a few moments, he knocked; 3 small taps that would be sure to grab Satan’s attention vital to the house’s architecture. “Who is it?” He heard a voice from the other side. Lucifer cleared his throat, “Um, It’s me, Lucifer.” There was a pause before the voice spoke again. This time it was steeped with anger. “Go away. I don’t want to talk to you.” Lucifer sighed. “I know you don’t. But I need to explain myself.” To his surprise, the door opened slightly, Satan’s emerald eyes glowing through the crack in the door. “If you just came here to belittle me even more, you can turn right back around.” he hissed. Lucifer rolled his eyes as he crossed his arms over his chest. “No, Satan. I actually came here to apologize.” Satan’s brow furrowed in confusion as he was for once, silent. Lucifer noticed his hesitation and stepped forward. “Can I come in? We can talk this over if you’d like.” Satan nodded slowly, backing up so Lucifer could enter his bedroom. The blonde demon walked over and sat down on his bed, crossing his arms protectively around himself. “Satan, that text message was a misunderstanding.” Satan refused to meet his crimson gaze. “Yeah, right.” he muttered. Lucifer slowly walked over to sit down beside his brother. “I mean it. I was busy in a meeting with Diavolo. I had to make it a quick response as I didn’t want to keep you waiting.” Satan glanced down at his lap, clearly frustrated. “Then why did you say you didn’t care? I-I don’t…understand.” Lucifer gave him a small smile. He could hear the frustration rising in his voice. It was still hard for Satan to understand certain things, communication through text messages being one of them. “I just mean that I didn’t care if you dropped off the book in my office. I apologize for not being more clear. I know you are still learning and I failed to remember that.” Satan glanced up at his older brother, his green eyes filled with tears. “Oh…I-I guess I overreacted then…” Lucifer shrugged. “It’s fine, Satan. I just wanted to clarify that to you.” Satan nodded, his face flushed as he quickly wiped away his tears. He wasn’t sure if they were from anger or relief and he was quite flustered about tearing up in front of Lucifer out of all people. “I won’t say anything to the others, so no worries.” Lucifer winked before getting up from the bed. “I should be going now, I still have some paperwork from the meeting to finish up.” 

Just as Lucifer was about to leave, Satan also jumped up from his spot on the bed. “Wait! I um..I have that book.” Lucifer turned around again to see him taking a book off of his bedside table. He held it out to him, glancing away as his cheeks were still dusted pink. Lucifer smiled as he took the book from him. “Thank you, Satan. So you enjoyed it? I thought reading about Devildom history would be rather boring for you.” Satan shook his head, his face lighting up at the opportunity to discuss his thoughts on the book. “No way, I found it very interesting. I want to learn everything I can about the three realms and more.” Lucifer relaxed as he leaned up against the door, the book tucked in his arms over his chest. He found that he was enjoying listening to Satan recount his favorite facts about the Devildom, and was glad that his younger brother was no longer upset with him…for now anyways. Lucifer decided he would take advantage of the rare moment that they weren’t at each other's throats. “Let me know if you’d like to borrow any other books. You are free to browse the library, if you’d like.” Satan nodded enthusiastically, a smile plastered on his face. “Yes, thank you, Lucifer. I’d appreciate that.”

[mintchocodevi]

Dance - Atsushi x Reader

A/N: The title doesn't really fit the theme for the story but it's the title of the song I was listening too when I got the inspiration to write this. I'm also playing around with how I enjoy formatting posts so forgive me if my stuff looks slightly different from fic to fic. 'DANCE' - Yumi from the Album LOST

Summary: You're leaving the agency in search of better opportunities in America. You might not come back, are you okay with that? More importantly, is Atsushi okay with that?

Characters: Atushi, Gender Neutral Reader, Dazai

Warnings: Angst and feels mostly, you two have feelings for each other but neither of you knows till the very end, Not beta read

"I'll be leaving for America in three days." Atsushi felt his fingers freeze, hovering over the keyboard in front of him as he looked at you from the back of the room. You had requested from Yukichi to gather everyone in the main room of the Agency to make an announcement.

"I know this is sudden and last minute but, this has been very hard for me to come to terms with. I've enjoyed my time with you all very, very much! So please, if it's not too much to ask of everyone here could you all see me off?"

You were standing at the front of the room with tears in the corners of your eyes, your heart heavy from the words you had spoken. You had been a loyal worker of the Armed Detective Agency for a while now and to be leaving so many people you loved and cherished behind was like having your crystal heart thrown to the floor and shattered into pieces. You looked over all your comrades faces, fearing anger and resentment for your last minute departure announcement but was met with bright smiles and kind faces. Multiple people came up to hug you and try to calm your tears. You were bombarded with questions on top of multiple people trying to console you. Honestly, it was very fitting, and a tiny bit of it warmed your broken heart.

"I don't know how long I'll be gone truthfully. I'll do my best to keep in touch but, I don't think I'll be able to visit. I'll miss you all very much honestly!" A somber chuckle left your lips as a few of the more childish ability users pouted and whined about your abrupt leaving.

However, not everyone came up and offered condolences or empty threats as a way of trying to get you to definitely stay in touch. Atsushi had found himself frozen in time at his desk, hands still glued to the same position they had frozen in the moment the first sentence left your lips. His golden eyes glued to your teary eyed face whilst hoping that in a split second you would laugh, say this was some kind of sick prank. Yet, what right did he have to feel this way? As far as he knew the two of you were nothing more than friends. Hell, it was possible he didn't even have the right to call you that either. Even so, he didn't want to see you go, he didn't want you to leave.

"You're going to finish your report before the day is over right?" Atushi was startled out of his thoughts by Dazai leaning over and pestering him about his work.

With a nervous chuckle he gave a weary nod of his head and did his best to focus back on the report that was due. Despite how much the little were-tiger did his best to hide his feelings from everyone, even himself, there was no hiding it from Dazai's watchful eye. The brunette watched Atsushi continue his work with a small grimace before his calculating eyes looked back up at you at the front of the room, still receiving comfort from his coworkers. Eventually, you had to part ways, bowing in respect to everyone and explaining you had to finish up packing before your leave this week. Dazai took seat in the roller chair beside Atsushi, watching the pale haired boy stare at your retreating form like a lost puppy wishing for its master to come back.

"Why don't you just tell them?" Dazai inquired with a bored look. The question definitely caught Atsushi's attention as he turned back to face his higher up.

"T-Tell them what exactly," Atsushi stuttered anxiously, "there's nothing else to say that hasn't already been said by others!"

Though he knew that was a lie. Dazai knew, and Atsushi himself knew too. It's not that he didn't want to tell you, but that he didn't feel he had the right. You were like the sun, the brightest smile in the room, the kindest person that could make anyone's bad day better. You were like the first dewy morning of spring, the beauty after a rainstorm! And Atsushi, was... He didn't think he could compare himself to anything as beautiful and romantic as your very being was. With a heavy sigh and a deep furrow in his brow Atsushi did his best to focus on the report in front of him, trying to tune out Dazai and whatever plan or possibly reaction he was hoping to get.

"There's nothing to tell, end of story."

Atsushi's last sentence left his lips in a whisper. Dazai couldn't help but stare at Atsushi, the poor kid practically wore his heart on sleeve in his eyes and it was plain as day to see. This kid was in love with you, and at the idea of you leaving he was boring torn apart.

Little did they know you were just as distraught. Granted, this had been tearing at you from the beginning. You had been offered a scholarship over seas at an American school in order to further pursue the career field you actually wanted to work in. It wasn't that you hated your work for the Armed Detective Agency but it definitely had not been your first choice. They took you in and gave you a job so that way you could earn some kind of income while finish up your education locally. All of your coworkers were kind and caring, some a bit more eccentric than others but it just added to their lovely personality! Though, you could definitely live without the danger, dealing with the Port Mafia on more than one occasion had solidified that being a portion of the job you hated. Yet, even when it was a situation most people would see as hopeless to escape from, you held at hope.

"No matter what, I promise to always save you!" Those had been Atsushi's words the first time he ever saved you, and without fail, he followed through on each time. It felt silly, falling in love with the man who promised to rescue you every time, but he'd always try and make it up to you! On days you both had off and he had some extra spending money he'd try to take you for food or sweets. When there was no extra cash to be had he'd still come and check up on you, make sure you were recovering from any possible injuries.

Honestly, those days he came to visit your house had to be the best. He'd come knocking at your door, clearly anxious to be at someone's real house instead of the apartments offered by the agency considering you still lived with your parents while working and in school. You'd have a bandage wrapped around your leg or arm from a deep cut or fractured bone from being roughhoused by the villain's who had captured you. The moment you open the door Atsushi is in full panic mode, ushering and helping you get back to your bedroom so you can properly rest and heal. It's a bit embarrassing, when one of his arms comes up and around your waist to hold you against him when he tries to help you take pressure off your injured leg or when his hands delicately press into your upper back to push you toward your room to rest. His touch is so warm, calming and gentle. After he manages to coerce you back into bed he makes sure to get you anything you ask for like a maid at your beck and call and it's so cute it often makes you laugh and giggle.

Reminiscing about those days, his warm touch, those gentle yet worried eyes. The reality of your situation, that you're leaving, possibly never to see him again, has you breaking down the minute your back in your now boxed up bedroom. You want more memories of him, of being with him, of him caring for you. When you're unable to keep the dam back much longer, you crumple into the side of your bed and sob.

The next two days is spent avoiding the agency as a whole. You focus on cleaning, packing, spending time with your parents and making sure people have your phone number and possible socials to keep up with you on. You know some of this information falls on deaf ears, some friendships just simply aren't meant to last no matter how much you wish they could. You decide that, since you don't know if you'll even have time to visit you cross off some minor bucket list items. You cook your parents their favorite meal and pamper them as a 'thank you' for taking care of you and raising you all these years. You buy little gifts for everyone at the Armed Detective Agency as thanks for allowing you to work there and as a small sort of apology for constantly being a rescue case for them. However, you aren't able to give them out until the third day. You had one last bucket list item in mind just before departing and you figured it was now or never.

The gentle rain seemed to match the atmosphere within many peoples hearts today. The sky was full of gray clouds, and the port in town busy with workers and many other people and families showing up and readying for departure. Atsushi was a little confused and curious as to why he was the first to show up to the harbor where your cruise was departing. He double checked his phone to make sure the time was right and he hadn't accidentally fucked up. This would be about the 17th time since he looked at his phone now, considering he would rather die and rot in the sewers than miss your departure but he still wasn't sure. Poor boy was far too worried that the world would punish him today and the clock on his phone would jump three hours from the time it actually was. When he looked back up and saw your form, bundled up in a large trench coat and gloves to fend off the cold air and rain that was sprinkling about, he couldn't help but find you adorable. Upon sight of him you raised your hand excitedly and waved, signaling him for him to come over and join you whilst workers behind you began to take your luggage and load it onto the ship.

"H-hey.. I'm not like, some how late am I?" Atsushi brought one of his hands up to nervously scratch the back of his head before sighing in relief when you shook your head.

"No, in fact your early," you couldn't contain the blush that rose to your cheeks, "I-I wanted you here a bit early..."

"O-Oh! Really..?" Atsushi blushed just as bright as you did.

The two of you stood in an awkward silence between each other. Everyone else around you seemed to pay no mind, other cruise ship passengers looking around and struggling to figure out where they needed to go, families sharing hugs and kisses to those departing and wishing for safe travels. Time was ticking away, you only had so much time alone with him but now, presented with the opportunity, your heart felt like it was about to explode.

"I hope you have fun, in America," Atsushi suddenly said.

"Have a safe trip." He reached out to awkwardly pat you on the shoulder, unsure of what else to say or do.

Was, that really all he had to say to you? You've been crying about your feelings and this boy for months. He cared so deeply for you, to promise such a thing as to rescue you every time, to visit you so often and make sure you were healing. To baby you, be a maid for you while you healed and yet, here you were leaving him and everything behind and all he had to say was 'be safe'?

"I love you."

Your heart seemed to be moving faster than your brain was now. Looking up at Atsushi in tears, the boy had no idea what to say to you. His golden iris were blown wide with surprise as he tried to let the words sink in before feeling panicked upon recognition of your tears. You threw your arms around him in a tight and quick hug, barely lasting a second, before you furiously wiped at your cheeks and moved past him. The sounds of Dazai cheering and calling out to the two of you was nothing but mumbled garbage in Atsushi's ears. His heart and brain were racing against one another right now and he was stuck at a stand still. Does he confess now? Would it be easier for you to move on if he just kept his mouth shut and watched you leave? Would it be easier for him? It was already hard enough, pretending that he didn't already love you, but maybe that difficulty would fade the moment you left. He could pretend that you were never there to begin with.

"You know, they say distance makes the heart grow fonder." Hearing Dazai's crystal clear voice cut through the fuzzy background noise of his brain snapped him back to reality.

Atsushi hadn't realized he put himself on autopilot as everyone else from the agency gathered to give you their last good-byes. You continued to cry the whole time while hugging everyone and handing out their little gifts, muttering apologies for always causing everyone stress despite their pleas and promises you weren't. As Atsushi checked back into reality, the final horn on the ship resounded, the port walkway empty except for you and all your coworkers. You gave one final teary wave good bye as you made you way up the ramp to the main deck.

'Distance makes the heart grow fonder' Dazai had said. Yeah right, with enough time it would be like you were never there. He would forget about you, forget his feelings, and focus on keeping the city safe once again.

Right?

Or...

Would he look at the clock, expecting you to come in with your dazzling smile at eight in the morning with drinks to perk everyone up? Would he still feel his heart flutter every time he looked at all the sticky notes he saved that you had left on his work desk after he'd rescue you each time? Would he ever forget the comforting scent of your bedroom he had become so familiar with every time he went to visit you?

Would he remember his promise to always save you, just like you always remembered?

"No!" Atsushi suddenly felt very panicked when he saw the boat moving and taking off. It wasn't moving very fast, but he knew that there was no stopping it now.

His coworkers jumped the moment Atsushi yelled and watched in bewilderment as the young man ran after the boat, calling for your name as loud as he could. He had to tell you, he couldn't hide his feelings, he couldn't run from them anymore, not when he was about to lose you possibly for good! He continued to run down the length of the port as best as could, the rain causing him to slip mid-pursuit and land face first into the concrete, but he couldn't give up, not now damn it! He placed his hands flat against the concrete beneath him and pushed himself up, giving another loud yell of your name till he could finally see your familiar face running out to the railing to see the commotion going on. You needed something better, something more beautiful than a boring, simple 'I love you too'.

"No matter what! I promise to always save you! Even if I have to swim across the ocean to get to you!"

[simpxxstan]

perfect complements (ch. 4)

pairing: professor!seungcheol x professor!f.reader

genre: fluff, enemies to lovers, angst, smut

series summary: four and a half years of working together breeds familiarity, resentment, and everything in between. it's almost like living together.

series word count (till current chapter): 10.4k

chapter word count: 3.1k

rating: 18+

warnings: slight bickering, description of makeout between seungcheol and oc (not with reader) and vague descriptions of fingering. curse words being used.

a/n: i'm sorry for the late update! i've been going through a hard time these few days, but i'm trying to distract myself! this is a filler chapter ig? i'm sorry if it's taking too long for any action between the reader and coups to start, but i really want to build the story up. it's slow burn for a reason hehe thank you so much for reading! &lt;3

taglist for the fic: @minhui896

series masterlist

Seungcheol’s phone pops up with a notification as he makes his way to Dr. Lee’s chambers. He knows you’ve already been here once before, but he has actively avoided the staffroom all day so that he doesn’t get caught in your and Minhee’s crossfire again. It’s best for him to keep his distance when you’re pissed. He knows, no matter what the reason, you’ll end up bursting at him.

“Hello, Prof. Choi. How are you today?”

“Same as usual, I guess. I can’t believe it’s Valentine's Week already.”

Dr. Lee laughs, their laugh slightly whimsical but purposeful. Seungcheol feels oddly comforted by the Counsellor but also a little nervous. He’s being constantly analysed, and it’s not a good feeling. But they know how to get him at ease too. 

“Why? Is Valentine’s Week important to you?”

“Aah well. If I don’t tell you, she will. It reminds me of what happened the first February I was here.”

Seungcheol had absolutely no clue what was going on in college. Perhaps being away from the dating market for so long had made him forget all about this. Plus, his mind was all caught up with the conference. It was the first time he was getting to organise something in this college, and as a new Professor, he had to impress everyone. He had the crazy urge to prove himself worthy of the post: many had said he was too young for it, but he was determined to prove them wrong. So when Prof. Y/L/N had offered that the two of you take up the duties this time to organise the department’s Annual Winter Conference, he had readily taken up the opportunity. 

Of course, everything was fine with Prof. Y/L/N now. You had explained to him that you were having a shitty day and couldn’t control your emotions, given your periods had been giving you hell, and the very day after that, you had both gone to watch the new play being performed by the University’s Drama Club, together. Along with a lot of laughs and a lot of meaningful conversations, Seungcheol had hoped he had made his first friend in University. The academic atmosphere had daunted him at first, since he was the youngest, but seeing you had made him braver. He had someone by his side to help him, instead of judging him. 

It also helped that he found you unimaginably beautiful. 

Seungcheol was, by no means, an innocent boy. Yes, he hadn’t dated properly for very long, but he was no playboy either. He liked to keep his commitments minimal, given that most of his 20s had been spent cooped up in the library, drowning in coffee and real analysis theorems. He had enjoyed pursuing academics, but it had effectively stolen his social life from him. His romantic life, too. His love life had ended with his undergraduate course, and since then, he had been happily married to his thesis. 

Except, now. Now, things were different. Because you had entered his life. Not just that, Seungcheol had found himself economically and socially stable after several years. He could finally spend time with his family, live in his own rented apartment, take care of his pet dog as he liked, and eat out almost twice a week, and still have enough money to indulge in a new game being released at the end of the month. Meeting you at this perfect time made him want to go all in, and take his chances at love. After all, he was twenty seven now. He wouldn’t make the same mistakes again, would he?

Naturally, he couldn’t give up on the chance to co-convene the conference with you this year. He really respected you- both from a professional point of view, and personally; well, as much as he did know about you. It wasn’t much, you weren’t a great oversharer, but there was one thing that he knew for sure- he enjoyed spending time with you, and he was looking forward to meeting you every day. 

“Seungcheol! You’re here. Are we good to go? I think the guest speakers are about to arrive in a few minutes!” You were smiling nervously, but still looked incredibly put together. Your hair was tied up in a bun, revealing your soft cheeks and the new earrings you had donned just for the event. This was the first time he was seeing you wear a dress, and he could feel himself tipping a little more into this mini project of his. 

“Y/N, please don’t worry! I’ve got the volunteers briefed, and everything will work like clockwork.”

_

Unfortunately for Choi Seungcheol, everything did not work like clockwork.

It was the last hour of the conference, the time for the students to gather in a group discussion moderated by the two of you, and discuss your findings, thoughts and questions about the presentations and papers presented by the various guests of the day. With the majority of the workload done, and surrounded by familiar faces, Seungcheol felt much relaxed, and had rolled up his sleeves and settled down into a chair for the first time that day. After running around all day, this informal session felt like a blessing. 

You sat down next to him, and all the other students settled down in a scattered, approximate circle. The flow of the conversation began easily, with you smiling and picking up the pace. The students, eager and wide-eyed, kept chattering, and the enthusiasm reminded Seungcheol of himself. The discussion was largely informal, and it felt like a group of likeminded people sitting together, not a hierarchical group of students and professors. It was an atmosphere that made him very happy. 

Of course, it also made him very happy that you seemed to be more and more comfortable with him as the day passed by. It manifested in little things, but they were enough to make Choi Seungcheol feel giddy like a schoolboy again. Like how you keenly listened to his comments, and appreciated his thought process. How you contributed to every discussion he initiated, how you ensured he didn’t get left out in the discussions. How you touched his hand once while asking him about something. How you unintentionally (or intentionally?) stared for a second too long at him, and he had caught you in the act. 

It was an extremely successful day, he concluded, and he went home feeling the happiest he had been in recent times. He had felt included in the University community, and that was what he had truly wanted for all these days. It felt so relieving. 

But all that was going to change the next morning. 

He arrived at college in a happy mood, not realising why suddenly there was a galore of roses being carried around the college campus by students. He grabbed his usual Americano from the canteen, before making his way to the staffroom, delightfully greeting every student and professor he met on the way. The campus seemed to be bursting with energy today, but he simply couldn’t realise why. Not that he cared. He was just as energetic today-

“Care to explain this, Prof. Choi?”

You’re standing there, hands on your hips, Wonwoo, the Dean from Social Sciences next to you, and the other professors of the department also in that room. He can’t make out what’s written in the letter that you’re holding up, but as he steps closer, he can see it:

CHEOLLIE AND Y/N SITTING ON A TREE, K-I-S-S-I-N-G!

Below the words, there were small roses drawn and pictures of iconic scenes from the k-drama, ‘Boys Over Flowers’ stuck on the page. 

“What’s this?” He asked, still clueless. Wonwoo stepped up, and put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s the first day of Valentine’s Week. Someone left this on Y/N’s desk…” 

The dots finally connected in Seungcheol’s head. The students had… shipped them? It was surprising, funny but extremely absurd. He had the urge to laugh it off, but then he stopped himself seeing the furious look on your face. He realised it had offended you in some way, although he saw it as a joke. 

“I’m sorry, Y/N… I don’t know-”

“Do you realise how unprofessional this is? How desperate this makes me look?”

“Desperate?”

“Of course they thought a woman would fall in love with the first man they saw entering the campus. It’s disrespectful, Choi Seungcheol, do you not see that?”

“I think it’s not as big as you think. It’s just a joke by the students-”

“Joke? Wonwoo, please explain to him.”

Wonwoo enlarged his eyes, but quickly took the signal and asked Seungcheol to step out with him. 

“I swear I didn’t do anything!”

“I know Seugncheol. I’ve known you for long enough to know you’re not dumb to seduce your colleague. But everyone can see your crush on Y/N.”

It was Seungcheol’s turn to finally be shocked. “What? It’s really nothing like that!”

“Okay. Even if I accept what you’re saying… I’m not saying you’re at fault for this. Kids pull this kind of prank all the time. They shipped me and another Professor from the Linguistics department for years, before everyone got to know that she was gay and I was marrying someone else. But I understand why Y/N may feel sensitive about these things. All I’m suggesting is-” he raised his hand to prevent Seungcheol from cutting in, “keep a little bit of distance? Until the rumours die out and she feels comfortable again. We can’t have a hostile environment in the department, can we?”

_

Seungcheol chuckles at the end of the story. 

“Look where we are now.” 

He had recounted almost all of the incident with Dr. Lee, albeit not going into too much details about his love interest in Prof. Y/L/N.

“It’s a very interesting story, I must say,” Dr. Lee had a smile of their face as well, seeming quite amused by the narration. “So you liked her?”

“A little. Quickly snubbed out, as you can make out. After these things, I kept my distance, and obviously, whatever inkling of… feelings had emerged… died out. I was back to neutral within a few weeks.”

“And what about your friendship?”

“Friendship?”

“Your relationship. Did it ever go back to normal? As it was before this thing?”

Seungcheol pauses. He’s not quite sure. Perhaps because it’s been so long, and he has largely forgotten? He doesn’t know how exactly the relationship would have been even if the incident hadn’t happened. There would be other things to destroy it, of course, as time had shown. 

“I don’t think so. But then, it’s hard to define normal. We were friendly, like new colleagues who instantly don’t hate each other are. But since then, as we worked together for longer, and as my… emotions became absolutely neutral, we discovered irks in each other pretty soon. We never ended up being as friendly as then, again. I don’t think we would’ve been anyway.”

“And if she had liked you back?”

He doesn’t know what to say. He prefers not to think about it, a situation he could envision in only an alternate, distant universe. 

“She could never.”

It’s the truth. He knows it’s best not to lie to Dr. Lee. 

_

Valentine’s Week is one of the few weeks in the year when the entire city is bustling. There’s the excitement of new love, hope of requiting crushes, and the thrill of the chase, all punched together. It’s also the beginning of spring, and Kkuma, on such days, really enjoys walking through parks, running in fresh green grass dazzling with dew, and making Seungcheol run after her. 

Today, she’s dressed up with tiny pink clips sparkling in her carefully trimmed white hair. Today, Seungcheol isn’t running behind her. He’s instead sitting on the bench, surfing through his phone, as Kkuma runs small laps around him. There’s no chance of her straying away, she’s too dependent on him for survival and she loves being spoilt. 

“Oppa?”

Seungcheol looks up from his phone to see Hyerin standing in front of him, dressed in tracks. Running in the park, clearly. “What are you doing here? I didn’t know you came to the park?”

“I came here for Kkuma-ya. You?”

“Can't go to the gym these days. So I’ve switched to running. Mind if I join you?” Seungcheol shifts up on the bench, and Hyerin flops down on it, next to him. “Tired? Take a sip from my Americano-” he brings the coffee to her lips, and she sucks in through the straw. “Aah, too much ice!” He giggles, before taking a sip himself. “I like it this way. You don’t have to drink it.” “Yaah! Oppa!” She snatches it a bit, sips again, and puts it back in Seungcheol’s hands. 

“Do you want to get breakfast?”

She smiles, “I thought you’d never ask.”

_

Breakfast becomes another walk along the sunny streets of Seoul, which turns into grabbing beer before lunch, and after another hearty meal at a street food fair, Seungcheol finally takes Hyerin home. They’d been stalling it for long enough, he thinks, and he definitely does like her a lot. Better to settle down with her than any other random woman his mother decided to set him up on a blind date with. 

“Kkuma’s watching us,” Hyerin whispers breathlessly, panting between kisses, as she leans away from Seungcheol’s body to look at the small dog sitting far away from them but still with her eyes fixed on the two of them. 

Seungcheol laughs. “See? This is why I told you Kkuma doesn’t like it when I bring over girls.” 

“But she’s okay with you bringing over your colleague from work?” Hyerin doesn’t sound jealous, she’s too busy unbuttoning Seungcheol’s shirt. “Kkuma wasn’t at home then. My brother had taken her away for the day.” “Lucky woman, your colleague.” And her mouth is back on his, and they slobber around, making out furiously, even while the sun still shines on them from the open windows. Seungcheol’s hands grab her waist tightly as he lifts her up. He then moves away from couch and slowly makes his way to the bed, not leaving Hyerin’s mouth even once. When he’s finally laid her down on the bed and taken off her pants, the phone in the back pocket of his jeans rings. He’s tempted to ignore it, more interested in Hyerin’s bloodshot eyes staring at him hungrily and the way she’s reacting to his hands stroking over her thighs. But the phone keeps ringing, and the sound is annoying, so he takes out the phone to turn off the volume. 

Except he sees the name tag. 

It’s you. 

“Hello?” Seungcheol can hear Hyerin gasp in frustration, but he can’t help but take the call. He knows you never call him unless it’s an emergency, so this must be serious. 

“Prof. Choi? This is Prof. Y/L/N.” 

“Yes I know. What is it?” 

“Am I disturbing you? Your voice sounds curious and Seungcheol gets pissed at the stalling. “Yes, could you please tell me why you called?” “Sorry about that then, I’ll be quick. It’s just that-” “Yes?” “Hey, why so impatient?” “Prof. Y/L/N, it’s a Sunday. I’m busy, I have a personal life as well. Now could we please get on with this quickly?” 

“Prof. Choi, you know about the upcoming seminar in Singapore that our department was taking the UnderGrad students for? For the annual field trip?”

“Yes?” 

“And you know how Minhee was going to come along with me for the trip?”

“I do know that.” 

“Well, her sister’s getting married that weekend. We just got to know, I swear!” 

“We?” Seungcheol feels so lost in this conversation. 

“Yeah, well, Minhee and I. We’re actually hanging out together, right now.” “Okay? And why are you suddenly telling me about Minhee’s sister’s wedding?” “Oh, just that. Wonwoo asked me to ask you, if you’d like to come along. Minghao is really busy for that weekend with meetings for his America thing, so I really had no option but to ask you.”

There’s a very loud pause. Seungcheol is facing away from Hyerin, but he can hear her breathing clearly in the silence. She’s real sweet, waiting patiently for him to finish the call, even if he’s left her without any context.

“You can’t go alone?”

“I did tell Wonwoo I’d go alone, I am literally 33. He said no, it’s not nice to send just one professor when they’ve already made arrangements for two.”

“Can’t we send one of the PhD students? They’ll get good exposure too.”

“There are over 30 kids. Not sure how much exposure a PhD student can get from handling kids-”

“Kids who are all in their 20s. This isn’t a kindergarten field trip.”

“I’m just telling you what Wonwoo would say. I know it because I’ve suggested these exact same things to him as well.”

Another pause. Seungcheol can hear Hyerin touch herself, the sounds giving it away. He turns around and sees his suspicions confirmed. It’s an irresistible sight, her eyes closed in focus, and with the afternoon sun falling on her skin, she does look heavenly. 

Fuck you for keeping him away from this delight.

He steps closer to Hyerin, and joins her, taking her by surprise. She moans, and he hopes you weren’t able to hear it.

“Listen. I’ll let you know if I can make it. But I don’t think I’ll be free next weekend, so don’t count on me-”

“Wonwoo asked me to tell you that this would be the last step to our ‘therapy’ thing. I may have blackmailed him into agreeing to this, because he forced me to call you up.”

Seungcheol can’t focus on the phone call anymore, not with the pretty sounds Hyerin keeps muffling up, but this perks his attention. Freedom from that bullshit finally. He’d been tired of turning up to the Counsellor’s office and getting analysed by their squinty little eyes. Especially when you both had to attend together. It was getting embarrassing now, as students across the university heard rumours about this therapy thing. It was bad enough that everyone knew how much you two dislike each other. Even worse now that they thought you both needed couples’ therapy to get over your petty fights. 

Damn Wonwoo for being a smartass. Seungcheol has known this since childhood but he keeps falling for his moves each time. He can never win against Wonwoo.

“Seungcheol? Are you still there?”

“Okay Prof. Y/L/N.”

“Huh?”

“I said okay. I’m in. For the next weekend. Bye now.” Thank god he has Hyerin falling apart on his touch right now, before his mind twists and falls into a trap, thinking about the potential dangers of what he just agreed to.

“Oppa! I’m- I’m- aaah!” Hyerin’s voice is loud, and he sinks headfirst into her. “I’m here, princess. Oppa’s right here.”

[good-beanswrites]

Ahh ive been reading some of your writings and they're just so warm and fluffy to read (if that makes sense??) Though i cant really express it in the tags ;; also if its alright, may i please request blanket with mikoto or tears with fuuta? - @erimnar

Omg thank you -- I've been so grateful for your tags! :)) And thanks for the requests, I had a lot of fun with these woo! I went with a real fun one for Mikoto/Blanket (once again, picture T1 minigram vibes) and I'll post a slightly angstier one for Fuuta/Tears soon 👍

“Mikotoooo, just share with Muu,” the girl pouted. “I mean it!”

He scooted out of her reach. “What are you gonna do, stab me about it?”

Muu’s jaw dropped, but there was no real horror behind it. “Maybe!” She lunged for him again. 

After a strange rattling from the walls had woken some in the middle of the night, all the heat in the prison had seeped away. Es had left to fix it immediately, and no one had seen them for hours. In Mikoto’s opinion, they seemed better versed in law than plumbing and mechanical fixes. He had no idea how long they’d all be shivering like this in the winter chill.

The prisoners walked around all morning in a mismatch of spare layers. Mahiru giggled inside one of Shidou’s extra doctor coats, far too big on her. Mikoto hadn’t stopped laughing that Shidou owned extra doctor coats in the first place. Yuno’s stylish hats could be spotted on several of the prisoners, Mikoto included. (He’d given his own beanie to Kazui, earlier.) Fuuta had handed out a concerning amount of sweatshirts, and Muu had some fashionable scarves that gave enough warmth to be useful.

In addition to the ridiculous getups, they each carried their bed sheets around their shoulders. Mikoto was surprised to find himself the envy of the group.

A while back he’d requested a weighted blanket; he remembered finding one helpful when work got too overwhelming. Milgram had provided a fairly large one, though he felt it hadn’t worked as well here. He didn't expect it to cause a stir until Shidou pointed out that its weight would make it even warmer than his own. Following that, it didn’t take long to attract the small army of murderous children that were after him. 

As he stepped away from Muu, Yuno leapt at his other side, ready to snatch the blanket off of him. Although Haruka and Amane were too nervous to make a grab at him, they stood anxiously nearby rooting for his loss. Mahiru had jumped in as well. Her quick movements forced Mikoto to spin around and draw it even closer around his shoulders. Caring less about the blanket, but always ready to tackle someone, Fuuta joined the scuffle.

It wasn't like Mikoto cared about the blanket, either. He had no issue sharing it with the others. He knew the attitude in the prison had been dropping recently. Despite the brief camaraderie from sharing articles of clothing, everyone’s mood had been especially bitter today. As physical discomfort added to their mental strain, things could go south quickly. The place needed to liven up a bit.

He stepped back from the blanket thieves, flicking the corner of it from Fuuta’s hands. 

“Not so fast!”

Fuuta fumed. “You asshole…”

Yuno, meanwhile, seemed up for the challenge. “You’re quick!”

“I’ve had a bit of experience…” He flashed a wicked grin. Mikoto didn’t talk about his family much, but a few of the others knew he grew up on fairly good terms with a younger sister. His big brother instincts had developed just fine.

He darted this way and that. He faked and sidestepped and spun. As his opponents grew bolder, he ended up sweeping the blanket off his back. He swung it around the room with less effort than expected. He was stronger than he looked, and easily kept the girls at bay while wrestling Fuuta for the blanket. He let out a laugh as he fought back against all the grabbing hands. Taking advantage of the height difference, he lifted it directly over his head.

The position wasn’t the most secure, though. His taunts were quickly replaced by feigned cries as the others dragged him to the ground. As they pinned him down, a cheer erupted from Haruka before he covered his mouth. The others joined in the celebration as they claimed their prize.

Mikoto lamented, “you’re so cruel… you’re all so cruel…” It was good, he thought, hearing them all laugh.

The loss of his blanket wasn’t his only punishment. Heaving an exhausted breath, Yuno flopped down directly on top of him. She tucked herself and Muu into the blanket. Then Mahiru wiggled in, beckoning to Amane and Haruka. By the time they all nestled in, there was just barely enough room for Fuuta to squeeze in with everyone. 

Mikoto wheezed from under the pile of prisoners.

“Okay, okay,” he said. “You win. Fuck -- let me breathe...”

Mahiru just made herself more comfortable. “But you’re so warm!” The others muttered their agreement. Not one showed any sign of moving. The prison was far too cold to give up heat like this, after all.

“That’s because you all made me work so hard!” He huffed. “Come on.”

“What are you gonna do?” Muu giggled, doing a poor impression of his voice, “murd--”

“-- Aw, shaddup…”

[strwbrryvagabond]

I need advice on mobility aids, so I figured who better to ask than people who use mobility aids, right? Long post, TLDR at the end.

I've had really terrible chronic lower back pain for a while now, it's right over my spine over all of the small of my back. I finally went to the doctor about two months ago, mid January ish, and was told I was probably a bit hypermobile but I didn't meet the full criteria for something like Ehlers-Danlos since I've never dislocated anything (thankfully, just broken a looooot of bones) and neither of my parents has any hypermobility issues. The doctor put me in Physical Therapy, and I just started my third month

Being completely honest, I am VERY BAD about doing my PT at home. I forget, I was down with the Flu in February, and all I can bring myself to do most days when i get home from school is take off the back brace I've been wearing and lay down.

The other day during lab (I go to a tech school for Cosmetology) I was having a lot of trouble standing, more than usual, so after a lot of debating, I asked my teacher if it would be alright with her if I brought a chair over from our manicure area and sat down while working on the highlights I was doing. She said it was alright so long as no one else started doing it, and so I brought a chair over, put it as high as it would go, and got to work.

I don't think I have ever done highlights that fast and that well in my life. Because I wasn't taking a break to sit or lean against my station every few minutes, I just worked straight through and got done with way more than i would typically finish in a lab period.

This is where I get nervous though. I'm worried that I just want a mobility aid, be it a cane, rollator, or what I wished for in the moment, a wheelchair, so that I can work faster. I'm worried that I'm just looking for a reason to neglect my physical therapy and an excuse to sit down. My mom who has been to both doctors visits thinks he's taking me seriously, and my physical therapist is great and checks in on my constantly.

But after three months my back still hurts constantly to the point where I don't even know how to rate my pain on a scale of 1-10 because I am so used to it. My physical therapist and doctor think I just have back posture, which I do, my back is too arched, and that I just need to strengthen my core and upper body and that will fix everything. But I'm scared that that won't fix it, that nothing will fix it and that there's just some nebulous thing wrong with me

I've been looking up wheelchairs recently, and thinking of that day in lab and how much better I felt, but I'm worried that I'm doing it all for the wrong reasons. Even if I was in a wheelchair I would still be all up for physical therapy, it usually makes me feel slightly better for the rest of the day, and I do genuinely need to improve my upper body strength for my career, it's abysmal. But I just don't know what to do. This is a long ass post, sorry

TLDR; I want a wheelchair or other mobility aid to deal with my lower back pain, but I'm worried I'm doing it for the wrong reasons. I need advice.

Thanks :)

[awkwardtickleetoo]

One Sided Tickle Fight

hello!! we're BACK (hopefully)!!!

I'm hoping that posting this fic will help me get back into the groove of posting and being more present here, because I realize I've been pretty absent for a while and I miss being around. so let's all manifest that it sticks lmao

also I was kind of debating on posting this because i wasn't sure how much I liked it?? originally the plan was for it to be a drabble but it ended up being over 2k words, so for a while I thought it was too long. but I was reassured that it's still good, so you guys have to be nice to me or I'll fight you about it /lh

but anyway!! I hope everyone enjoys this fic. it's inspired by 2 pictures of george that I saw and subsequently freaked out about (mushie can confirm). the pictures will be under the cut.

lee!george, ler!sapnap, ler!dream, 2.6k words

enjoy :)

inspired by these pictures:

--

"This is so stupid."

"You're stupid."

"You're stupid!"

"Great comeback, genius."

"You're both stupid, actually," Dream finally interjected, rolling his eyes at the argument between his two friends and readjusting his grip on George's wrist that he had pinned above his head.

George's head tilted back to watch Dream's movements, his jaw dropping open slightly as he tried to use the opportunity to pull his arm back down. Dream didn't let him, simply pressing his thumb firmer into the thin skin of George's inner wrist and gently rubbing in an attempt to calm him. He half expected Dream to start cooing at him, shushing and soothing him like a kitten at a vet's office before a check-up.

George huffed at the feeling instead, unfathomably annoyed that it was actually working, as he attempted to bend his elbow enough to dislodge his arm from Dream's hold. Once again, Dream didn't let him budge, instead just tugging George's wrist up higher and twisting his entire arm so his palm was half-pressed against the bed instead of the back of his hand. George gasped, trying to turn his hand back to make his arm flat. The new position made it almost impossible to do much other than shake his arm and lift his elbow a mere few inches off the bed, only to slam it down again.

"Dream! That's not fair," George practically whined, flexing his fingers in their sideways position as he squirmed. George swung his free arm over his head, bending it to let his fingers wrap around his strained bicep. He would've been more nervous about exposing his other armpit if he hadn't made Sapnap pinky promise that he was ONLY allowed to tickle the side of his torso that his pinned arm was on, and he knew Sapnap's word was good… for that day, at least.

"I think it's plenty fair, pretty boy," Sapnap piped up from his place on top of George. He'd been straddling the tops of George's thighs, knees brought in tight around his hips to keep his body somewhat still. They all knew George would find a way to squirm like his life depended on it anyway, but Dream and Sapnap were both prepared to handle whatever he could throw at them. They were used to his squirming by now.

"Wh–" George blurted out, cheeks turning pink at the name, biting his lip to hide a smile as he turned his head to the side and buried his face in the arm that was still covered by a hoodie sleeve. Earlier, at the start of the whole thing, Dream and Sapnap had pushed his hoodie up and forced his arm out of it, leaving half his body clad in only his t-shirt and the other half still covered by the hoodie to drive home the fact that they were serious about only tickling one half of his body. "Y-you can't say that, oh my god."

"He definitely can," Dream stated, as if it was a simple fact of life, reaching his free hand over to trace over the shell of George's ear. "Especially if it's true, Georgie~"

George practically squeaked, jerking his head even further into his sleeve as well as tilted down towards his shoulder to hide his ear. The position did not look comfortable at all to Dream and Sapnap, as confirmed by George when he moved his fingers from gripping his arm to cover his ear with his sleeve-covered palm instead.

"Okahay! Stop– stohop doing thahat–'' He giggled out, letting his head rest against the bed as he rubbed the leftover tickles off his ear. Dream smiled, pinching the tip of his ear and mumbling something about it being "so warm, oh my god, George, your ears are burning hot and bright red" that only served to make the blush on George's face even darker.

"Stop doing that? Alright, I'll do this instead," Sapnap said as he trailed two fingers down George's arm– starting as his inward-turned wrist right under where Dream's fingers were holding, then down his forearm, stopping to lightly scratch at the area on the inside of George's elbow to hear him squeal, then all down his tricep, stopping when be just barely grazed the top of George's shirt sleeve.

George was pretty sure he could've lost it right then and there, the light, barely present touch just enough to make him squirm, exactly as predicted, like his life depended on it.

His shoulder tried to turn itself any way it could, twisting his elbow with it and continuously moving the top edge of the sleeve each time, only exposing more of his underarm in the process. His arm shook with the attempt to pull it down– if you could even call it an attempt. Dream had loosened his hold significantly, and all that really happened was George flinching his arm and jerking his wrist slightly, so Dream knew he couldn't have been trying too hard. He still held tighter anyway, not wanting to call George out just yet. He was content sitting with the knowledge for a bit longer, pretending to be ignorant so he could knock down George's walls later.

He was cut off from his thoughts by the sound of George whimpering and whining softly as he pressed his lips together to stop himself from laughing.

The fingers on George's free hand ran through his own hair and held for a few seconds before he let go and tightly curled up his fist, letting it rest on top of his head. Immediately after, a particularly loud squeak got him flustered enough to slam a hand over his own mouth. Dream and Sapnap both giggled at his reactions, making him let out the tiniest of giggles, before flushing even more red and squeezing his eyes shut. All three of them knew that the one giggle was about to end him, and was the start of his resolve breaking down.

"C'mon, George, just let it out," Sapnap pushed gently, pausing his trailing fingers to play with the hem of George's shirt sleeve– pulling on it, flattening it out against his arm, rolling it between his fingers, anything he could think of. George turned his head to watch his fingers move, unexpectedly calmed by the idle movements, until Sapnap spoke again. "I mean, you know why we're here, don't you? You agreed to this, you said yes to the deal… We're here because you said you'd let me tickle your poor, defenseless underarm and down to your boney ass ribs until I'm satisfied, and until we feel like you've had enough. So it's not like we're gonna stop if you don't laugh… might as well just bite the bullet, baby." Sapnap punctuated his sentence by slowly pulling George's sleeve down to expose his vulnerable underarm.

"N-nohoho! Don't, plehehease–" George pleaded as Sapnap's teasing and the pet name tacked onto the end finally pushed him over the edge and sent giggles tumbling out of his mouth. He crossed his free arm over his chest, using his fingertips to hold the arm of his t-shirt in place so Sapnap couldn't pull it down any more. His pointer finger pressed down the top seam, and his ring finger rested exactly against the center of his armpit, and he gave Sapnap his best pleading eyes, hoping it would help his case.

He knew he couldn't be that lucky, though.

"Hey." It was Dream who chimed in this time, and George looked up at him with wide eyes at the sudden stern tone, pressing his fingers in harder as he giggled almost involuntarily at Dream's facial expression. "Come on, George, you know that won't do anything."

"Dream, plehease–"

"That's not gonna work this time."

"But, I–"

"I don't care."

"Dream!"

"George, I am the only one who's stopping Sapnap from absolutely destroying you right now. So shut the fuck up or I'll let him do whatever he wants."

George's eyes widened even more at Dream's words, caught off guard by how nonchalant his tone was with such a harsh statement, breath catching in his throat with how shaky his inhale was. He looked away immediately after, his head reeling as he swallowed against the lump in his throat thinking about the idea.

"Mhm- okay… m'sorry," George mumbled, nodding to himself as he spoke, looking off to the side to avoid eye contact.

"I know you are, angel, but I just had to make sure you knew all that, okay? So just relax and let Sapnap do his thing, and I'll make sure he takes good care of you, yeah? That sounds pretty good, I think," Dream explained, using his signature softer voice, and smiling as George mumbled a little 'mhm' as he pushed his face further into the sheets below him.

George intended to stay that way, until he felt Sapnap trying to pull his pointer finger away from where he was holding it over his armpit. The feeling of his finger being moved immediately drew his head back out, and he pressed his hand tighter against his arm to counteract Sapnap's pulling.

"No! Noho, oh god, Sapnap, please," he whined, shaking his head and clamping his fingers down as tight as he could without digging his nails into his own arm. He looked up at Sapnap as he pleaded, yanking once at his pinned arm– for the first time in a while, Dream noted.

Sapnap only giggled at his pleads, letting George relax slightly as he acted like he wouldn't continue.

Until he started poking his two pointer fingers anywhere that George's fingers didn't cover. He started above his hand, making George squeak and move his hand up to cover that area. Then, he used the new real estate to migrate his poking down to underneath his hand, able to reach the very edge of George's armpit for a few pokes before he immediately moved his hand back down with a strained whine. George had pinned his fingers together in his movements, and he fanned them out to cover as much space as possible.

Which only gave Sapnap the opportunity to poke at the spaces between his fingers instead.

"Sapnahahap!" George whined through his laughter, fingers twitching as he tried to cover more with each poke. Sapnap still giggled at him, unable to stop himself from showing his amusement at George's reactions. Dream smiled down at him, reaching over to play with George's hair and rest his palm on his head.

"Come on, sweet boy, you have to let him do it," Dream coaxed, rubbing his thumb on George's wrist and squeezing once for reassurance. "He'll be gentle."

"Maybe," Sapnap said with a smirk, pulling at George's hand again, this time able to pull his first two fingers off before he lost his grip.

"I can't, I cahan't, Dream, please don't mahake me," George begged, looking up at Dream with the best puppy dog eyes he could manage.

"Darling, we're not making you do anything. You agreed, and it's clear that you want this. I've felt you pull at your arm maybe twice total, and we both know if you didn't want this you could be squirming a lot more. So just move your hand and the wait will be over," Dream explained, keeping his tone calm and reassuring even as he dropped the bombshell that he'd been aware of George's feelings the whole time. George let out a whine, tilting his head back and tipping his chin up as he closed his eyes tight.

"Dreheheam, you– I-I… why wohould you sahay thahahat…" George whined, looking anywhere but up at Dream or Sapnap.

"Because it's true. You don't have to pretend, Georgie," Dream continued to play with George's hair, smiling as he pushed his head up into the touch a few times. He went to speak, stuttering out a few syllables until he finally caught Dream's eyes. Dream could see they were slightly glassy, and he smiled softly, scrunching up his nose as he watched George nod his head in understanding, a silent 'thank you' that they've encountered many times before.

"Look, George," Sapnap cut back in, wanting to get the ball rolling, as he posed his fingers in a claw in the air, about half a foot above George's armpit. "Oooooh, Georgie~ it's tiiiiime~"

"Nohoho, no! Dohohon't doho it!" George argued, smile brighter than the sun as he kept switching between lifting his fingers slightly to pull them away and pushing his hand forward to cover his armpit.

Dream's words had really gotten to him, seeping into his brain and infecting his thoughts. He knew he wanted to just lay there and let Sapnap tickle him to tears– he couldn't think about a single thing other than that, actually– but he still couldn't bring himself to move his hand away and let himself be that vulnerable. He settled on pulling his shaky hand away, but letting his palm hover barely half an inch above his armpit, able to crash back down if he needed to.

"I have to, George! I have to do it! We made the rules, it would be cruel of me to disregard them now, wouldn't it?" Sapnap explained as he slowly started descending his claw hand down towards George's armpit. George shook his head immediately, attempting to squirm and kick slightly on instinct, but quickly finding that he was too heavily pinned to move as much as he'd hoped.

"Noho, no, Sapnahap, plehehease!" George begged as he tried to twist his shoulders instead, turning his elbow out and halfway-leaning onto his side.

"Almost there! In threeeee…" Sapnap teased, pushing his fingers forward and pulling them back as they slowly lessened the distance to George's skin.

"Nohohoho!"

"Twooooooo…"

"Sapnahahap!"

"Two and a haaaaaalf…"

"Dreheam, help mehehe!"

"No can do, sweetheart, you're on your own here."

"No!"

"Aaaaaaaand… one!" Sapnap finished, yelling a little louder than before, as he drove his hand forward towards George. George screamed, clenching his fists and tensing his entire body as he prepared for the onslaught of tickles that were about to hit him.

But there was nothing.

He peeked one eye open– he wasn't sure when he'd squeezed them shut, but it was enough for spots to show up when he opened them– to see Sapnap's claw hand frozen barely a centimeter away from the back of his palm that covered his underarm. He let out a breathy whimper, glancing up at Sapnap to see a bloodthirsty smile on his face.

"Oh, man… you should've heard how loud you screamed, that was so good," He teased, and George opened his mouth to protest.

But the second he did, there were knuckles digging into the top of his ribs and rubbing against the bones, and all his words were lost to another scream.

"OHOHOH MY GOHOHOD SAPNAHAHAP!" George yelled through his laughter, his hand moving from hovering over his armpit to grabbing desperately at Sapnap's hand. Sapnap's response was to simply use his free hand to grab George's wrist and pin it to his chest, keeping him from being able to cover his armpit anymore as he migrated his tickling up there. He switched back to his fingers, finally pulling George's sleeve down and scratching his nails at the sensitive area. "NOHOHO, THAHAT'S NOT FAHAHAIR!"

"I cannot fucking believe you fell for that, Gogy. It's absolutely fair if you were that stupid."

George shook his head, unable to do much else other than laugh himself silly. His cheeks flushed impossibly more, and he clenched his fist against his chest.

The rest of the morning was spent with the three of them in that exact position, Dream and Sapnap smiling and giggling along with a squirming, kicking, happily laughing, giddy George, and none of them would ever want that to change.

Except maybe when George forces both of them to let him get revenge… maybe George likes that idea a little more.

[seducemefanficsandheadcanons]

Soul Bound

Chapter Eleven- I want you to stay

A/N- Low key hate this but at least it's done!

Also posted on AO3 and Wattpad!

Not really sure how to feel about it

Something in the way you move

Makes me feel like I can’t live without you

And it takes me all the way

I want you to stay

Stay- Rhianna, Mikky Ekko

Aron was sitting on her bed, textbooks laid out in front of her. She focused on them like her life depended on it, trying to ignore the tension between her and the demon sitting on the nearby chair.

James had found a potential solution for the situation with Malix. It was a ritual that would hopefully drain the devils of their magic. The biggest flaw with the spell, other than the fact it might not work in the first place, was that it would also drain Aron of her energy if she was present.

So, she was stuck in her room, possibly for hours. James decided that because there was a slight chance that it could affect her even from her room, and because of the long amount of time she’d be stuck in there, that one of the incubi should stay with her. That incubus ended up being Sam.

She decided to catch up on some studying as she waited for the spell to be over, becoming frustrated with herself as she struggled to take in the material. She was too tired, too stressed to be worried about it.

“How long do you think it’ll take?” she asked as she wrote in her notebook.

“I dunno, probably a few hours,” said Sam.

Aron sighed and rubbed her face. “Great,” she said sarcastically.

Sam frowned and furrowed his brows; he looked a little hurt. Immediately Aron felt her stomach twist with guilt. “Sorry, that…came out wrong.”

“It’s fine,” he grunted. “I get it, we’re stuck in here. It sucks.”

She sighed. “Yeah…”

“Since we’re gonna be in here a while…can we talk?” he asked.

She sat up reluctantly. “Yeah, we probably should.”

Sam seemed almost nervous, his shoulders tense as his foot tapped on the floor. They were both quiet, unsure. Aron couldn’t help but giggle after a few moments. “We suck at this.”

He huffed and let out a chuckle. “Yeah, sorry.”

She shook her head. “Don't apologize, you haven’t done anything wrong…”

His expression shifted slightly at her words, now unreadable. “...right.”

“I mean it,” Aron said. “All of this, it wasn’t your fault.”

“I believed her.” 

“So did I,” Aron said back. She didn’t want him to blame himself. Her eyes watered slightly, her voice breaking as she continued. “And I am…so sorry.”

He frowned and leaned forward on the chair, gently taking her hands in his. “Hey, you didn't know. You had a spell or whatever, this isn't your fault, alright?”

“But I've been awful to you, all of you. I should have let you explain, I-” she paused as she tried to find the right words. “I'm just so sorry…”

Aron felt him lightly squeeze her hands. “It's okay. I’m sorry too.”

“It’s okay,” she told him. “I’m not mad at you anymore. You didn’t know, it was just a shitty situation.”

She closed her eyes as tears fell down her face. “I missed you,” she admitted. “Even when I tried to hate you, I missed you…”

“I missed you too.” Sam’s voice was raw with emotion, his eyes soft as they seemed to search hers.

“I called your name,” she told him with a self-deprecating laugh. “For weeks, every time I had a moment to think, I’d call your true name. I don’t know if it was because I wanted you back or- or for an explanation or to just kick your ass. I just knew I wanted you here, regardless of the reason.”

He frowned, looking down at her hands as his thumbs brushed over her knuckles. “I thought about you a lot…I just wanna change things, ya know?”

“I know,” she agreed. “But I mean, at least we know the truth…”

“Yeah, at least that,” he agreed.

“So what exactly…what happened? You guys fought the Demon Lord?” Aron asked.

He nodded and looked up at her. “Yeah, there was a war. It lasted a while, about five years.”

Aron furrowed her brows at that. “Five? You were only gone for one.”

He chuckled, his smile sending flutters to her heart. “Time difference, Doofus. Time moves about five times faster there.”

She giggled softly. “Right, I forgot about that.”

They sat there for a few more moments before Aron spoke. “Are you gonna go back?”

“...No,” he answered quietly. “I don’t have any reason to be there.”

Aron felt her heart squeeze. “And here you have your brothers and stuff,” she finished for him.

Sam looked at her, his eyes intense. “Yeah, and stuff.”

They were quiet for a bit. Aron took the silence as an opportunity to scoot forward on the bed, her legs hanging off in between them. Her mind was racing, there were so many things she could have said in that moment. So many questions. 

Eventually she spoke again. “Can I ask you something?”

“Hm? Sure,” he answered, looking up at her curiously.

“If Diana didn’t take you, do you think we would have stayed together?” The question had been bugging her for a year, only this time, it mattered, because he was back.

Sam’s eyes drifted off as he thought, a wistful smile approaching his lips. They returned to hers, sad and thoughtful. “Yeah, we would have…”

“What do you think it would have been like?” he asked her.

Aron didn’t speak for a moment, trying to think of an answer. Truthfully, she’d run over this scenario in her mind more times than she could count.

She thought they would have gotten a pet. They would have debated over whether they should get a dog or a cat, and Sam would have ended up giving in. Aron would have found it funny since he’d end up loving their kitten.

He would have met her family too. Her older brothers would have appreciated how protective he was, how safe he made her feel. Her kid brother would enjoy playing video games with him, the three of them and Matthew playing first person shooters against each other.

Her older sisters would have liked how he encouraged her, how he made her feel strong and confident in herself. 

Her younger sister would have backed up his argument about getting a dog, and most certainly would have threatened him at some point to not hurt Aron. She’d tell him embarrassing stories from their childhood too.

They would have been that couple that their friends were jealous of. They’d have the kind of relationship everyone wanted for themselves because the two of them were so in love.

She couldn’t say all of that, incapable of finding the right words. But in front of her was an incubus who was waiting for an answer, so she’d try for him.

“We would have been amazing,” Aron finally said, a single tear falling down her cheek.

“...what about now?” he asked. “What do we do now?”

She looked up at him. “I’m not sure,” she said. “What do you want to do?”

One of his hands left hers, his calloused thumb brushing the tear off of her cheek before gently cupping her face. She gazed up at him as he spoke. “I want to be with you, forever. I wanna try again.”

She leaned into his touch, her heart pounding in her chest so hard that she was sure he could hear. “You do?”

He nodded, a blush on his cheeks. “Yeah, of course I do. I never…”

Aron’s brows knit together. “Never what?”

He sighed and leaned closer. “I never stopped loving you.”

She felt the world freeze in place as he spoke. “I mean it, I love you, Aron. I want to keep you safe and fix all the shit I fucked up when I was gone. But, it’s up to you. I’ll respect whatever choice you make…”

“Do you still love me?”

Despite his voice being quiet, the question was a scream in her mind. It was a question she’d been asking herself for days, but to hear it from him made it even more real. Now it was something she truly had to answer, not just a thought she’d hide from.

Did she still love him?

“I…”

[wolfsbane-archive]

By far the hardest book I've ever read, now all the way finished and reviewed! I feel I've gotten slightly off-track with my original intention of learning more about vampire magic, but these journals are, for the most part, very exciting! I was not raised with vampires, so everything I read about them is, for the most part, new to me. So, without further adieu...

Journal d'une Sorcière, Volume Six

One of the longest journals, and certainly the most rewarding to finish! This one talks more about the finer points of human politics – this journal covers Mme. Chausson’s life from 1842 to 1861. She discusses primarily the rule of Louis Napoleon Bonaparte (Napoleon III), the Crimean War, and the Second Opium War. None of these are particularly relevant to my interest in magic, but she does discuss this sometimes.

Discussions of magic in Volume Six focus mostly on protection magic and charms. Many of the protections put on Chateau Blanc began to wear off, and Mme. Chausson was faced with the task of creating more long-lasting protections, so that she, Mme. Lehmann, Mme. Bakke, and M. Fellner could continue to live there, protected from the Vanderwolvens. While the pressure to capture Mme. Lehmann had begun to wear off, Mme. Chausson emphasizes that one can never be to careful with the Vanderwolvens, a sentiment I can only agree with!

While the descriptions of spells and charms in this journal are interesting, I think I am going to rate this an 8 out of 10 teeth. The magic is interesting, but I am not very intrigued by the intricacies of human politics and history! I have never been really interested in history generally. I am more excited for later journals, where Clement has told me she discusses and works through the creation of the Ravissants and their magic practice.

On a slightly different topic: I managed to find a book in the library on codes. I’m nervous to ask anyone about this, in case Clement or Jihei take it away and insist that I’m too young to be in whatever business this letter is about. There is a chance, of course, that it’s just something private with Dorian, but I haven’t had anything this interesting happen in a while! Anyway… I think that the code is a rail cipher! I know I wrote or read something about rail ciphers recently, and I’m digging to try and find it. If any of you could look to see if I posted it somewhere that would be much appreciated!

Hugs,

Elvira