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joelscurls · 5 months

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a heart for melting

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

words: 2.7k

warnings: post-outbreak, implied age gap, themes surrounding child loss and grief, some angst but mostly festive fluff, grumpy x sunshine dynamics (Joel is a grinch & reader loves the holidays), reader is described as having long-ish hair

summary: Jackson's first annual Holiday Market brings about more than just cheer.

a/n: Merry Christmas @thetriumphantpanda; I'm your pedrostories secret santa! I hope you enjoy this lil festive take on grumpy!joel x sunshine!reader — I had lots of fun writing it 🤍🎄 🥧 🪵 🦌

Joel doesn’t want to be here — surrounded by garland and ribbons and so much unadulterated joy, it’s nauseating. No, he was forced to be here.

Please, Ellie had begged, it’ll be good for you to do something other than patrol or drinking with Tommy. Plus, they’re too good to keep to yourself.

They, being wood carvings — the tiny sculptures of deer and bears and birds, tufts of hair and bunches of feathers drawn out of driftwood with the tip of his blade. It was only ever meant to be a hobby, a way to busy his hands after they’d been wrapped around the cold metal of his rifle all day. Something lighter, creative rather than destructive, an act of giving rather than taking.

But sharing them with other people? He hadn’t been interested. Maybe he’d make one for Ellie or Tommy. Wrap it up in a piece of cloth and offer it as a gift for their birthday.

Not that he thought they were any good, really.

With the announcement of Jackson’s first annual Holiday Market, though, came Ellie’s pleading. “I’ll help you,” she’d bargained. “You don’t even have to give me anything!”

“Who said I would anyway?” he’d grumbled, digging his spoon into the bottom of his bowl of stew and sifting out a chunk of meat.

Joel despises the Holiday Season. He’d welcomed its disappearance with the end of the world. Because he had no reason to celebrate, with Sarah gone. Her absence stung like salt in an open wound on any normal day. But on Christmas, memories of her hanging her favorite ornaments on the tree and sneaking one of the cookies baked for Santa burned behind his eyelids. Left him heaving through hot tears.

The holidays had no place in his world, but they certainly had a place in Jackson. The first time he and Ellie had strode through those gates, they’d been met with that damned Christmas Tree, towering over the settlement like a beacon. And he hated it, hated the way it brought about that pounding in his chest and that spinning in his head.

How could anyone find any good in such a poignant reminder of loss?

Tommy says it’s about new beginnings, finding ways to be happy again. And what’s happier ‘n Christmas? God damn Santa Clause, hot chocolate, children singin’ carols?

Still, Joel isn’t convinced — not yet.

Standing across the mess hall, at your table piled high with baked goods, you are far too cheerful. You’re humming some song with a jovial beat, absentmindedly swaying as you rearrange rows of gingerbread and muffins and scones — all of which are draped in white icing, like flocking on Christmas trees. You pause to wish a happy holiday to everyone who passes through.

Joel knows he’s seen you before, flitting in and out of the community’s kitchen, always with that signature smile scrawled across your face.

And god, you’re so bubbly, taking to everyone you meet like a bee to honey, letting them in without a care in the world. Popping from table to table, making sure they have enough to eat. That they’re doing well.

It shouldn’t surprise him that you’re so…spirited, too. You seem to find the good in everyone and everything, after all.

It infuriates him, nonetheless.

Joel groans to himself. Stuffs his hands in the pockets of his jeans as an elderly couple rounds on him.

He grumbles a hello to them when they approach. They offer him half-smiles in return, beginning to pick up some of the carvings laid out on the table — turning them, inspecting them.

“This one’s nice,” the man says to his wife. She hums in agreement.

“You got any tigers?” the man asks.

“Tigers?”

“Yeah — I used to love ‘em as a kid.”

“Got what’s on the table,” Joel grumbles.

“You make ‘em custom? I can offer some homemade jam in return — elderberry.”

Joel sighs in annoyance.

“Don’t make ‘em custom. Got what I got.”

The man seems defeated, nodding and walking off without another word. The woman follows closely behind.

Just as they leave, Ellie appears. She sidles up to Joel and shrugs her jacket off. Pulls a chair up next to him.

“There’s so much cool shit here!” she exclaims, too loud. A judgemental set of eyes flit her direction. She glares right back at them.

“Do you mind?” Joel huffs, jaw ticking.

“Jesus, who pissed in your Cheerios?”

“How do you even know what Cheerios are?”

“Don’t,” she admits. “I read it in a book.”

“Of course you did.”

Ellie leans back in her chair, pulling an apple out of her backpack and biting into it. She shuffles some of the carvings around on the table. “Gotta fill in these gaps, man,” she says, juice dribbling down her chin.

Joel ignores her. He sneaks a glance at you; finds that you’re already looking. Your expression is unreadable, gaze unmoving as he studies you.

Despite your upbeat disposition bothering him, he can’t deny that you’re gorgeous: bright, beckoning eyes, siren-like smile — it’s like you’re peering into his soul.

He didn’t think he still had one of those.

“Dude.” Ellie nudges him. He peels his eyes from you reluctantly. “I asked how many takers you’ve had.”

“Uh.” He pretends to think.

“You have no fucking idea, do you? Too busy staring at that girl.”

“Wasn’t starin’,” he clips defensively.

“No? Well she’s coming over here, man.”

Sure enough, you’re striding right toward him, abandoning your post. Joel barely has time to prepare for impact.

He unconsciously straightens up and pulls his hands out of his pockets. He brushes them on his jeans just as you stop in front of his table.

“Hi there,” you say.

“Hi!” Ellie chimes.

You pick up a carving of a two-headed deer. His favorite.

“This is beautiful,” you coo. “The craftsmanship is lovely.” You’re running a finger along the grooves in the wood, holding the piece delicately in the palm of your hand — as if it’s made of glass, not wood. “You have a real gift…”

“Joel.”

“Joel,” you repeat. He ignores how sweet his name sounds coming out of your mouth. You tell him your name, and it fits you, he thinks. It’s pretty.

“How long have you been making them?”

“Just since I got to Jackson. ‘ts somethin’ to pass the time.”

You nod. Continue scanning over the intricacies of the deer. “I was never much of a baker before I got here, either,” you joke, gesturing back toward your table.

“Good one,” Ellie laughs. “You’re funny — isn’t she funny, Joel?”

In his head, he’s glowering at her. Outwardly, he feigns amusement.

“Real funny.”

“I’d love to see how you make these sometime,” you say, then, placing the deer back on the table gingerly. “Do you have a workshop?”

“In our shed,” Ellie pipes in before he can say anything. “You should come by tomorrow! Joel’s off patrol.”

He shoots her daggers. She pretends not to notice.

“I’d love that! I have to work in the kitchen, though. I could come by after?”

Joel starts to shake his head no. Ellie’s hand wraps around his arm like a vice grip. He stills.

“Sure,” he grits.

“I can bring some pastries, if you’d like.”

“Don’t like sweets.”

“Oh,” you say, a little thwarted, but you’re undeterred. You shift on your feet. Chew your bottom lip. “Well, how about something not sweet, then?”

Your brows lift, narrowed eyes on him as you await a response. Joel still isn’t thrilled about the prospect of a visitor. Really, he doesn’t like anyone on his property that isn’t Ellie, or Tommy and Maria if he’s invited them. But you don’t seem so bad, offering to bring him food.

He can probably deal with your sunny disposition in exchange for a full belly. Lord knows he went too long without that luxury, and he’d be a fool to deny himself of it ever again.

So, he agrees, the garbled sure less than enthusiastic leaving his mouth. Still, you don’t seem too offended. In fact, you smirk at him, wordlessly sauntering back to your table, sneaking glances at him every so often for the remainder of the afternoon.

Sure enough, the next evening, while Joel is whittling in the shed, you show up.

You’re wielding a basket of savory hand pies, as promised, and Joel has to stop himself from drooling. They smell incredible. And they’re still warm, somehow, steam wafting off of them even after your walk here.

“Come in,” he gruffs, his nose following the scent like a dog’s as he trails behind you inside.

His set up is minimal: a rocking chair next to a bench, a couple stools he made for when Tommy comes by to play poker. But his works are scattered throughout, every surface in the small room cluttered with little carvings.

He settles atop one of the stools as you begin to wander around the room, plucking sculptures off shelves and awing at them with such genuine admiration, it causes something to pull in his chest.

Every so often, you make a remark about the details in a piece, how the fur on the deer looks real, how you can practically smell the replica evergreen in your grasp.

And something shifts — carried by your kind words through the stuffy shed.

Taken by the slight lilt in your voice when you speak to him, the almost-shy smile that pulls at the corners of your lips — Joel is attracted to you.

He’s following the line of your neck down to your collarbone, ogling at the exposed skin there when you pick another carving up off the shelf. And he feels guilty — he shouldn’t be looking at you like this. You’re just being nice, being neighborly, and he’s gawking at you like you’d have any interest in him.

No; you’re young, beautiful, could do a lot better than an old grump like him.

He averts his gaze quickly when you suddenly set down the tiny, carved bird that had been in your palm, round the workbench and perch yourself atop the stool next to his. You retrieve a handpie out of the basket and pass it over to him.

“It has braised rabbit and carmelized onions in it,” you explain, taking a bite and letting the steam roll out.

He follows suit and — it tastes just as good as it smells, if not better. He’s salivating again, letting the dough melt in his mouth before swallowing.

The two of you eat in comfortable silence, getting through the entire basket in mere minutes.

When you’re finished, you ask him where he’s from.

The question shouldn’t feel like such a shock to the system. But after a year of being in Jackson, successfully avoiding conversation about his life before the outbreak, it sets off a panging between his eyes, a dull ache in his viscera.

“Texas,” he tells you plainly. “From Austin, originally.”

You nod. And you must be able to tell that he’s not used to talking about himself — by the tick of his jaw or the lack of eye contact — he’s not sure. Because you don’t pry. Instead, you say, “you can ask me something.”

He nods. Thinks on it for a moment.

“When did you arrive here? To Jackson?”

Unlike him, you do not grimace at the intrusion. Instead, you tell him: about your parents, their untimely deaths, the harrowing road that led you here. You do not cry, but Joel can see the pain in your shiny eyes.

It’s inevitable; there isn’t a single person here who hasn’t been dealt a bad hand. But you wear your past like a badge of honor, like you’re still grateful, after it all, to be alive.

Joel envies your tenacity.

So when you ask him about Ellie, if she is his daughter, he lets the walls around him down — just an inch. He doesn’t get upset when he stumbles over his words while telling you about Sarah. He finds comfort in confiding in you, in the way you so attentively listen, quietly nodding along as he recalls his version of the end of the world.

“Thank you,” you say when he’s done, burying his hands back in his pockets.

“For what?”

“For sharing that with me. I know it can be difficult to relive it.”

“I relive it everyday,” he admits. “Everything reminds me of her in one way or another.”

“I understand,” you nod. He believes you do.

So sweet, gaze like honey, you are an enigma to him. He hasn’t met many people who are kind just for the sake of it — not in a long while. Maybe that’s why he’d been so bothered by it at the market. It had felt almost unnatural to him, bound to be laced with an ulterior motive.

He’s still learning how to trust people again. It doesn’t come easily after twenty-odd years of rationing it like the pills he’d stowed. Still, there is something innate about baring his soul to you. Letting you in through the cracks in his battered being. You are safe, he’s sure of it; benevolence radiating from you like warmth.

It drips off your tongue when you ask him to show you how he does his craft — slips down your fluttering lashes. No longer can he deny you of anything — he’s accepted this swiftly — and so he obliges.

A half-whittled fox materializes from his coat pocket, along with his blade. He passes both to you and pulls his stool closer to yours.

He guides you, taking your hand in his, encouraging the press of the blade into the wood. Shows you how to round out a corner with a subtle twist of the knife. You’re a fast learner, Joel notes, attentive, taking every instruction like gospel.

The slow drag of steel, your fingers wrapped tightly around the handle; you’re so focused that you jump slightly when he places a reassuring hand on your knee.

“Doin’ great, darlin’,” he says, and your lips pull around pearlescent teeth. Joel feels as enraptured by you as you do the carving — the loose tendrils of hair that drape over your shoulder, the clinging of cotton to your soft curves. Though he hardened into stone a long time ago, he feels smelted in your presence. So he cannot help it when his fingers begin to drift up your leg, settling at your side as he turns his body toward yours.

The blade stalls, tip still stuck into the wood, puncturing the fox’s non-existent spine, and your face lifts.

“Is this okay?” he whispers. You nod, gaze flickering between his eyes and his lips.

You’re so close like this; Joel can smell the floral perfume dappled along your neck, can feel your warm breath fanning his face. He has half a mind to stop himself from sealing the sliver of distance left between you. But then you’re sighing, placing the blade and the wooden fox on the tabletop. And it’s your turn to guide him — winding your delicate fingers around his wrist and settling his hand at the small of your back.

The air in the tiny workshop grows heavy with unspoken desire, a longing to disrupt; to create. Your body forms to his languidly, arms interlocking behind his neck, fingers weaving in his hair to pull him closer to you. And then your lips press to his — hesitant at first, then not. You drink from each other until you are drunk, breathless and giddy when you separate.

“That was nice,” you whisper, and Joel chuckles.

“Just nice?”

“Great,” you amend. “It was great. Better than I imagined, even.”

“You imagined this?”

“Yes,” you smirk. “On a loop since I first saw you at the market.”

He pulls you back in. Gives you another chaste kiss. “For good measure.”

“Joel,” you say then, “will you and Ellie come by mine on Christmas? I could even cook — it’s just-”

“Yes,” he’s accepting before you can finish. “I’d love that. As long as you make more of those,” he gestures toward the empty basket on the workbench.

“That can be arranged,” you grin.

As soon as you leave that evening — sent off with a goodbye muttered between slotted mouths — Joel starts on your Christmas present.

end notes: thank you for reading! Please consider reblogging or leaving a comment if you enjoyed <3

#joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller oneshot #joel miller x reader #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fic #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal as joel miller #pedro pascal #pedrostoriesgift23 #pedrostories

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sophsiaaa · 2 months

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I've been wanting to make this post for a while so now that I'm on mid-sem break, I will. Let's talk Shigaraki and sex.

NSFW warning??

So, let's get the big question out of the way. Is Shigaraki a virgin?

I think, yes. 100%

However, that is not to say that he is an innocent, oblivious, 'omg what is sex? uwu' baby villain. This guy literally lives in a bar, in a seedy part of the city, and hangs around with criminals. He knows about sex - I daresay he knows quite a bit about it. Besides which, we see in-canon that he has a phone and a PC and access to the internet, so he's hardly sheltered (though, he's definitely sheltered in regard to actual real-life socialisation, but that's another story).

Regardless, I stand by my assertion that he is a virgin.

Exhibit A: Shigaraki is shown very overtly to hate 'basically everything'. Correct me if I'm wrong, but everything encompasses sex/romance/intimacy. His character, especially at the beginning of the story, is prickly, quick-to-frustration, and sort of single-minded. He is driven to complete one narrow goal set by AFO that he believes he wants: to kill All Might. I believe prior to our introduction to Shigaraki, he was much the same, and thus did not seek out sex. Given his hostile and loner-guy nature at the start of the series, I doubt he would have had much in the way of propositions on his occasional solo trip to the mall.

Exhibit B: whilst I have seen it theorised that AFO introduced Shigaraki to sex via getting him a sex worker to 'satisfy his natural urges', personally, I think this theory is unlikely. This is because everything AFO does is to create discomfort and frustration in Shigaraki's life in order to stoke his rage (the guy literally has him wearing dead hands despite the fact that they make Shigaraki simultaneously feel calm and like throwing up). Thus, I doubt AFO would have encouraged Shigaraki to indulge in sexual relief - or any kind of relief - at all. I doubt he would have even explained the birds and the bees and likely pawned that job off onto the doctor or the internet if Shigaraki asked any questions.

So, we've established that Shigaraki's a virgin, and an ultimate hasn't-even-kissed-anyone virgin at that. But does he want to have sex? That big question number 2.

Honestly, I don't think he much cares for it.

It's odd to say given the multitude of what is essentially sex-addict-Shiagraki headcanons out there, but I truly think he doesn't really think about sex. Shigaraki's sex drive is probably quite low. Now, since I'm taking an evidence based approach here, lets go for the obvious evidence that points to him not having much interest in sex and that is the fact that if he was interested in it, Horikoshi would not shy away from showing it. My Hero Academia is not a manga that shies away from the odd bit of fan service or the pervy character. Mineta is - unfortunately - living proof of this. And he's not the only one. Horikoshi writes many of his characters displaying sexual attraction/interest/engagement/awareness at one point or another. So, logically, if Shigaraki was a character who was interested in sex, Horikoshi would show that. Since he doesn't, I can only conclude that sex isn't really a big deal to Shigaraki, or at the very least, not something he thinks about enough for it to show up on-screen.

Now, do I believe that Shigaraki has zero sexual interest? No. I think he's watched porn before, and probably even jerks it every now and then. But do I think he would actively seek out sex? Nah. Honestly, I don't even think he'd go along with sex unless it's with someone he's got a pre-established emotional connection to that's been building for a long time.

Like everything with Shigaraki, I think sex would be intense. By this I mean, he wouldn't be the type to have a casual one-night-stand or a friends-with-benefits fling. If he's in it, his heart's in it. Because he is so angry and destructive, Shiagraki often gets mischaracterised as heartless and deliberately cruel (this is a conversation for a separate post), but in reality, he cares a lot about certain things and puts his all into them. With sex, he would have to care about the who for the what to matter.

In conclusion - Shigaraki's well aware that BDSM doesn't stand for Bible Discussion/Study Meeting, but he's also a virgin loser who would not pin you up against the wall and have his way with you in a dark alley.

#shigaraki tomura #bnha shigaraki #bnha #shigaraki tenko #shigaraki x reader #bnha fanfiction #tomura shigaraki #mha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #headcanon #headcannons #smut #shigaraki headcanons

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sapphire-writes · 3 months

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Beneath the Cherry Tree

pairing: Helaena x Reader

summary: Helaena and her lady sneak away to the gardens.

word count: 700

warnings: 18+ sapphic smut (fingering/oral)

a/n: feeling very sapphic! suprise! thanks @hotd-bigbang for inspiring this smutty little slice. enjoy! moodboard by my ride or die @undertheorangetree

The gardens were her favorite place in the Keep. Though her mother found solace in the silence of the Sept, Helaena was most at peace in the sunshine.

The chatter of birds, the buzzing of bees, the sunlight warming her face as she lay beneath her favorite tree. Here beneath the cherry tree, she was almost floating, not laying, on the cushion of soft green grass. A warm breeze rolled through, sending the pale pink blossoms shivering above her on their thin branches.

A sharp bolt of pleasure ran through her body, anchoring her to this world. A gasp slipped through her rosy lips as her gaze traveled down to the figure at work between her legs. Skirt bunched to her waist, she’d come to the gardens with her favorite lady in waiting nearly half an hour earlier.

Giggling they’d escaped the lessons with their Septa, nearly bored to tears. All Helaena’s doing of course. Hands laced together they’d made their way deep into the gardens before collapsing into a heap of skirts and kisses beneath Helaena’s cherry tree.

It didn’t take long for those sweet kisses to become more urgent, more desperate.

“Oh,” Helaena sighed, as her lady’s tongue traced circles around her pearl. “Gods above.”

Her lady hummed, hands squeezing the soft flesh of Helaena’s thighs, holding them apart as she began to tremble with her imminent release approaching. When she is finally thrown from the precipice of pleasure Helaena bites the back of her hand to silence the pitiful wail that escapes her.

Her lady hums, purring like a pleased kitten as she places soft kisses on Helaena’s sensitive cunny before lifting herself on her haunches.

She smiles at the princess and her blissed-out expression, crawling on top of her and placing another kiss on her pretty pink lips. Helaena moans in satisfaction at the taste of herself on her ladies’ tongue, nipping at her lower lip.

Her lady sighs contentedly, rolling to lay beside her princess.

“It is a pretty tree,” she murmurs, as Helaena props herself on her elbow, stroking her cheek as she lies beside her.

“It's my favorite,” Helaena murmurs, though she is not looking up at the pink blossoms. She leans forward, placing a chaste kiss on her lady’s mouth.

“Is it?” her lady asks, breath hitching as Helaena’s fingers trail down the side of her neck, dancing down her collarbone and over the swell of her breasts.

Helaena wordlessly nods her head.

“Mother shall be looking for me,” she says with a soft sigh, her fingers trailing the front of her lady’s corset, down further as she bunches the edges of her skirt in her fist. She tugs the material upwards before releasing it from her grasp, hand trailing up the softness of her companion’s thighs.

“She’ll not be pleased.”

“I suppose we should be on our way then,” her lady says, breath hitching on the final word as Helaena’s delicate fingers reach her smallclothes.

“I suppose,” Helaena says, pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth as her fingers sneak beneath her smallclothes. “Just another moment.”

Her companion’s back arches off the soft grass as Helaena’s fingers sink inside her, a dreamlike smile appearing on the princess’s face at that sound of pleasure that leaves her lips.

Her fingers crook upwards and she hums in satisfaction as her lady squeezes her eyes shut.

It doesn’t take long, nor does it ever, for Helaena to push her toward release. Soon her thighs clamp together and a curse escapes her as Helaena silences her cry of pleasure with a kiss.

“I love you,” the dragon princess sighed when their lips finally parted. She cozies up to her companion, bringing her fingers to her mouth to savor the sweetness of her release.

Her lady turns to her, pulling her fingers from her mouth.

“Don’t do that,” she murmurs, eyes downcast in shyness.

“Why not?” Helaena insists, “You’re sweeter than lemon cakes.”

“Hush,” her lady scolds, but a pleased smile adorns her face.

Helaena turns on her back again, gazing up at the tree with pink petals.

“I love you too,” her companion says softly, fingers intertwining with Helaena’s.

The princess simply smiles.

“I know.”

~~~~

link to other stories from me!

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#hotd spring prompts 24 #helaena x you #helaena x reader #helaena x y/n #helaena targaryen #helaena targaryen x reader #helaena the dreamer #helaena fic #hotd helaena #hotd fic #smut #hotd smut #smut fic #helaena fluff #fluff #fluff and smut

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groversimp · 3 months

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need “hits different”!😭😭😭

Hits Different

part one (Nothing Has Ever Felt So Wrong)

part two (Hits Different)

part three (The Way I Loved You) || not out yet!

part four (Foolish One) || not out yet!

decided to be a good author and answer these requests for Hits Different because it’s been FOREVER 😿

warnings: ANGST, bruh reader needs to stop mourning, also we’re bringing in an oc dude, I love love love Shiloh 😽

You hated Clarisse La Rue.

You hated her stupid her, her deep-brown eyes. You hated the scarred hands you once held in yours, the ones you used to cherish. You’d kiss her palms and tell her she’s not a monster. Not to you.

Yet, you were the one left burned. Scarred and blistering from the scalding touch of her soul.

Her and Silena sit on the benches only a few, short feet from you. Weaving bracelets together at their arts n’ crafts lesson, the initials of the other carved into the beads.

You mope with your siblings, firmly avoiding Silena’s pointed and snarky looks. She wasn’t a bad person, you knew that. She was just in love.

You were just in love.

It was sickening. You had tried and tried to wash yourself clean of her- to allow the flowing rain to make yourself new, but it only left you rugged and dripping, a walking storm cloud. The midnight rain you sat in did little to heal the gaping wound in your heart, beating like a war-cry of Clarisse’s.

“Hey, Y/N.” You hear a voice, smooth and soft like the cooling tide of the lake.

You’ve never really noticed Shiloh, the boy who had just approached you and taken the liberty to sit next to you. A son of the minor god, Dinlas.

Most would think he’d be rough and hateful, but he was honestly very sweet. Carrying himself with nothing but loyalty and understanding- though, the Greek-fire burned beneath his green eyes to not challenge him.

“Oh,” you say quietly. “Hey.” Your voice is just as soft, but quieter. You don’t take up any space, just uselessly flowing like a spring shower.

You two continued to talk, the fierce glare sent his way from Clarisse went unnoticed by him. And the butterflies you got from her two-second attention were too addicting to not give into. Spurring the conversation on and on, it almost felt natural.

He walked you back to your cabin, leaving you with a kiss on the cheek and a sinking feeling in your stomach. The cabin door quietly shut behind you- how dare you? He shouldn’t have been that close to begin with, now this?

You can almost feeling the punches Clarisse would throw at him, wincing at the idea of faux injuries.

Would she still do that for you, would she care?

You cared, you thought as you climb into your bed. Not bothering to clean up for campfire or looking up as your siblings file into the cabin.

The only thing that felt right was to sob into the stuffed bear Clarisse gave you for your 5-month anniversary. The weak punches your fist throws to the bed are pitiful; they’d make a puppy laugh. But, how can you bring yourself to be strong when you feel so deeply?

The bed dips and you don’t need to look up to know who it is- your sister, Astilbe, shushes you softly and places a hand on the small of your back. It reminds you of Clarisse, caring and possessive. You only cry more.

“Y/N,” she says- voice chipper as the morning birds, though the pity is evident. “Love is a lie, you’ll be alright.”

A sob wrecks through you again, almost like a quiet scream.

“She was good, Bee.” You tell her. “There was good in her.”

You pay no mind to her disagreements, only sitting up to place your face in the small of her neck and crying harder.

This wasn’t normal, this wasn’t right. You’ve aways been one to move on quickly, staining your exes with a maroon, star-painted sky. You leave with only the memories and their dignity.

That was who you are. Over-confident, ‘manic pixie dream girl’, draining Y/N.

But that’s why she loved you. Ever-burning, violent, dangerous Clarisse.

That’s why she chose you. Why you chose her.

You’d go insane if you kept thinking like this, but for her- you’d do it all.

#pjo fandom #pjo x reader #pjoverse #clarisse la rue #clarisse la rue x reader #pjo clarisse #clarisse pjo #percy jackson fandom

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tendermiasma · 2 months

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Just curious based on the spicy drawings of clover and halsin.

How did Halsin react when Clover agreed to do the bird and bees with him? And what was going through both their minds?

Additional question: did he accidentally turn into a bear the first time from being to excited or that didn't happen for them?

Love this question-- so it was something they approached a few times during the nights they slept together, but he would be Clover's first and he was without any experience at all so the thought of intimacy was too intimidating. He'd often pull away completely when he felt them falling into that unfamiliar territory. Halsin didn't push; he would ask and try to make him as comfortable as possible, but he just wanted to keep him close above anything else. It was a while after he started slipping in after the fire was put out to be with Halsin that Clover let him lay him down on the blankets in his tent-- Clover's mouth was dry and he was sure Halsin could hear his heartbeat that seemed to shake his body. But he wanted Halsin's hands and his weight and his mouth in the fragmented, abstract way he thought of them, apprehensively and untethered to any reference of what they might actually do to him. And it was true, Clover betrayed himself completely to Halsin, who was just so elated that he would trust him. He did everything he could to make him feel safe and assured.

They didn't start with the full experience, though. They had plenty to explore in the meantime, which was good for Clover and, although Halsin wanted to very much, truthfully he was afraid of hurting him since he had a little extra going on. But when it shows up, rut's gonna rut and make everything that much worse, especially when he's already around someone he's deeply attached to. He felt out of control. Halsin thought he could grit his teeth and sweat it out for Clover's sake but he grossly misjudged. He did his best to explain things-- the possessiveness, the aggression, why he struggled and failed to fight down aspects of the bear, the way his hands shook when he touched Clover-- while working off exactly one crispy deep-fried brain cell that was just fully driven to madness by that point. Clover wanted to help but there wasn't a lot he could have done to actually be prepared for that, and Halsin was as gentle as could be expected of him. It was entirely overwhelming but that was the closest they'd ever felt :)

#nsft #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #cloverhoney #asks #I roll them up and smoke them I fear #you guys are really mean for asking me questions that compel me to write a little when you know I can't do that

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elliotsblunt · 12 days

Text

Girl in New York | 5

pairings - art donaldson/reader | challengers au! |

“_ _" = Y/N

masterslist | next chapter | last chapter

sypnosis - you have lunch with Art’s girlfriend and your parents….

warnings - messy blowjobs, dirty talk, slut shaming, cheating, voyuerism

word count - 2k

You and Art….came to an understanding.

It was odd. Although it was winter—the sun was shining today. White shorts hugged your hips, showing off the curve of your ass. A black tank top let your breasts spill out just enough without flashing the entire tennis club. Birds chirped at the sudden heat, spreading their wings and able to fly away from their problems.

Sweat had gathered at the top of Art’s lip as he drank from his hydro. You two had agreed to meet on Fridays instead. He hadn’t mentioned what occurred Sunday night, diving right into your usual routine. The both of you had just finished an hour long practice—but Art didn’t seem it was long enough. “Let’s go again.”

You groaned, throwing your head back before plopping down onto one of the chairs. There were a ton of tables since there was a food court nearby and people liked to judge the players while stuffing themselves. “My legs are killing me. Can’t we just wait until tomorrow?” You kicked your legs onto another chair, looking up at him. “Matter of fact, let’s get ice cream. I’m craving it.”

“You should lay off the carbs,” Art placed his hands onto his hips, raising a brow at you. Something glinted in his eyes. “It could mess with your cardio.”

You sleep with a guy once and he thinks he could tell you what to eat.

“Whatever. I’ll get it myself.”

Art lit a cigarette, “Least you’ll be getting off your ass.”

You pushed yourself off the chair and hit his shoulder whilst passing him. As if you hadn’t just spent the last hour aggressively dodges Art’s stroke’s. You were pretty sure there were three bruises on your knee from falling to strike back. And on top of that, the concealer you applied on your neck to cover his hickeys was melting off. It was fucking December—why was it ninety degrees?

Bees buzzed around lavender colored flowers. You spotted around the corner the food truck. A familiar pair of pretty brown eyes and a charming smile popped into view. Humming to yourself, excitement flourished within you, approaching him. “Oh hey—it’s you again,” his brown orbs not so swiftly racked up and down your figure. “I was gonna text you but my phone broke. It like won’t turn on…it’s a piece of shit.”

You raised your brows, “Can’t even trust your own phones these days to not cockblock you.”

He laughed, “Literally. What can I get you? On the house.”

“A chocolate ice cream on a cone, please.”

A wink was thrown your way—shooting right down into your core. But his eyes didn’t swirl with the same hungerness as Art. This was more like desire…curiosity. It didn’t feel as exhilarating as tossing flirty banger with the gorgeous blonde. This guy was younger, and seemed like he tried too hard to impress you. Whereas Art didn’t give a fuck what you thought, he still said it regardless.

It didn’t irritate you that he wasn’t acknowledging the situation. All you knew was that it surely wasn’t a one time thing. Whether he expects it or not, he’ll eventually give in. And if he didn’t—you wished to savor his taste on your tongue for as long as possible.

“Here ya go, gorgeous.”

You snapped out your daze. There was a cutie in front of you—and were off thinking about Art. Get it together _ _.

He handed you the vanilla cone. There were sprinkles on top of the perfectly scooped ice cream. But before you could thank him, Art grabbed your arm, pulling you away from the guy. You knitted your brows, “Art what the f—thanks uh, Chase! Or Chad!”

“It’s Chris. How do you flirt with guys you don’t even know,” Art eyed you from the corner of his eye, not fully turning his head. Once you two got far enough, you tugged from his grip.

Your eyes narrowed into daggers. “Says the guy who cheated on his girlfriend.”

That shut him up. Ignoring the non-staggering death stare he was burning into the you—you licked at your ice cream. His eyes focused on the way the tip of your tongue twirled around the cream. “Perhaps I should’ve went with vanilla,” you tasted, locking eyes with his. They were hooded and cloudy, drinking in every movement you made with your mouth. No longer thinned into knives penetrating your skull.

And then it flew out your hand. You’re ice cream.

“What the fuck, Art—“

“Get behind that wall,” he sneered, shoving you anyways. You almost tripped before his hands pushed your shoulders downwards—guiding you to your knees. When you got the message, your eyes rounded up at him. “Art—we’re at the club. Your girlfriend—“

His fingers gripped your chin in a bruising hold. Taking out his cock with the other hand by pulling his sports shorts down, he then tapped the pink top onto your bottom lip. “Don’t mention her before I’m about to throat fuck you,” he smirked, before watching his head vanish between your lips. A salty undertone filled your taste buds, his thick head pulsing on your slippery tongue. Your eyes don’t leave his as you hummed, savoring the taste of his pre-cum. Sucking and swirling with your mouth, and jerking the rest with your hand, you put yourself to work.

His hips harshly snapped into your mouth. Art’s eyes were barely open, bliss taking over his features.

You couldn’t get enough of him. You wanted to see him break above you. Moaning around his dick, you felt it twitch in the warm walls of your mouth— before more of his salty liquid dribbled out. Signaling he was getting close already, your wrists began to twist the base of his cock. A patch of blonde hairs resided above it. He held his shirt up with one hand, holding the back of your head with another.

“Fuck, that’s it. Take it all like a good fucking girl.”

Sticking out your tongue, you continued to jerk off his huge cock. “I’m gonna—fuck—“

His cock twitched, blue eyes boring into your wicked ones—taking everything he had to offer. The liquid shot out all over your tongue, and on the ground.

“We would like to meet your instructor.”

You almost dropped your spoon, choked on your mashed potatoes, and screamed at the top of your lungs. Perhaps your mother had gone crazy. She took a sip of wine, shrugging her shoulders at your father. “She seems passionate about Tennis. It seems as if he inspired this newfound hobby.”

Oh…you have no idea.

“We’ll come watch you play next week. It’s set,” your father nodded, taking a bite of steak. A know it all look crossed his features. “You know—I used to dabble in the sport back in high school…”

You tuned out your father out.

Your parents were going to meet Art?

This could not fucking happen.

“How ya doing? I’m Bradford Smith, and this is my wife—Fiona Smith. _ _’s mother.”

Art’s eyes flew over to you. The sun shined without mercy, the tight long-sleeve that covered your tits due to your parent’s presence making you itchy. And to make matters worse, a high pitched hello sounded from behind. A pair of blonde pigtails came into view, and as soon as she spotted you, her arms clung to Art. “_ _! What a surprise! Speaking of those—I was planning on surprising Art. I didn’t know you were bringing your family as well.”

You laughed in disbelief that this was all happening. “Well isn’t that just strawberries and confetti throw up fun.”

Art sent you a behave look, earning an eye roll from yourself. Your mother chuckled, probably just as confused as everyone else, “_ _ wants to show us what the two of you have been working so hard doing.”

“I love watching you play, baby. Let’s do it!” La-la loopsie cheers, clapping her hands excitedly. You refrain from rolling your eyes again, grabbing your racket from the table and heading to the court. You overhead your mom tell your dad that Art’s girlfriend was cute—leading you to make a disgusted sound and warm up.

Art bounces his ball of the ground before hitting it with the racket. Just how you liked it. He started out aggressive, but you expected that, hitting it with yours quickly. The both of you dove into your skills, hearing your current audience clap every once in a while.

After about thirty minutes, you began to grow winded, and called for a break. Your father ended up talking to Art about his old tennis team. Surprisingly, the two got along—sharing a few chuckles here and there. Tiffany kept kissing your mother’s ass, asking her about the mug’s she liked to design. Just from listening to the conversation, you began to grow nauseous.

“I’m getting slushie,” you muttered, walking away from the scene. But before you could get too far, Art overheard you—his head whipping away from your still speaking father.

“I’m actually thinking about getting something too. I’ll go instead,” he offers, Tiffany noticing his sudden interest. You knit your brows together.

“I got it.”

“No seriously. I’m good friends with the dude anyway.”

“Chad?” You raise your brows, causing him to send you a glare before walking away. Tiffany followed him—wearing a painted smile. You thought the encounter was weird, but before you could think too deep into it, your mother pulled you aside.

“You should wear longer skirts, _ _.”

“Mom—I’m an adult. Please.”

Your father kissed the side of your head, “Why don’t the five of us have some lunch. There’s a cafe right there. Go let your friends know and we’ll grab a table.”

Before you could reply, they walked away to find a spot. Tiffany and Art returned back, him handing you a cherry slushie. “It was all they had.”

“That cashier guy asked about you. Is he like, your boyfriend?” Tiffany asks, sipping your Diet Coke. You didn’t see the point in diet anything if there was no sugar. It made everything taste a million times better.

Art pressed his lips together. You shrugged, sipping your slushie. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” your tone was uninterested. Being in the same vicinity made your blood boil. She had the ability to kiss him in broad daylight—and didn’t even take advantage of it. No wonder Art came to you for his sexual needs. It seemed like she was plain and simple. If a boy likes you, date him. If he doesn’t, run away.

She doesn’t know how to take care of someone like Art. Someone like you.

“Anyways,” you look at your nails, tension in the air. “My parents what us to have lunch together. I can tell them you guys are busy.”

“No that sounds fun!” Tiffany chimes in, holding onto Art’s arm again. His eyes slightly widen, face paling into a white sheet. He ground his jaw.

“I’m actually really tire—“

Tiffany tugged on his arm, whining in a tone that made you want to pierce your ears. “Please babe…”

“Yeah,” you smirk, thinking of a fun idea. Art’s eyes instantly met yours, a worried look crossing his features. While his girlfriend was looking at him, your tongue poked out and swirled around the straw—his teeth gritting at the sight. You noticed his fists ball at his sides. Tiffany looks at you, beaming excitedly. You send her a fake smile,

“You should taste this slushie I had last week. It was super creamy.”

“Alright let’s go.” Art grabs Tiffany, dragging her over to find your parents. You giggle to yourself, enjoying seeing him flustered.

“My mother is a Stanford graduate. That’s actually where Art and I met.”

Tiffany wouldn’t stop rambling about the history of her and Art. It was driving you literally insane. Your father helped himself to his club sandwich, barely listening to what she was even saying. Your mother on the other hand was absolutely ecstatic for the couple, sharing her own experiences about meeting your father.

You picked at your salad, glancing at the fair haired boy. He had been sipping his coffee—clearly uncomfortable with this entire situation. You decided to tease him a bit, taking advantage of the fact that you were seated beside him. Brushing your heel against his calf, he suddenly jerked, catching the attention of everyone at the table.

He cleared his throat, “Uh—a bee. It flew away.”

“Right. You remember that time we went to Cuba for that tournament, sweetie.”

He hummed, pulling out a cigarette from his back pocket. Tiffany made a face, “If you’re going smoke, at least go to the parking lot. Everyone’s eating.”

Jesus. What a bitch.

“I don’t mind,” your mother placed her hand on Tiffany’s. She smiled warmly at Art afterwards. “Bradford used to chain smoke those things until I eased him off then. Looks like we’ll have to do the same thing to you.”

Art returned her smile, ignoring Tiffany’s eye roll, sparking the cigarette. “_ _. Tell them about how you used to dance in the bathroom with my old tennis racket. It was the cutest thing. She’d be naked—“

“Actually, I’m gonna spark one up too. I’ll go to the parking lot though so no one complains.”

“I’ll come with you,” Art shot up, offering a nervous smile to everyone. “I just—feel so guilty.”

“Okay kids. We’ll be here.”

“What the fuck, _ _?”

You never thought it would be so hilarious to see someone smoking a cigarette whilst looking immensely frazzled. As soon as the two of you reached the back parking lot, out of sight of people, Art let you know how he truly felt. Fortunately, you weren’t in much of a talkative mood, so you listened patiently whilst finishing your cigarette.

“Not only are your parents here—but your mom loves my girlfriend. This fucked situation just got entirely more fucked.” He ran a hand through his light strands, pacing back and forth.

“I hate when she does shit like this.”

“Who?” You mumbled, leaning your back against the wall.

“Tiff!” His hands flew in the air, shaking his head. “She always pops up unannounced. I hate that kind of shit. She has no respect for my time nor schedule. I mean—what makes her think she can crash my lesson? “

“Why are you even with her?”

Art looked at you with a sudden calmness. It was as if your words urged him to think.

“I….don’t know.”

That made you pause. The cigarette burnt as the both of you stared at one another. For the first time, he was expressing his feelings. It was different than usual. “She doesn’t let you breathe. You’re a free soul, and she wants to keep it caged. You won’t stay with her for long. It’s only a matter of time.”

“I guess I like her company. She’s always there for me when I need it,” he shrugged, standing beside you. He looked away from you, “But if it came to actually being in love with her—I couldn’t tell you. She doesn’t accept me for me.”

“Then she’s a fucking idiot,” you smirk, “—because you’re like…kinda cool I guess.”

His eyes twinkled, your gaze meeting once again. You smirk was met by a sheepish smile from him.

“You’re pretty aggressive, you know that?”

“You love it.”

His eyes fell to your lips. “We should stop sneaking around, _ _. This is going too far.”

You laughed, throwing the cigarettes off the ground before crushing it with your heel. “C’mon, lover boy.”

#mike faist fic #mike faist fanfic #mike faist smut #mike faist #patrick zweig challengers #challengers fanfic #challengers fic #challengers smut #mike faist imagine #art donaldson smut #art donaldson #art donaldson imagines #art Donaldson blurbs

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evenmorefatallyobsessed · 5 months

Text

Aloe AU Concept

Julius Miles Arc was not a dull man, however he was known to make the occassional mistake. Deciding to follow the tradtions of his family in teaching their male heirs the way of the Birds & Bee... Was perhaps the biggest of said blunders.

In his defense it was how his father taught him, so yes, he would admit, after a spledid camping trip he may have brought his son to the redlight district of Mistral's lower ring.

He was not however about to risk his son's safety, no Jaune was to become a man, so he would become one in the greatest brothel he could find.

Lien was for once not a concern as he was willing to shell out as much as needed to make sure Jaune left the occassion filled with a new life experience and just as much pride.

The place was spledid, and the women exceptional, why, if he didn't have a wife was was almost constantly breaking his pelvis he might've been tempted.

And his boy had his pick of the lot of them, oh how the other men waiting to buy their own time one of said women. Having to wait till his son had made his choice, Julius having put down extra so Jaune could quite literally have his pick.

He would admit to being suprised... Afterall he did not think his son would pick the Receptionist... He didn't mean to sound rude but well... She did look rather worn-out and... 'Experienced' even compared to most courtesans.

His reason was that the woman Aloe, was 'very pretty' he'd admit her eyes were a darwing shade of burgendy, or would've been where they not so off puttingly dull and and her hair messy and unkempt as it was was a unique green...

Though the real reason was obvious as Jaune's eyes flickered between the Faunus woman's damaged but still pretty insteactoid wings and massive, swelling breast. One appealed to his innocent nature, the other to his developing masculine desires.

The Receptionist, surprisingly enough actually agreed, despite no longer working as a escort.

And it had been set, Jaune had left with her confused, flustered and embaressed, and come back a little more brave and proud of himself, a bit of confidence clear in his eyes and a pep in his step...

Is what should have occured...

No, no, no... Instead they could quite literally hear his son becoming a man. Aloe as it turned out had chosen a room without soundproofing, seemingly she was well known for her pranks and lack of shame.

He stood there, with the women and other customers... Listening, it should've been only a half hour at most... It had been several. And that wasn't even the worst of it.

It was not how the other men had gone from snickering at his son for his inexpereince to looking ashamed of themselves as they heard the woman two hours later actually moaning, yelling and even begging his son's name.

It hadn't been the way the women had approached him hoping to see if the dad was as good as his genius soin apparently. No... It was when Jaune spoke.

When his little, innocent, naive son told the woman she would be his wife. When he told her to have his children...

He knew then, he fucked up, because a Arc went back on their word, even in the heat of passion.

-0-0-0-

Jaune woke up as the bullhead finally landed, his head in his wives lap, Aloe, one a Mistralian prostitute, turned receptionist then turned mother of his son and daughter. Jaune got up stretching, ignoring the people looking at him, or to be more precise his wife. A mother Aloe might be, but reserved she was not. Wearing a eye catching and frankly slutty outfit.

On some level he knew it was bad, but hey, if she followed the norm they would've never met right... His dad would've never trained him, after he asked him to so he could protect his family. Jaune might've tried sneaking into Beacon frankly.

But now he didn't even need to do that, heck a part of him didn't even want to be a Huntsman, he had children to raise, and provide for. A wife to love, he'd be content living the life of a farmer, and Aloe could accept that, but... She'd made it clear that he shouldn't just settle for a average life.

So he was here, trying to live out his childhood dream, at the very least she was right if he could fight off Grimm better the family would be safer, and Anself could always use another huntsman...

Girls cooed and awe'd at his children, Teal and Jasmine were adorble after all, his son having a pair of antenna and just the prettiest blue eyes in the whole wide world. His toddler Faunus son was too much for the girls to endure the cuteness of.

His daughter though was off limits, little jasmine, four months old, and looking every bit like a little precious fairy plucked straight outta the fairytales. Some might have worried he would've dropped her while he sleep, but that was never gonna happen. Getting outta the bullhead he manged to catch a girl getting... Blown up.

He really couldn't help himself, handing Aloe Jasmine before he went off to check the occurance, finding a girl in the crater. And like that he made a new friend.

Later he met a icy bitch who made a comment on his wife being a Filthy Faunus Harlot! Oh Hell No was some freaking Schnee gonna talk shit about his family!

-0-0-0-

Aloe would've never considered something like this in the cards for her. Motherhood, happily married, a life with litte to no worries... But that's exactly was exactly the life she was living.

She owed Jaune, no her husband everything, she was under no delusions, wasn't obssessed with him... Well, unwarrentldly obssessed, no, Jaune Arc had earned he devotion.

She knew what she was, who she was, and where she came from, she, was a whore, born in the lowest cast in Mistral at the ditrest corners of it's city. A Faunus with a impossible to hide trait filled in a den of raciest. Her mom having died, maybe from a overdose, possibly by a scored customer or maybe even at the hand of her own pimp.

She didn't really remember, she was too little to really recall.

But it left her to raise herself, and in that sorta enviorment you could only really do one thing. So she did, she sold herself, and she sold herself well. moving up and outta the lowest ring to just a low one, choosing a brothel she could trust. Making a life for herself that didn't make her crave death like so many of the others in her line of work.

No, she simply didn't care about anything, about herself... About her waste of a life, she was as content as street trash could be. At least their had been moments of bliss, thankfully her pipe was her only drug, she wasn't into harder stuff like others had been.

She was... content to just die like that, not live, what she did was difently not living.

Not until that little boy on the cusp of manhood came into her life and picked her. It still brought a smile to her face, his cute flustered expression.

His innocents and affection.

He didn't see her for what she was, didn't see the worn-out, used-up animal whore her other customers had saw before she moved unto introducing the girls instead of serving herself up. He saw a pretty lady, to naive to see her for what she was, and that... that was enough for her to wanna play with him.

Only they didn't just play, Jaune had said some interesting things to her, not anything she hadn't heard before mind you. When you could change your body size to the point where you looked like a actual fairy guys tended to say a lot. Espeically when you could could become a vice tighter then any other. But Jaune was to honest to mean anything but exactly what he was saying.

And when his father explained their families motto... Well, she always did have a eye for good oppertunities, just a lack of chances to take any. And now she was happy, happier then she had any right to be. With a home, a future and family, she could be content with that.

With teasing, and being bred by her husband while the other men in the village looked at her with desire while she brutally and slying ruined their lives for it. But, Jaune deserved more, he'd stepped up at every corner and then some. Learned to farm, to fight from his dad and even learning how to lead the village for the eventual day he had to step up.

He even learned about Faunus rights, and the struggles her people went though... He actually knew more about her people and culture then she did now. The idea of his son and daughter living in a world where they could be discrimnated against seeming to infuriate him.

She, she loved him, not at first, but it had happened fast... So much so she wanted to give back. And this was how, by supporting the dream he never talked about, that she knew he'd be more then willing to throw away for his family.

And well that wasn't all... She was getting up their in years, she was closer to his moms age then his after all... And Mistral had plenty of different life styles then simple monogomy. If some of those sorry excuses for men could have a mistress or three why shouldn't Jaune. Ture, he would never cheat on her, but she had plans around that, Huntsman fought side by side, grew close as family.

If she worked her magic maybe she could make certain... Arrangements, and beside she already had candidate or two. The blonde with breast as big as her own who went all dowey eyed over her babies, her kid sister who he was fast friends with. The 'Secretly' Faunus who looked at her and Jaune warmly as he lovingly cared for his Faunus kid. Not to even mention the spartan and literal bunnygirl

Heck maybe she was reading to much into it but even the Schnee seemed to be a bit to intense with Jaune when they argued. Maybe she could get her dear husband a personal, private and exclusive brothel of his own. Filled with girls who'd just love to be his personal whores.

#jaune arc #aloe #au concept

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redlittlefoxari · 6 months

Text

Astarion Epilogue : An Adventure in Making Life: Chapter Three: All the Stars In the Sky

Fandom: Baldur's Gate (Video Games)

Relationships: Astarion X Tav

Astarion (Baldur's Gate)/Original Female Character(s)Astarion/Tav (Baldur's Gate)Astarion (Baldur's Gate)/ReaderAstarion & Tav (Baldur's Gate)Astarion/Charname (Baldur's Gate)Astarion (Baldur's Gate)/Original Character(s)

Characters: Astarion (Baldur's Gate)Karlach (Baldur's Gate)Gale (Baldur's Gate)Wyll (Baldur's Gate)Shadowheart (Baldur's Gate)Lae'zel (Baldur's Gate)Tav (Baldur's Gate)Jaheira (Baldur's Gate)

Master List

Warning: Angst, Pregnancy, NSFW 18+, Fluff, Smut, Blood, violence.

Summary: Tav (You) and Astarion talk about the prospects of raising a half vampire child. *This chapter contains smut*

The both of you stared at Jaheira in confused silence mouth a jar but no words flowing from them. Shock rippled through your body as her words finally hit some point of understanding within you. You were pregnant, and Astarion was the father. Astarion, a vampire spawn sired the child that is now growing inside you.

“That is not possible.” Astarion broke the silence. “I can’t have children I’m a Vampire spawn.”

“It seems that your master never gave you the talk about the birds and the bees while he was alive.” Jaheira smiled at Astarion's statement. “Though I don’t think he kept you fed enough for that to be a problem.

“What do you mean?” You finally broke your silence.

“The body of a vampire is still not yet explored fully but what we do know is that if a vampire has fed enough and is sated their hunger, they are able to produce a child with a living humanoid creature.” Jaheira moved away from you and approached Astarion, who looked at you as if you were a new creature entirely.

“Hold on.” You moved to sit at the side of your bed but felt too weak to do so.

“Careful. You will be on bed rest for a couple of days until we can get your strength up.” Jaheira tapped Astarion on his shoulder to break him out of his self-induced trance. “I need you to come back to us.”

Astarion nodded. “Of course, I’m just trying to piece everything together. I thought babies ate nutrients from whatever the mother ate, why did you feed her your blood?”

“What do you think a half-vampire would eat Astarion?” Jaheira looked entirely like a mother teaching two teenagers about sex ed for the first time.

The question didn’t need an answer but you all thought it. blood. Specifically the blood of the person who was carrying it. The dizziness that you had felt over the last couple of days coupled with not eating anything contributed to you passing out. You had become extremely anemic as your body could not resupply itself with blood. The baby was eating you alive.

A half-vampire baby probably ate solid food as well but you had been starving yourself for a week since you didn’t want to get sick in front of Astarion. In hindsight, you should have just gotten sick in front of him and found out what was going on sooner. It would have been a pain to have Astarion fuss over you, but that meant he cared deeply for you.

It suddenly dawned on you how much of a miracle this pregnancy would be. Elves already didn’t get pregnant easily. For an elf to have a child someone had to die. All elves were reincarnated after passing because there were only a certain number of elves' souls in the world. On top of that vampires weren’t known for siering children. The only way you knew of them ‘having children’ was when a vampire lord made spawn. But spawn were mostly considered slaves that did their master's bidding only using children as a thinly veiled way of making what they were doing justifiable.

“In any case, you two need to talk and I need to ready some herbs for you to take.” Jaheira’s voice broke your train of thought.

“What herbs?” Your voice held a note of concern. Would these herbs be for neutering or purging?

“That depends on the two of you.” She looked between the two of you. Astarion eyes never left you and his long piercing stare was beginning to make you uncomfortable. “What kind would you like me to prepare?”

The question sounded so innocent, but behind the words, there was a whole host of things unsaid. You met Astarion’s gaze for the first time since you heard the news of what was now growing inside you and you couldn’t read his expression. Something behind his eyes was working you could see his mind thinking a mile a minute trying to take in what was going on and what this meant for yours and his future.

“Can you give us some time alone Jaheira?” You asked just a courtesy Jaheira was already making her way to the door.

“Of course, the two of you have much to discuss….” You watched as she looked at you and then to Astarion who was still frozen and at a loss for words at the moment which didn’t happen very often. “I’ll go get you two something to… eat that should give you plenty of time to chat.”

You nodded your head at her and she opened the front door and walked out onto the street towards what you assumed would be a butcher. Leaving you alone with the shocked love of your life. You took a deep breath and let the breath out of your lungs loudly and slowly.

“Astarion… Come back to me.” You hadn’t had to say those to him in a long time. You still remember when your relationship was new, and there were times when he would be making love to you and his eyes would glaze over and it was as if he was a million miles away. You would place a hand on his cheek to ground him back to this plain and say those words. The lovemaking would often stop after he returned to you but that didn’t bother you. He was all that mattered to you and you would take him sex or no sex.

This time, your hand was not on his face to ground him but your words were all it took to bring him back. Astarion blinked twice trying to return moisture to his eyes. With a quick shake of his head, his silver curls becoming wild and loose. He moved towards you and sat at the side of the bed taking your hands in his.

“This is all quite a shock isn’t it darling.” Astarion looked into your eyes, which were full of concern. “What do you want to do?”

“I don’t know Astrion… I never pictured myself having children even before you entered my life.” The last part of your words were important. It was important to you that Astarion knew you never thought you would have children not just because the two of you were together and you thought it impossible.

“And I never really pictured myself having children either. Well, I mean… I don’t know if I ever did while I was alive and I thought it was impossible with what I am now.” Astarion made a gesture towards himself.

“Well….” You paused thinking of what to say next. “What do you think of the thought now that you know you can have children?”

Astarion paused to think for a moment. He took his hands from yours and placed a closed fist with his thumb and pointer finger over his lips. It felt like an eternity had passed by the time he answered your question.

“I think if it’s with you I would love nothing more than to raise a child with you.” he placed an open palm on your stomach and looked deep into your eyes. “If that's what you want.”

Tears started to well up behind your eyes. You leaned forward and placed a light kiss on his lips Despite all the uncertainty when it came to this you knew that deep down that as long as you had Astarion by your side the two of you could conquer words.

“If it’s with you of course.” You placed one hand on his cheek and the other over your belly. “I can’t believe this…. This has to be a one-in-a-million chance.”

Astarion smiled and placed one of his hands over your belly as well. “We must have done something right. Now, we should find out all we can about what is inside you.” You could hear the sarcastic comment before it left his lips. “I wanna know what I’m getting myself into just in case it tries to eat you on the way out.”

You grabbed the nearest pillow and smacked him as hard as you could in the face with it. The impact didn’t do much but Astarion still fainted as if you mortality wounded him and fell back on the bed clutching his hands to his chest. His theatrics made you laugh and you knew he was trying to cut the tension with jokes and sarcasm.

“I know what you’re doing Astarion… Thank you this is going to be something new for both of us…. It's okay to be a little scared.

Astarion used his elbows to sit up. “Come now we’ve come up against and fought worse. I’m a little upset that I must share your body with another dark power.

Your cheeks reddened slightly. “Astarion…”

“What?” He pushed himself upright and leaned into you so that your face and his were only a few inches apart. “Is your body flooding you with hormones?” Astarion moved in closer placing a kiss against your jawline. “Because I’m suddenly feeling as though we should celebrate our good fortune the same way we obtained it.

When did Jaheira say she was going to be back again?

The thought quickly left your mind as Astarion’s lips continued to press kisses down your neck and a light exhale signaled to Astrion to continue. His right hand made its way under your shirt to find your breasts and cup one gently in his palm. You pushed into his hand with your chest out of reflex your body wanting him to touch you more.

“You know I should have known something was up when your breast started to get bigger and the rest of you hadn’t.” In one swift motion, Astarion had your shirt off of your body and your breasts were on full display. “Delicious.”

Astarion licked his lips and took one of your hardened nipples into his mouth sucking hungrily. A loud moan left your lips as his tongue swirled around the peak of your breasts. With his other hand, he began to give attention to your other breast kneading it softly in between pinching the tip. You were dripping for this man in front of you but did not have the energy to return the heavy petting he was giving you.

“Astarion…” You tried pushing him away but even that was too much for your body. “I’m too weak to do this.”

Astarion’s mouth left your breast and his hand left your breast to now rest on your cheek. His eyes contained lust, longing, want, need, and love all in one gaze. “I know. Let me take care of you. Let me show you everything your body deserves and more for the gift you have given me.” He laid a gentle kiss on your lips. “I did not know that this was possible, but that thought of you carrying my child within you makes me want you more.”

You pressed a hard, needy kiss to his lips. Gods dammit this man deserved the word and then some. “I love you more than there are stars in the sky and sand in the oceans Astarion.”

“How poetic. I love you more than there is blood in my veins and I swear to protect you and our unborn child.” His eyes became serious for a moment as he spoke. “And if anyone threatens you or them I will stick a dagger between their ribs and drink them until they are bone dry.”

“Why is that the hottest thing I’ve ever heard?” you said with a whine in your voice.

“Because you are just as fucked up as I am.” Astarion swung his right leg over your legs and when he was straddling you, stood up on his knees allowing him the room needed to pull you down the bed so your head rested on the pillow. “Now all I want you to do now is shout my name darling.”

“I can definitely do that.” With those words Astartion made quick work unlacing your pants and sliding them down your body in an easy fluid motion. “Why am I always the one who has to get naked first?”

“That doesn’t sound like my name.” Astarion reached back grabbed the back of his shirt and pulled it over his head throwing it to the floor once it was free.

You drank his perfect body in as he pulled down his own pants using his own legs once his arms couldn’t reach any longer. He stood before you straddling you and gazing at you with hunger in his eyes. You returned the look, feeling impatient as your body craved to feel him inside of you. Craved for him to fill you fully with not just his impressive length.

“Please…” It was a breathy plee that left your lips begging for him to fill you. “Astarion…”

He moved his right knee to your inner left thigh and used it to push your legs apart. His lips pressed against yours hard and demanding begging for access to your mouth. You opened your lips obligingly and Astarion did not hesitate to explore your mouth with his tongue, leaving nothing untouched. A moan left your throat and you felt his long fingers weave through your hair pulling an even loader moan from you.

“I’m going to fill you till you burst.” As he spoke his length glided into you filling you completely.

“Fuck! Astarion!” Your words were a breathy moan.

You caught a glimpse of his cocky smile as he began a slow hard pace that had him pulling his length almost completely out of you before slamming back in hitting you in just the right spot that caused pleasure to shoot through your body. His thumb made lazy circles over your clit as a coil tightened in your lower stomach. With every thrust, his name escaped your lips in a breathy moan.

“Tell me love?” His mouth was next to your ear.

“Hmm?” You dared not speak for that would be a distraction from the pleasure.

“How bad do you want to feel my release inside you?” His words were quiet but they rang in your ears.

You placed your mouth next to his ear to form your response. “I want to feel you dripping from me after we are done.”

It was Astarion’s turn to moan as your words sent him over the edge and had him spilling himself inside you. As you felt his hot seed release inside you your climax came and you tightened around his length screaming his name from the top of your lungs in pleasure. By the end of the two of your climax, the two of you were panting hard and looking lovingly into each other's eyes.

You heard a knock at the door followed by someone speaking. “I’m assuming by the sounds of it the two of you have made your choice.” It was Jaheira. “I’ll just leave your meals outside the door for the two of you to retrieve at your leisure and I’ll be back tomorrow with the herbs that will help you through this pregnancy.”

Your face had turned beet red as you realized that Jaheira had just heard most if not all of what you and Astarion just did. You hoped to all the gods that she only heard the end and that didn’t wish to think on it any further.

“Thank you Jaheira.” Astarion pulled himself from you and you whimpered at the loss of him inside you. He shot you a flirtatious look a promise of more to come. “We are in your debt.”

“Yes yes, I know. I will be seeing the two of you tomorrow and Astarion.”Jaheira sounded like a mother.

“Yes?”

“Do keep off her long enough for her to get some rest.”

With that Jaheira left, and Astarion put his pants back on to gather up the food she left at the front door. When he opened the door there was a bag of fruits and vegetables, dried meats and cheese, and two quart-sized jars of blood. One was obviously for Astarion which meant the other was meant for you. The thought made your stomach churn but also made it rumble at the same time.

“This is going to be interesting.” Astarion gathered the food and blood, walking them to the dining room table. He then walked to the cabinet lining the walls in the kitchen and fished out two wine glasses.

“What are you doing?” You could only see a little of what he was doing as you tried adjusting yourself in bed to get a better view of what he was doing.

“I’m making it easier for you to pretend that this red liquid in this jar is nothing but some wine.” He set the glasses on the table and poured the blood from one of the jars into the wine glasses. One the glass was half full he walked both of them over to the bed and handed one to you and the other he kept for himself. “To life.”

Astarion raised his glass and took a long drink of his “wine” his eyes watching you over the rim of his glass. You didn’t dare sniff the contents because you knew the strong iron sent would do you in and you would lose your courage. Holding your breath you placed the glass to your lips and took a long, deep drink of your own. The taste was just as you expected it was metallic and thick as it coated your tongue and slid down your throat but you dared not stop till the glass was empty.

When you finished the cup you let out the breath you were holding. “To life.”

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toulousewayne · 1 month

Text

Daily Batfam Shenanigans Pt:5

————

Damian:Grayson?

Dick looks over from his spot watching TV and eating Coco Puffs.

Dick:Yes Little Dee?

Damian:You are very aware of my experience with animals.

Dick: Very much so, yes.

Damian:Why does father seem so interested about give me Birds and bees.

Dick laughs for a bit.

Dick: No kiddo, he talking about…the reproductive health.

Damian:…Sex? I know what sex is Grayson Mother gave me this with topic with a diagram and you and the alien are never quiet when I stay at the tower. So I do not see the need for such time constraints.

Dick:…

—————

Jason is in the cave help Tim with his wound care when he notices a large scar on Tim.

Jason: Where’d you get this from Replacement, falling off the handlebars of your bike again?

Tim (Drowsy from medicine ): Oh that, no Ra took my spleen.

Jason:…..The fuck you just say Tim?

——

Oracle is in the ClockTower and is on Coms with Robin who’s patrolling the East end.

Robin: Oracle?

Oracle: Yes, Robin?

Robin:Father, had the talk with me earlier.

Oracle:And how’d that go?

Robin:I think Father needs to take a course on giving the talk he isn’t very good at it.

Oracle (Chuckling): Why do you think that?

Robin: He kept trying to explain anatomy but he didn’t understand women’s. He said I should ask a woman.

Oracle loosing it on the other line.

Robin:Is it that complex?

Oracle gaining her composure: Oh, kiddo you right your father needs help.

Robin: So will you explain—

Oracle: Absolutely not.

————

Duke:Is this safe?

Jason:Most likely not.

Duke:Should we tell someone?

Jason:Probably.

Duke:Are you going to?

Jason: Nope

Alfred in the next room: Whatever you two are about to do, save yourselves the trouble.

—————

Kate: And how did you convince him to do it?

Stephanie & Dick: Bribes

Kate: Okay, so what exactly did you two bribe him with?

Dick(Smirking): That’s highly useful and top secret information.

Jason enters the room in a fuzzy red sweater and approaches Bruce who’s reading a book.

Bruce (Confused): Everything okay Jay?

Jason give Bruce a hug and quickly leaves the the room.

Stephanie (Sobbing): You got the tissues?

Dick hands her a box and dries his own tears.

Kate walking away: This family needs therapy.

————

Damian:……

Tim:Why are you staring at me?

Damian:………

Tim:Did I do something to you,or are you trying out to be one of the twins from the Shining?

Damian:I need you to take me and Jon to see a movie Saturday night.

Tim:You couldn’t have lead with that?!

—————

Barbara: Go Left

Batman & Nightwing go Right

Barbara: No your other left.

Nightwing:That’s the right?

Barbara trying not to scream and rip her hair out.

Barbara: This Family Makes me want to murder people.

Batman: Are we in Pursuit of Riddler Now?

*Oracle Disconnects*

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krak-jj · 1 month

Text

Ask: "Hey i was wondering if you could do a Saiki x reader who loves cats, preferably x male or gn!"

(sorry if i didn't get the ask right all the way, first time responding to one 😅)

KITTY KAT!

saiki k. x male reader.

!lowercase intended for the story!

summary: kusuo didn't like cats to begin with, so why would you bring one to him knowing how he feels.

warnings!

jealous saiki

hope you enjoy!-JJ

(author note at end)

A nice spring day as the birds were singing and the bees a buzz, and flowers blooming.

today, kusuo saiki will be hanging out with his boyfriend, alone for once. he wouldn't say it outloud; but he was excited, to say the least. he hasnt had the time to hang out in a good amount of weeks.

so he was waiting patiently for the man. but when he looked at the time, he realized his lover was five minutes late. which was unlike his loving boyfriend.

but before the pink headed man had time to worry, he heard you approaching the gate to his family home.

as your finger went to press on the doorbell, the door flung open with an agitated looking kusuo on the other side. 'what took you so long?'

"kusuo, im like 5 minutes late. and plus, i brought a surprise!" you said excitedly as he walked over to the gate to let you in. 'you're not bringing that thing in. You know my mom is allergic, right?' "come on, kusuo, just for a little!" 'no.'

"then im not coming in." You said as the orange tabby cat peaked out of your shirt. 'y/n. dont be petty.' "at least get to know the fella before you say no?" 'i'm not doing that.'

kusuo couldn't lie. he didn't care for catsorr dogs. but something about this cat annoyed him. the way it kept talking about you in its head. as if he'd let a stupid cat take you away. how idiotic.

"comon kusuo, look at it!" your voice rang through the psychics' ears as you brought the cats face up next to yours.

'no, and that's my final answer.' his voice rang through your mind. your face dropped as so did the cats. "you're an evil man, kusuo. denying your one and only boyfriend the joy of having a feline companion. how could you?" the brows on your face furrowed .

you saw as the pink hairs above your boyfriends eyes furrowed in. you got him. "just make sure you clean up after it, and it leaves with you. understood?"

his voice rang through your ears for once, which made your heart skip a beat, but then you realized. "Oh hell yeah! thank you so much, ku!" you exclamed excitedly as you passed by him with the cat in your hands.

"good grief."

Masterlist

Hey guys, really sorry for the long as hell and random break. I was experiencing major writers block; then i had gotten this request.

after that i was like BOOM: MOTIVATION. But in the middle of writting i was stumpped. so thats why this took such a long time and is so short. so anon please know i am soooo sorry for how long this took! 🙇‍♀️

#x reader #krak-jj #fluff #k. saiki #saiki kusuo #saiki no psi nan #saiki k #kusuo saiki #saiki k.#the disastrous life of saiki k.#the disaster of psi kusuo saiki #x male #x male reader #x male y/n #male reader #boyfriend #kusuo saiki x y/n

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moeitsu · 30 days

Text

The Tie Which Linked My Soul To Thee

Ch 12 - Though Mine Beat Faster Far Than Thine (Part 1)

Summary: Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called sons of God in a world that is ugly with violence and hate.

Ao3 Wattpad Masterlist - All Chapters Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

PLEASE READ BELOW:

Content Advisory 18+: This chapter contains graphic depictions of bodily torture, unsettling imagery, themes of death and child loss, grief, mourning, blood, gore, bodily fluids, and implied sexual assault. If you are sensitive to these adult themes, please approach with caution.

This is your warning: The content within this chapter is intense and may not be suitable for all readers.

A/N: Part 2 of this chapter will probably come out next week. I was originally going to do it in one part but this chapter alone is 13.5k words. I apologize in advance for what's about to unfold. Pls don't hate me.

Tag List: @photo1030 @ariacherie @thatweirdcatlady @ultraporcelainpig

**please let me know if you would like to be tagged in future chapters!

Story Tags: Widowed, Original Character(s), High-Honor!Arthur Morgan, Arthur Morgan Does Not Have Tuberculosis, Arthur Morgan Deserves Happiness, Chubby!Arthur Morgan, Canon Divergence, Mutual Pining, Slow Build, Eventual Smut, Eventual Sex, Eventual Romance, Emotional Sex, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort,Touch-Starved, Sexual Tension, Friends to Lovers, Child Loss, Infant Death, Trauma, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, Torture, Blood and Violence, Survivor Guilt, Aftermath of Torture, Caretaking, Injury Recovery, Period-Typical Racism, Anxiety, Self-Hatred, Night Terrors, Emotional Constipation, Self-Doubt, Men Crying, Bathing/Washing, Sweet/Hot, Romantic Angst, Romantic Fluff

Under the blazing Lemoyne sun, finding relief from the heat was like chasing a mirage. But in the heart of Clemens Point, life thrived despite the drought. The grass was a vivid green, speckled with bursts of colorful flowers that seemed to defy the arid conditions. Birds filled the air with their lively chatter, while bees and butterflies danced among the blossoms, competing for the sweet treasures hidden within.

Meanwhile, Arthur, Dutch's trusted right-hand man, was as busy as ever. Always on the lookout for opportunities to line the gang's pockets, his latest adventure had involved a risky venture to rob the Valentine bank. Alongside Bill and Karen, they'd pulled off the heist with typical outlaw flair, though not without facing down some trigger-happy lawmen on their way out. Despite the thrilling danger of the heist, Arthur couldn’t help but shake his head, wondering when this will finally be enough.

Arthur had grown accustomed to Dutch's evasive responses whenever he attempted to discuss the gang's plans. Each time, Dutch would offer vague reassurances that everything was under control, leaving Arthur feeling more frustrated and in the dark than ever. The mention of Tahiti had become little more than a running joke among the gang, a distant dream that seemed increasingly out of reach with each passing day.

And then there was Micah, always worming his way into Dutch's good graces with flattery and false admiration. Arthur watched with a mixture of disdain and apprehension as Micah spun his tales of Dutch's unparalleled brilliance and leadership. Despite Dutch's apparent blindness to Micah's ulterior motives, Arthur saw through the facade, recognizing the dangerous influence the sycophantic outlaw wielded over their leader.

Arthur leaned against the post at the back of the gang leader's tent, as Dutch and Micah strategized inside, his gaze drifted to the shoreline. There, he watched Kate teaching Jack to skip stones, her laughter carrying faintly on the breeze. Each moment with her seemed to deepen his feelings, from the gentle touch of her hands to the genuine concern he felt for her safety. He found himself constantly drawn to her, seeking her out in quiet moments when he wasn't consumed by work. Yet, despite the intensity of his emotions, he couldn't find the words to express them.

As the afternoon sun cast a golden glow over the scene, Arthur wrestled with his growing affection for Kate. Her presence had become a beacon of warmth and solace in his turbulent life. He longed to confide in her, to bare his soul and share the depths of his feelings. But fear held him back, fear of rejection, fear of vulnerability. And so, he remained silent, his emotions simmering beneath the surface, waiting for the right moment to emerge. Her words a constant echo in his mind; don’t keep hidden what matters, even from yourself.

“Are you even listening to us, Morgan?” Micah’s voice sliced through Arthur's reverie. With an exasperated roll of his eyes, he pushed himself off the post, turning to face the tent. Inside, Dutch lounged on his cot, a cigar dangling from his fingers, while a map sprawled across his nightstand. Micah, on the other hand, stood opposite him, arms crossed with a casual arrogance that made Arthur's skin crawl.

As he glanced around, he noticed Molly sitting just outside the tent, her presence a silent witness to their conversation. The ongoing disputes between her and Dutch had become a constant source of tension within the gang, their arguments echoing through the camp at night. Despite the turmoil, Molly still remained by Dutch's side, despite how miserable she appeared. Always resisting the efforts of the other women to draw her into their daily routines and conversations. Arthur felt sympathy for the young woman.

With a weary sigh and a shake of his head, Arthur responded, “Yeah, I heard you. And it sounds like a load of horse shit.” The weight of frustration hung heavy in his words as he braced himself for the inevitable clash of wills.

Earlier that day, Pearson had approached Micah with intriguing news. According to him, he had encountered some of Colm O'Driscoll's men in town. They professed a desire for peace, claiming that Colm wished to negotiate a parley with the rival gang. Arthur immediately smelled a trap. He couldn't fathom a man like Colm harboring anything but pure hatred in his heart. The feud between Colm and Dutch ran deep, stretching back to a time long before Arthur had joined the gang as a child.

Micah, however, seemed unfazed by the potential danger, dismissing Arthur's concerns with a nonchalant wave of his hand. "Well, since you've been running around digging us into even deeper shit, I reckon this might just lighten the load a little," Micah retorted, his tone dripping with arrogance.

Arthur's jaw clenched as he resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Placing his hands on his gun belt, he took a step closer to Micah, his voice laced with irritation. "You mean your shit, Micah. Pearson ain’t got half the brains to con this mess. This has your dumbass written all over it," he shot back, the jingle of his spurs punctuating each step on the wooden floor of the makeshift room.

Micah's words hung in the air, thick with false hope and calculated manipulation. “You’re always tellin’ us Dutch, do what has to be done…but don’t fight wars that ain’t worth fightin’. Maybe Colm finally wants peace.” He explained.

Arthur's gaze hardened as he watched the scene unfold, his brows furrowing in frustration. The way Micah twisted Dutch's principles to suit his own agenda made Arthur's stomach churn with anger.

Hosea's timely interruption added a layer of gravity to the situation. His voice, filled with wisdom born of experience, cut through the tension like a knife. "Colm wants a parley?" he questioned, his tone laced with skepticism. "It's a trap," he asserted, his words carrying the weight of undeniable truth.

Micah's sigh of resignation seemed almost rehearsed, his arms extending in a theatrical display of defeat. "Well, of course, it's probably a trap," he conceded, his tone dripping with sarcasm. But then, with a pleading look directed at Dutch, he continued, "but what have we got to lose finding out?"

Arthur gritted his teeth at the sight, his frustration boiling beneath the surface. The way Micah spoke to Dutch, manipulating him with false hope and veiled threats, made Arthur sick to his stomach. He couldn't understand how Dutch could tolerate it, let alone seem to enjoy it.

"We could get shot," Arthur interjected bluntly, his voice cutting through the air like a whip.

Dutch's silent nod of agreement spoke volumes. "Colm ain't one to do things so… gentleman-like," he mused, his expression clouded with uncertainty.

Micah's dismissive shake of the head implied that the concerns were unfounded, mere misunderstandings in his eyes. "We ain't gettin' shot, because you'll be protecting us," he stated confidently, his hand resting heavily on Arthur's left shoulder. It was clear from his tone that he had already made up his mind; he would appoint himself as the right-hand man during the parley, regardless of Arthur's objections.

Arthur shot a disapproving glance at Dutch, silently pleading for his support. But Dutch's expression betrayed no hint of intervention; he seemed to be already envisioning how the situation would unfold.

"If it's a trap, you shoot the lot of them. If it's not…" Micah's voice trailed off, leaving the implication hanging in the air.

With a frustrated huff, Dutch walked past them, his irritation palpable. "I'm not really seeing the point in any of this," he muttered, making his way over to the table where Hosea sat, reading the paper.

Micah followed behind like a persistent nuisance, his voice bordering on whining. "It's a chance we gotta take!" he insisted.

Dutch sighed heavily, leaning his arms on the table as he shared a somber revelation. "I killed Colm's brother... a long time ago. Then he killed a woman I loved dearly." The weight of his words hung heavily in the air, casting a solemn pall over the group.

A moment of silence passed amongst them, punctuated only by Micah's sympathetic hum. But he quickly interjected once again, his tone brimming with impatience. "As you say. It was a long time ago, Dutch."

Dutch gazed out at the water, his mind undoubtedly consumed by the weight of their shared history. With a final puff of his cigar, he threw it into the dirt, his decision made. "Alright. Let's go then. You and me, with Arthur protecting us," he declared, his voice firm with resolve.

Arthur's frustration was evident as he shook his head, a deep furrow forming between his brows. With a muttered curse under his breath, he threw a hand up in the air in exasperation, a gesture of his growing annoyance. Resigned to the unfolding events, he fell into step behind Dutch, his footsteps heavy with irritation as he made his way to his trusty mare, waiting patiently nearby.

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

Kate hadn't intended to eavesdrop, but the weight of Arthur's frustration and concern in his voice drew her curiosity like a moth to flame. Along the grassy shoreline, she quickened her pace until she caught up to Arthur just as he was about to mount Belle.

Drawing his attention by placing a comforting hand on his shoulder, she couldn't help but inquire, "What's this I hear about a parley?"

Turning to greet her Arthur let out a heavy sigh, his irritation palpable. "Micah seems to think Colm O'Driscol wants peace, apparently," he muttered, his tone laden with disbelief.

"Peace? From the same man who's been chasing you lot since Blackwater?" Kate's incredulity rang clear in her voice.

"Yep, that's the one," Arthur replied, his spirits low.

Kate exhaled sharply, frustration evident in her features. "That's clearly a trap," she remarked, stating the obvious.

"I know," Arthur admitted, his voice tinged with resignation.

"Then why are you going along with it?" Kate pressed with unmistakable concern.

Leaning against the side of his saddle, Arthur gave her a sympathetic look. "Someone's gotta make sure Dutch doesn't get his head blown off."

"If he's foolish enough, I say let him. Maybe they'll shoot Micah as well," Kate quipped with a roll of her eyes.

A brief chuckle escaped Arthur's lips, her irreverence momentarily lifting his sour mood. "Wouldn't that be somethin’,” he mused. “But I can’t let it happen. I'll be up in the hills with a rifle, trained right on Colm. Just in case he tries anything."

Kate let out a deep sigh through her nose, her brows pinching with unease. "I still don’t think it’s a good idea. If you’re protecting them, who's protecting you?" Her tone carried a weight of seriousness, the gravity of the situation settling heavily upon her shoulders.

With a soft chuckle, Arthur reached out and gently squeezed her hand. "I don’t need protecting darlin’. I'll be just fine," he reassured her, though the lines of concern etched into his features betrayed his words.

"What if I come with you?" Kate suggested, brushing aside his reassurance with determined persistence.

Arthur shook his head slightly, his expression turning somber. "I don’t want you gettin’ roped into all that. Colm’s a nasty man, and I don’t need him comin’ for you too." His eyes bore into hers with genuine concern. He wished he didn't have to involve himself in Dutch's risky schemes, but loyalty demanded otherwise. If there was one thing he could protect Kate from, it was getting entangled in Dutch’s dangerous endeavors.

With a defeated sigh, Kate lowered her gaze. "Just promise me you’ll be cautious? And you’ll shoot him if he tries anything," she implored, her words more of a command than a request.

"I promise, Kate," Arthur vowed solemnly, his tone tinged with determination. With a final nod, he mounted Belle and tipped his hat in farewell before riding off into the camp to catch up with the others, leaving Kate behind with a heart heavy with worry.

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As the evening sun dipped below the horizon, casting shadows across the camp, Kate found herself amidst the nightly routine of caring for her beloved mare, Lorena. Yet, unlike other evenings, Lorena seemed unusually restless, her ears flicking nervously, her hooves stomping the ground, and her pacing creating a small cloud of dust around her. Kate furrowed her brow in concern, attempting to soothe her companion's nerves with a gentle song, though she couldn't discern the cause of her distress.

Observing Lorena's behavior, Kate couldn't help but notice the absence of her mare's newfound companion, Belle. The two horses had formed a deep bond, she often watched them grooming each other, playing together, and even sleeping side by side. It was a testament to the camaraderie that extended beyond the human members of the camp. Kate suspected that Lorena's unease stemmed from Belle's absence, as any disruption to their nightly routine tended to unsettle her.

With Belle on her mind, Kate couldn't shake the thoughts of Arthur and the conversation they had shared before he departed. Though Dutch and Micah had returned to camp hours ago, Arthur was conspicuously absent. Kate brushed aside her worries for the time being, reminding herself that Arthur often sought solace away from camp. However, he never failed to return by dinner, and Kate found herself eagerly anticipating his return, awaiting to hear about the outcome of the supposed parley.

As the night wore on and Arthur's absence stretched into the hours after dinner, the seeds of doubt began to sprout in the back of Kate's mind. She couldn't shake the feeling of unease, her worry growing with each passing minute. Arthur was never one to linger without reason, especially not when the job was risky.

With a worried brow, Kate contemplated seeking out Dutch for answers. Perhaps Arthur had mentioned something about his whereabouts before he left. It wouldn't be the first time he had set out on one task only to find himself entangled in another. Determination spurred her forward as she made her way over to Dutch's tent, the crackling of the fire and the gentle lapping of water providing a somber soundtrack to her troubled thoughts.

To her surprise, Dutch was nowhere to be found, replaced instead by Molly, sitting quietly under the warm glow of an oil lamp, her pen scratching across paper. Kate hesitated, unsure of how to interrupt her at such a late hour. Molly's dark orange curls framed her face as she looked up, a hint of surprise in her eyes at Kate's unexpected presence.

"Hi Molly," Kate greeted awkwardly, fidgeting with her hands. "I um, I was just wondering if Dutch mentioned anything about Arthur?” Molly looked puzzled at her question. “You know, from the parley with Colm earlier. I haven't seen him return yet."

Her expression softened with sympathy as she processed Kate's inquiry. "No, I'm sorry," she replied gently. "Dutch didn't say anything to me."

With a heavy sigh, Kate nodded, her heart sinking with disappointment. "Oh, I see. Sorry for bothering you."

But before she could turn to leave, Molly offered a small reassurance, sensing Kate's distress. "Arthur's always disappearing," she said softly. "I'm sure he's alright."

Kate forced a small smile, though her worry remained palpable. "So I've learned," she murmured, her thoughts clouded with concern as she retreated into the night.

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Arthur awoke to a relentless pounding pain that felt as though his skull might split in two. Each throb sent waves of agony crashing through his head, leaving him disoriented and gasping for breath. Slowly, he forced his heavy eyelids open, only to be greeted by a swirling mass of black stars dancing before him. The night air was frigid and thick, seeping into his bones as he lay sprawled on the unforgiving ground. Wrists and ankles bound.

As his vision began to clear, he realized he was not nestled safely by the campfire at Clemens Point. No, the harsh reality of his surroundings sent a shiver down his spine. He was alone in the darkness, surrounded by eerie shadows that danced menacingly in the flickering light of a distant campfire. Panic surged within him as he struggled to piece together the events that had led him to this desolate place. The last thing he remembered was a hazy blur of faces and voices, fading into the abyss of his memory.

Fear gnawed at his insides as he fought to push through the fog of confusion that clouded his mind. Had he been ambushed? Kidnapped?

The memory of the parlay with Colm played like a haunting melody in Arthur's mind. He could feel the weight of his rifle against his chest as he lay hidden in the tall grass, his breath shallow with anticipation. The tension in the air was palpable as Dutch and Colm exchanged terse words, the promise of peace slipping through their fingers like sand. Arthur's jaw clenched as he watched the failed negotiation unfold before him, his finger poised on the trigger, ready to act if things took a turn for the worse.

But nothing could have prepared him for what happened next. As Colm turned to leave, his gaze seemed to linger on Arthur with a chilling intensity that sent a shiver down his spine. Before he could react, the world spun violently as a blinding pain erupted in his head, the sickening crunch of bone meeting metal echoing in his ears. Darkness swallowed him whole as he succumbed to the ground, the last thing he saw were the menacing silhouettes of his assailants looming over him like specters of death.

Arthur's mind swam in a turbulent sea of pain and confusion, each wave crashing against the shores of his consciousness with merciless force. The memories of being hoisted onto the back of a horse, his body dangling limply over the beast's flank, stirred a sickening cocktail of nausea and disorientation within him. The rhythmic bounce of the horse's gait only served to intensify his queasiness, threatening to unleash the contents of his roiling stomach onto the unforgiving ground below.

In the midst of his torment, a grim irony dawned on him like a blink in the night. The sensation of being transported as prey, his captors seemingly relishing in his helplessness, echoed the plight of those he had pursued relentlessly in his own chase as a bounty hunter. It was a bitter realization, one that clawed at the fringes of his consciousness as he struggled to maintain his tenuous grip on reality. That must be it, Arthur thought to himself. He chalked it up to be a group of bounty hunters, looking to turn in his head for the $5000.

As consciousness ebbed and flowed like the tide, Arthur's senses gradually sharpened, revealing the harsh reality of his captivity. With painstaking effort, he managed to pry his leaden eyelids open, his vision obscured by a haze of pain and exhaustion. Through the murky veil that shrouded his perception, he discerned the silhouettes of his captors seated by a crackling fire, their voices a distant murmur in the vast expanse of his disoriented mind. With a grunt of exertion, he attempted to shift his weight, the world tilting dangerously on its axis with each agonizing movement.

Arthur's heart hammered in his chest as he dragged his body across the unforgiving earth, the coarse ground tearing at his skin with each agonizing inch. His bound hands clawed desperately at the soil, fingers digging into the earth as if grasping for a lifeline in the depths of despair. Every movement sent waves of searing pain coursing through his battered frame, a relentless reminder of the brutality he had endured. If he could just reach the horses, he could escape.

In the dim glow of the campfire, the shadows danced like demons, casting sinister shapes upon the ground as Arthur's tormentors remained oblivious to his silent struggle. With every labored breath, he willed himself forward, his mind consumed by a singular purpose: escape. The rhythmic cadence of his groans mingled with the hushed whispers of the night, a haunting symphony of suffering that echoed through the darkness.

But as Arthur's faltering movements drew the attention of his captors, the weight of their scrutiny bore down upon him like a suffocating shroud. The sudden cessation of their conversation sent a chill down his spine, the air thick with anticipation as their gazes fixed upon his trembling form.

In the eerie silence that followed, the voice of a young Irishman pierced the night like a dagger, his words laced with contempt and malice. “Well ye just gonna sit there and let the bastard git away?”

"Calm down, Nolan, he ain’t goin’ nowhere," came a voice, tinged with a cold indifference that sent shivers down Arthur's spine. He heard the heavy thud of boots against the earth as one of his captors rose to his feet and approached.

"Well evening, sugar," the man sneered, his voice dripping with disdain as he loomed over Arthur's broken form. "You ain’t dead yet, is you?" With a cruel shove of his boot, Arthur was forced onto his back, the impact sending shockwaves of pain radiating through his broken body.

The man chuckled darkly, relishing in the sight of Arthur's mangled visage. The bruises on his face had blossomed into grotesque shades of purple, his features marred by cuts and dried blood. "F-fuck you," Arthur managed to spit out, his voice hoarse amidst the agony that consumed him.

The man merely tsked in response, his amusement palpable as he delivered another vicious blow, his boot connecting with Arthur's ribs with brutal force. As Arthur curled in on himself like a child, gasping for air through the haze of pain, he realized with a sinking heart that his torment was far from over.

In the darkness, Arthur's fingers scrabbled desperately in the earth, seeking refuge in the jagged contours of the rocky terrain. If he could just grab something, anything. Even a small rock could be deadly in his hands. But his efforts were swiftly thwarted by the cruel descent of a heavy foot, grinding mercilessly into his hand. The bone-chilling crunch of his fingers being crushed beneath the merciless weight elicited a primal cry of agony from deep within his chest, muffled by the suffocating grip of pain.

Nolan's voice returned, dripping with sadistic anticipation, cut through the night like a blade. "Once Colm gets his hands on him, we're gonna be free as birds," he gloated, as if reveling in Arthur's torment was the key to their liberation.

The mention of Colm sent a wave of fear down Arthur's back, his thoughts a murky whirlpool of anguish and bewilderment. Through gritted teeth, he fought to rise again, a glimmer of defiance flickering in his eyes as he attempted to leverage himself against the unforgiving ground.

Above him, the voices of his captors continued their sinister discourse, the weight of their words heavy with ominous implications. "Are we really turning them into the law? If it were up to me I’d say he ain’t worth the risk," the one closest to him questioned, his skepticism palpable in the darkness.

But Nolan's response offered little solace. "Quit bein' stupid, Connor. That's his plan, remember?"

"Do you really think he gives two shits about this washed-up cowboy?" Connor's voice dripped with disdain, his words laced with a venomous edge.

The irritation in his tone was palpable as he continued, "Colm says he knows how to play Van der Linde. Once he realizes we have him, his whole posse will fall right into his trap."

Arthur knelt in the dirt, his body trembling with a mixture of pain and fear. With a herculean effort, he pushed himself to his feet, each movement an agonizing battle against the relentless grip of gravity. Stumbling forward, he fought to maintain his balance, his vision swimming with dizziness. Desperation fueled his every step as he clumsily veered away, a fleeting moment of hope igniting within him as he drew nearer to the horses. If he could just reach one...

But his hope was shattered in an instant as a bullet tore through his ankle, sending searing waves of pain coursing through his shattered limb. With a gut-wrenching cry, he crumpled to the ground, his world engulfed in a haze of excruciating agony. Blood pooled beneath him as his legs quivered with adrenaline, a futile attempt to numb the relentless torment that consumed him. Gasping for air, he rolled onto his side, his breaths ragged with panic as he struggled to suppress the rising tide of agony threatening to overwhelm him. Tears threatened to spill down his blood stain cheeks.

As he lifted his gaze, he was met with the sight of the two men looming over him, their faces twisted with sadistic amusement. The one who had fired the shot let out a cruel laugh, his eyes alight with malice. "Did I kill ya yet?" he taunted, the callousness of his words echoing through the darkness like a death knell.

Arthur's attempts to speak were drowned out by a guttural moan, a haunting sound that echoed through the desolate night air, mirroring the agony that gripped his shattered body. Fear and desperation clawed at the edges of his consciousness, threatening to engulf him in its heavy embrace.

“Let’s see if you survive this,” Connor’s voice taunted, each word full of tormented amusement, a cruel promise of further suffering.

A chill swept over Arthur as he felt the icy touch of metal against his left shoulder, the unmistakable sensation of the barrel of a rifle pressed against his flesh. With a sharp intake of breath, he braced himself for the inevitable onslaught, his heart hammering in his chest like a thunderous drumbeat.

Searing pain ripped through him as a bullet tore through his shoulder, sending shockwaves of anguish coursing through his already beaten form. The world around him blurred into a hazy fog of suffering, his consciousness slipping away into the abyss as darkness swallowed him whole.

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The passage of time seemed as fleeting as the shifting clouds above, their transient dance across the sky mirroring Kate's restless thoughts. With each passing moment, her imagination wove a tapestry of dread, painting vivid scenes of tragedy. For every dire scenario she conjured, she grasped desperately for the slender threads of reason, clinging to the hope that Arthur's absence was merely a benign twist of fate. Dutch would have surely said something had the parley gone awry.

But like a persistent tick embedded deep within her psyche, the gnawing sense of unease persisted, burrowing beneath her skin and refusing to be ignored. Despite her best efforts to quell the rising tide of fear, it lingered in the recesses of her mind, a haunting whisper of uncertainty.

Engulfed in a flurry of chores, Kate sought refuge in the mundane tasks of camp life, each action a feeble attempt to distract herself from the relentless thunder of worry. Yet, amidst the hustle and bustle, the absence of Arthur's reassuring presence weighed heavily upon her, a silent void that echoed with unanswered questions.

Yearning for solace, Kate longed to confide in someone who understood. With Sadie and Charles occupied elsewhere, she found herself adrift in a sea of unease, her anxious pacing along the shoreline of the camp a silent testament to her inner turmoil.

Beside her, Lorena mirrored her distress, her restless movements a silent plea for communication. Kate had to hitch her to a tree just shy of her tent, or else she feared Lorena would take off. Chasing, or running from something; Kate did not know.

As the night stretched on, their shared distress only deepened, casting a shadow over their sleepless vigil. In the quiet darkness, they stood as silent sentinels, bound together by the unspoken fear that lurked just beyond the edge of sight.

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In the embrace of unconsciousness, Arthur drifted through the realm of dreams. The reality of his situation melted away like morning mist beneath the sun's gentle caress. In his coma, he found himself in a fantasy of domestic bliss, woven from the threads of his deepest longings and desires.

He stood within the sturdy confines of a wooden cabin, its walls shielding him from the world outside. With each breath, the scent of crackling firewood mingled with the sweet melody of Kate's voice, a symphony that filled the air with her warmth and comfort.

Looking around he saw tables and chairs worn by the effects of time, a home filled with comfort.

Summoned by the will of his imagination, Kate stood before him with her back turned. A vision of radiant beauty bathed in the golden hour of the sun. Her silhouette cast against the rustic walls, each line and curve a testament to her grace, her beauty. It framed her like a shining halo. In that moment, she was not just a woman, but an angel sent to soothe his weary soul.

His own corner of personal heaven. Perhaps whatever God watched over him truly was a forgiving one.

With each step forward, Arthur felt the weight of the world fall away, replaced by a sense of peace and contentment that he had waited his whole life for. With arms outstretched, he enveloped her in a tender embrace, the warmth of her body a balm against the chill of his uncertainty.

With whispered words of love and adoration, he pressed his lips to her cheek, each kiss a vow of eternal affection. Her giggle felt like warm honey against his skin. In that fleeting moment, everything else ceased to exist, leaving only the two of them, bound together in his dreams.

Amidst his tender kisses, a symphony of innocence pierced the air—a soft patter of footsteps. Arthur turned, his heart aching, to find a shadow of a child standing in the doorway, a small horse plush nestled in his tiny grasp. Wordlessly, the child reached out, beckoning to be cradled in the safety of Arthur's embrace.

As he lifted the boy into his arms, a sudden chill seeped into his soul. His gaze drifted over the features of the boy's face, and realized it was son Isaac.

No, no this can't be – He recoiled slightly at the icy feeling that lingered on his skin like a ghostly touch.

Sorrow and confusion washed over him. He looked back to Kate for some explanation, and he froze. In her place stood another woman, a face from a past life. A life he fought to keep buried. Her apparition draped in the hues of bygone days.

The sunlight waned, its golden tendrils fading into shadows that enveloped the cabin in an embrace as cold as death itself. And there, amidst the encroaching darkness, Arthur's worst fears took shape—a vision of Eliza.

Arthur felt like a fool to think he could ever be given a chance at redemption. Heaven would always be beyond his reach.

Eliza's porcelain skin bore the scars of untold suffering, her once-vibrant eyes now veiled in a haunting white mist. A silent scream echoed in the depths of Arthur's soul as he beheld the gaping wound that marred her chest—a stark reminder of the violence that had torn her from this earth. In her last act as a mother to shield her child from the blow; his child.

With a heavy heart and trembling hands, Arthur attempted to retreat from the weight of his sin before him. The grief bearing down upon him like a heavy wet blanket. Cold, damp, and suffocating.

As he cradled the lifeless form of the child in his arms, he could only utter a prayer—a whispered plea for forgiveness in the face of a tragedy too cruel to bear.

I’m sorry. I’m so sorry Eliza. I should have been there. I'm sorry.

Eliza stood before him, undead. Her lips parted in a voiceless plea, a mournful wisp of breath that stirred the stagnant air. With hesitant steps, she approached Arthur, her gaze a haunting orchestra of longing, despair and pain.

Arthur recoiled from her embrace, his heart aflutter with a tempest of emotions. Panic gnawed at his senses, the oppressive burden of the cabin's walls bearing down upon him like the burden of his guilt.

Each of her steps echoed through the old cabin; her cabin. Once a warm bustling home, that he only visited in fleeting moments. Avoiding his duty as a father at almost any cost.

Beneath his trembling feet, the floor lay slick with the crimson tide of regret, a macabre testament to the lives lost in the wake of his relentless pursuit of hatred and vengeance. Amongst the faceless of the fallen, he glimpsed the lifeless forms of Eliza and Isaac, their silent reproach a damning indictment of his failures. And yet, amidst the sea of carnage, Eliza stood undaunted, a haunting reminder of the family he had forsaken and the wounds that could never truly heal.

I was a fool Eliza, a goddamn fool. I know I shoulda been there for you and the boy. And I suffer for it everyday.

With Eliza drawing near, Arthur found himself cornered, his back pressed against the hard wall. Yet, even in the throes of despair, he clung to Isaac's lifeless form, as if his embrace could breathe warmth back into the cold hands of death.

As Eliza's lips parted, a chilling sound pierced the silence—a twisted echo of Arthur's own voice, a haunting refrain of his darkest truths laid bare. Each word echoed through the chamber of his soul, a relentless cascade of self-condemnation that tore at the fabric of his being.

"I was born sick, unloved, and unwanted. But I am the master of my own torment," his voice whispered, a lamentation of a soul consumed by the flames of its own creation. "A prisoner of my own choosing, condemned to walk the path of the damned. I am just a vessel of violence, a predator in the shadows, thirsting for the blood of innocence."

In that moment, Arthur faced the reflection of his own sins, mirrored in the eyes of the woman he had failed, and the child he had forsaken. And as the weight of his remorse threatened to engulf him, he knew that redemption lay beyond the grasp of a soul consumed by the darkness within.

Arthur shut his eyes tight. Grief flooded him in waves that threatened to escape his eyes in hot tears. This must be a nightmare. He prayed it was only a nightmare. Unsure how he would deal with himself if this was his eternal damnation. Facing his past was a worse fate than death.

Eliza continued, as he steeled himself, her sound began to grow louder in his ears.

“I am not worthy of a woman such as Kate. I am a shadow in her light. I am like a cancer that thrives on her warmth. With every touch, I know I will take a piece of her body, mind, and soul with me as I am dragged into the darkest pits of hell. As heaven is not fit to house a man like me, and my love will never be enough.

But I fear I will do it all again anyways.”

—

Arthur awakens with a groan, the sound distant and detached, ripped from a place within him he cannot recognize. At first, there is no pain, just a dreamlike fog enveloping his senses. Slowly, he peels open his heavy eyelids, feeling the weight of them threatening to fall from his skull. As the darkness begins to clear, he discerns the faint glimmer of light and the outlines of two figures. Blinking against the sliver of sun filtering through the cellar door above the stairs, he realizes where he is.

The voices of men reach his ears, and suddenly, pain floods through him like a relentless tide. A weeping moan escapes his lips as consciousness slowly returns. His vision is blurred, everything tinted red with blood. Each beat of his heart sends a throbbing ache through his head. His toes barely graze the ground beneath him as his wrists are bound above his head, a tight knot cutting off circulation to his arms. Suspended from the ceiling, his left arm remains numb, unable to twitch even his fingertips. Waves of burning sensation radiate from the rifle wound in his shoulder, coursing through his body like white flames.

Arthur strains to look down at himself, his neck protesting against the movement. Panic shrieks through his mind as he takes in the sight. Clad only in his red union suit, the buttons ripped down to his underwear, his stomach laid bare like a gruesome canvas. Yellow and purple bruises mar his skin, mingled with shallow cuts and the cruel imprints of cigarette burns.

Turning his head to the left, he gazes at what remains of his shoulder. His undershirt peeled back, sticky with blood and soot, the fabric singed at the edges. His eyes fall upon a black crater, a mutilating wound that sends waves of pain unlike anything he’s ever known coursing through his body. His side is soaked in his own blood, thick and cold, a chilling testament to the violence inflicted upon him.

Time becomes a blur as he hangs there, suspended in agony. He doesn’t know if it has been hours or days since he was captured. Fear gnaws at him, the weight of his own body threatening to tear his arm from its socket. Agony drowns out any coherent thoughts, burning hot and filling every pore of his body. Arthur mewls pathetically as he tries to move, his feeble attempts to escape futile against the overwhelming pain.

“Fuck, I think the ugly bastards finally awake.” Arthur was yanked from his haze by the voice of the young Irish O’Driscoll. He fixed his eyes on where they sat at a dusty and broken wooden table.

"Shit, and I was just gettin’ to the good part!" Connor's voice dripped with sarcasm as he tossed a leather book onto the table.

Sickened, Arthur felt the urge to curl into a hole and rot. He recognized that old binding anywhere—they were reading his journal. His most personal inner thoughts laid bare for these boys who hunted him, mercilessly beat him, to know the depths of his very soul. Every guilt, shame, love, and loss spilled across those pages. His darkest, most tormented thoughts exposed to the cruel light of day.

Arthur's spirit felt raped in a way it never had before.

Connor rose to his feet, sauntering over. Arthur could only stare at his legs, unable to lift his head to meet his eyes. Suddenly, the man pulled out a knife, and Arthur braced for the sting. But instead, he felt the rope above his wrists being cut. In the next instant, his head collided with the ground as his heavy body collapsed hard. Arthur coughed as the air was knocked from his lungs, his whines sounding wet and pained.

Nolan's voice cut through the air, dripping with snark, "Ya think that Kate girl will show up with the rest of 'em?"

"I'm counting on it. Colm might even let us keep her," came the dark chuckle of his companion. "As a reward."

A guttural noise clawed its way from Arthur's throat, a desperate denial. “Nghh-no.”

A flirtatious whistle pierced the tension as Nolan flipped through pages upon pages of drawings of Kate. "Christ, this fella's obsessed with her. You think he's some kind of pervert?" He tore one of the sketches from the journal, holding it up to the light. "She's a pretty thing. I bet she screams real nice too," he added wickedly before pocketing the paper.

Arthur's heart hammered in his chest. Would Kate arrive with Dutch and the gang? Was she walking into danger? He writhed on the ground, grappling with the dirt beneath him, consumed by the need to warn or stop them.

The conversation between his captors resurfaced in his mind. "When the law shows up, they'll fall right into his trap," they had said. Colm had orchestrated it all.

Images of Kate flashed through his mind, her face contorted in pain. He envisioned the horrors they might inflict upon her, and the realization struck him like a hammer blow. It would be all his fault, his negligence costing yet another innocent woman her life.

With a desperate cry, he attempted to rise from the ground, his belly scraping against the dirt. But before he could make any progress, a thick-heeled boot pinned him down, forcing the air from his lungs in a desperate squeal.

"You have something to say, piggy?" Connor spat, pressing down on Arthur's back.

"I-I'll kill,” he huffed, “y-ou," Arthur managed, his breaths coming in wheezes.

Connor chuckled, dismissing Arthur's threat with a wave of his hand as if he were a child. "What do you wanna do with 'em, Nolan?" he asked, ignoring Arthur's gasping for air.

Nolan rose from his seat, looming over Arthur's broken body. "Colm won't be here till tomorrow. I say we have some fun with 'em. Long as he don't die."

The pressure on Arthur's chest eased, allowing him to suck in a dusty breath that sent him into a fit of coughs. Before he could fully recover, he was yanked up by fistfuls of his hair, eliciting a wince of pain. He tried to grab the man's arm in vain.

From behind, the other man reached around, grabbing Arthur's bound wrists. A scream tore through him as his shattered shoulder was wrenched backwards. His ripped union suit slid off his shoulders, exposing his vulnerable chest. Kneeling before his captors, he felt utterly helpless.

"Mmf-st..stop.." he pleaded, his voice raw and dry.

"Aww, I think piggy's a little thirsty," Nolan taunted, his voice dripping with malice.

His lips were suddenly greeted by the cold, unyielding touch of a bottle. The overpowering scent of whiskey flooded his senses, drowning out any rational thought. Before he could even think to hold his breath, the fiery liquid surged down his throat, choking him.

Gagging and coughing, Arthur attempted to move his head, to resist the forceful flow of alcohol, but it was futile. One hand gripped his hair, holding his head in place, while the other shoved the bottle deeper into his mouth.

With no other choice, Arthur was forced to swallow. He sputtered and struggled to keep up with the relentless stream, the liquor dribbling down the sides of his mouth and soaking his chest. His feeble attempts to resist earned him a punishing blow to the gut.

"Quit wastin' it, I'm bein' generous!" the man boasted callously, releasing his hold on Arthur's head, leaving him to collapse under the weight of the pain. Arthur coughed violently, his nose burning with each harsh exhale, the sound of his hacking mingling with the haunting laughter that filled the room.

"Guess the fella can't handle his booze," the Irishman taunted, bending down to Arthur's level.

Arthur groaned, his body wracked with agony as he struggled to alleviate the pressure on his throbbing shoulder. The pain, coupled with the fiery sensation in his belly, left his chest heaving with each labored breath. Nausea churned in his gut like a relentless storm, threatening to overwhelm him. With a desperate effort, he managed to rise slightly from the ground, the weight on his knees straining his body. As he lurched forward, a warm sensation crept up his throat, signaling the imminent release of his body's revolt.

"Hurl on me and I’ll kill you right now, big fella," the man warned before delivering a punishing blow to Arthur's stomach with his boot.

A strangled groan tore from Arthur's throat, raw and primal, like the cry of a wounded beast. He couldn't control it—his stomach convulsed, expelling its contents onto the filthy floor and down his chest. Acid scorched his throat and nose as he desperately turned his head to avoid drowning in his own vomit.

Violent tremors wracked his body as he fought to stay upright, struggling to draw in breaths amidst the agony. Hot tears and saliva mingled on his chin, his chest heaving with the effort to gulp down air. He wanted to plead for mercy, but he felt utterly powerless already.

The O'Driscolls reacted with disgust, their chorus of revulsion echoing in the dimly lit cellar. One of them approached Arthur, leaning in close to his ear with contempt dripping from his voice. "Filthy pig," he spat, his saliva landing on Arthur's face. "You're going back to sleep."

A heavy hand seized Arthur's neck, forcefully pressing his head into the solid ground, into his own sickening mess. His vision blurred, the world spinning as darkness enveloped him once more.

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As the sun dipped on the horizon of the third day, Kate's resolve solidified. She could no longer abide by the passive whispers of concern that lingered unspoken in the shadows. Arthur's absence loomed like a gaping wound, and she refused to tiptoe around it any longer.

Seated alone by the fire, she felt the weight of uncertainty pressing down upon her. The flames flickered, casting dancing light upon her face as her mind whirled with plans. No longer content to wait for answers that may never come, she made a silent vow to look for Arthur herself.

With each passing moment, her determination grew stronger. Nobody in camp seemed to question Arthur’s absence, and it drove Kate mad. Had no one else thought the parley was suspicious? No one questioned Dutch on what happened? There were missing pieces to all of this, and Arthur left the biggest hole in her puzzle.

With a resolute nod, Kate rose to her feet. She knew she couldn't rely on anyone else for this task. Charles and Sadie were miles away on their own assignments, leaving her to face this alone. Setting her sights on Rhodes, she vowed to start her search at the sheriff station

As Kate turned, she collided with Molly O’Shea, the unexpected impact nearly causing her to stumble backward. "Oh! Sorry, Molly, I didn’t hear you walk over," she apologized quickly, her movements indicating her intention to go around her.

Molly's eyes held an air of unease that mirrored Kate's own for a fleeting moment. Sensing the gravity of the situation, Kate paused, her concern evident in her voice as she spoke. "Is everything okay?"

“I heard Dutch say last night that Arthur was supposed to meet them after the parley,” Molly blurted hastily, her thick Irish accent hushed with urgency. “But he didn’t.”

Kate felt the heat drain from her body as her mind raced to process Molly’s words. She realized with a sinking feeling that it wasn't Dutch who was in danger—it was Arthur.

Struggling to find the right words to convey her gratitude, Kate's mouth went dry as she attempted to speak. Before she could utter a single word, Molly gently grasped Kate's wrist, her touch imbued with a sense of urgency. “I snuck a look at Dutch’s map. The meeting was held between the twin stacks path. Arthur was supposed to be on the slope facing Emerald Ranch,” Molly whispered, her words echoing in Kate's mind as she repeated the location to herself.

"I-I don’t know how to thank you, Molly–" Kate stuttered, her voice trembling with emotion.

“Good luck, Kate,” Molly whispered in response, before walking away as if their encounter had been nothing out of the ordinary.

Without another word, Kate hastened toward her horse, Lorena, whose restless movements reflected her own unease. As she mounted her steed, Lorena reared up, pulling at the reins with a sense of urgency. Before Kate could fully settle into the saddle, her mare was already in motion, galloping like a bolt of lightning out of Clemens Point and down the winding path that led to the fateful meeting spot where she and Arthur had first crossed paths.

Molly returned to her seat in the solitude of the empty tent she shared with Dutch. Cooling herself with a paper fan. She had been a silent witness to Kate’s nightly ritual of pacing the shoreline, her silhouette framed by the moonlight reflected off the water. Each night Arthur had not returned Molly felt a pang of empathy. She knew all too well the ache of devotion, mixed with fear. When the one you love vanishes without a trace.

It resonated within her own heart, the longing echoed in her soul. Her thoughts drifted to Dutch, the man she loved dear. Though he had not disappeared from her physically. Each day she felt him slipping away, morphing into a man she did not recognize. A ghost of the person she once knew. She prayed her information had spared Kate from that kind of torment.

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

Nothing I do is ever good. Nothing I do is ever good enough.

Time becomes a blur for Arthur, lost in the dark confines of the cellar-turned-prison. Pain surges through him in relentless waves, crashing against the shores of his consciousness like a violent storm.

When he awakens, it's with a sharp intake of breath, his vision swimming in a haze of stars and swirling shades of red and brown. He realizes he's been moved, his captors stringing him up by his ankles while he was lost in silent, dark unconsciousness. His head hangs just a few feet from the ground, blood trickling down his legs once more, the shackles around his ankles digging deep into his flesh under the impossible weight of his own body.

Gazing up at his toes, now swollen and blackened, Arthur feels a sickening dread grip his heart. The blood pounding in his head threatens to burst his eyes from their sockets, forcing him to tightly shut them against the unbearable pressure.

Every inch of his body screams with agony, a symphony of torment orchestrated by his captors' relentless brutality. He feels broken, bruised, numb; yet aflame with searing pain.

Amidst the haze of suffering, distant voices drift in and out of his awareness. Arthur longs to retreat into the comforting embrace of unconsciousness, or perhaps even embrace the release of death, anything to escape the unending torment.

But he is not granted reprieve. Unseen hands assault him, tearing at his clothing and underwear until he is completely exposed to the biting chill of the cellar air. Violated, helpless, he endures their cruel touch, their probing fingers exacerbating his wounds, their blows landing like thunder against his battered form.

Silenced by the agony of his soul, Arthur can only shudder and gasp, his protests drowned out by the symphony of his own suffering.

The cruel banter of his captors cuts through the stale air of the cellar, their words dripping with venomous amusement. "Look at the size of this fella," the Irishman sneers, his tone thick with bitterness. "No wonder that Kate lass is stickin' around. Probably only usin' 'em for his cock."

Their laughter echoes like the cawing of carrion birds, feasting on the remains of a fallen prey. "Well, he's got three holes now," another voice chimes in, laced with malicious glee. "I reckon that mouth of his is soft and warm like her cunt."

Arthur's stomach churns with revulsion and fear as he listens to their degrading remarks, feeling utterly defenseless in the face of their cruelty. The sound of shuffling fabric signals Nolan's approach, his presence looming over Arthur like a shadow in the darkness. His hips suddenly inches from Arthur’s face.

In a moment of desperate reprieve, Arthur's consciousness fades into blackness, a merciful respite from the fear, shame, and agony that threaten to consume him. When he awakens, it's with a choking cough, his own sickness coating his face.

With a trembling hand, he wipes away the vile residue, his body racked with pain and exhaustion. The cellar's frigid air hangs heavy with the stench of vomit and decay, suffocating him further as he struggles to draw breath.

Each inhale is a laborious effort, his lungs rattling with the strain as they gasp for oxygen. With every passing moment, the weight of his battered body grows heavier, his limbs hanging limp and lifeless in the oppressive darkness.

As the cellar door groans open, Arthur stirs from his fitful slumber, the sound of three distinct sets of footsteps descending the stairs sends a chill down his spine.

"Arthur Morgan," a familiar cloying voice, slices through the darkness like a dagger. Arthur winces as the figure steps into the flickering candlelight, casting ominous shadows against the damp stone walls. Unmistakably Colm O'Driscoll.

A wave of dread washes over Arthur, and he recoils instinctively as Colm draws near. "How's that wound treating you?" His words drip with false concern, a mockery of compassion.

Coughing weakly, blood staining his parched lips, Arthur manages to murmur, "c-can’t…fe-feel it any…more," his voice trembling with pain and despair.

Colm leans in, his expression twisted with disdain as he inspects Arthur's festering wound. The skin was turning black and yellow. The putrid odor assaults his senses, and Colm's lip curls in disgust. "You ain't allowed to die yet," he sneers. "I wanna see the look in your eyes when Van der Linde and that so-called family of his gets a bullet to the skull."

Arthur croaks, “D-dutch…is-is he…” His mind whirls with thoughts of Dutch, Hosea, and Kate, their faces blurred by anguish and uncertainty. He struggles to recall why he's here, and if his friends are even still alive. Perhaps they've already fallen into his trap, and he's the lone survivor, kept alive for Colm's sadistic pleasure.

Colm grips Arthur's hair tightly, yanking him closer with a cruel smirk etched upon his ugly scarred face. "Could've saved yourself a lot of pain if you'd worked for me," he taunts. "We could've been partners in crime, making real money together."

Rage surged through Arthur like a wildfire, fueled by a defiance that refused to be extinguished. It was never about the money to him. "I-I'll fu-fucking…k-ill y-you," he spat, the words punctuated by a wad of blood and mucus aimed at Colm's face.

Colm's features contorted with fury as he jerked Arthur's head back, sending him swinging on his shackles. Dazed and nauseous, Arthur felt the impact of a heavy fist against his stomach. A sickening warmth spread down his body, mingling with the stench of blood and vomit. He realized with horror, the fullness of his bladder now emptying uncontrollably, adding another layer of humiliation to his degradation.

Drenched in his own bodily fluids, Arthur trembled with fear. "P-please," he choked out, his voice a desperate plea for mercy. "Just…l-le…let me go—" His words dissolved into sobs, his pride shattered by the harsh reality of his helplessness. He knew he sounded pitiful, weak, but in this moment, all he could do was beg for the slightest glimmer of hope, completely at the mercy of Colm's tenacious grip.

"The way I see it," Colm continued, his voice flowing with disdain, "the law gets Van der Linde, and they forget all about little ole me." He taunted, his filthy fingernails tracing over Arthur's bruised abdomen, descending to the tangled hair below his navel.

Arthur only whimpered in response, his body squirming and contorting under Colm's touch, indifferent to the pain shooting through his ankles. He kicked his feet desperately, not caring if he ripped the flesh. A futile attempt to escape, accompanied by the distant snickers of the other O'Driscolls.

"We grab all of ya, let the law have their fun…then we disappear. Leaving you here to rot in your own shit," Colm continued, his grin sinister as he yanked a fistful of hair, as if trying to tear it from the follicle. Arthur's breath hitched sharply, coughing up more blood onto his lips.

"Ngh..s-stop…please," he pleaded, his voice strained with anguish.

As the fog in his mind began to clear, Arthur realized the gravity of Colm's words. He had been kidnapped not for ransom, but as bait for Dutch and the gang. They would come charging to his rescue, only to fall into a trap orchestrated by Colm, sealing their own fates.

"You're his right hand man, Arthur, oh he would be so mad if he knew what I'm gonna do to you." Colm's laughter echoed through the cellar, cruel and triumphant, as he used his grip on Arthur's hair to spin him wildly. He thrashed in agony, his cries drowned out by the darkness.

Abruptly, Colm halted the motion, leaving Arthur's head spinning with dizziness. In the haze of his vision, he caught sight of Colm retrieving a small knife from his pocket.

“Get m’f-fuck…away fr’m-me!” He mustered, his voice broken like a beaten dog.

Before he could even brace himself for the inevitable blow, Colm thrust the knife into his belly.

The scream that tore from Arthur's lips was primal, guttural, a symphony of agony that reverberated through the cellar. Like the sound of an animal being burned alive. Breathing heavily through his teeth, the pain engulfed him. Splintering inwards. A relentless torrent that seared his insides with a fiery intensity. Blood and bile rose in his throat, threatening to choke him with their suffocating heat.

Colm stepped back, wiping his hands on his jeans with casual indifference, as if he had just completed the mundane task of skinning an animal. "We'll come wake ya when the party arrives," he spat, his voice laced with contempt. "Make sure ya get a front row seat for the show."

With heavy footsteps, Colm and his companions departed, leaving behind an oppressive silence that enveloped Arthur like a shroud. Alone in the darkness, his sobs mingled with the echo of his labored breathing, his fragile existence sustained only by the stubborn beat of his heart.

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

In the waning light, between the towering monoliths of the twin stacks, Kate stood alone, her gaze fixed westward toward Emerald Ranch. The memories of their first meeting still vivid in her mind. Every step forward felt heavy with dread, each breath drawn laden with uncertainty. She braced herself for the task ahead, steeling her resolve to confront the unknown.

Amidst the barren expanse, an object caught her eye—a solitary figure in the dust. Arthur's hat, a weathered relic of countless battles, lay abandoned upon the ground. Its frayed edges whispered tales of long sunny days on the prairie, and cold rainy evenings as it shielded his face from the oncoming storm. A silent testament to his indomitable spirit.

As she reached out to retrieve the hat, a surge of anguish washed over her. Arthur's absence echoed through the empty landscape, like a gaping void in her heart. Yet the hat remained, a tangible reminder of his presence.

Kate brought the hat to her face, inhaling deeply the familiar scent of pine and musk mingled with campfire smoke. Arthur’s smell. A familiar scent she had begun to associate with home. Tears threatened to blur her vision as she clung to the cherished memento, her heart heavy with worry and longing. It was one piece of himself Arthur would never leave behind, not if he could help it. His gamblers hat was an extension of himself.

Amidst the intruding darkness, she traced the crimson stains upon the rocky earth, following their trail with a sinking heart. Three sets of tracks emerged from the shadows, leading northward past the stacks—a grim indication of Arthur's fate.

Kate knew at that moment the law didn’t have him. The closest sheriff station was back east. Had he been arrested, news of his capture would be in the paper by now. The gang would have already planned to break him out. Before he would be hanged for his transgressions, his death a spectacle for the crowd. Like his life was nothing more than a circus act.

Kate was no stranger to the harsh realities of the world, she had once wielded the blade herself, inflicting torment upon any who dared challenge her. If Colm's men had taken Arthur, she knew they would subject him to unspeakable horrors. Time was slipping away, and with each passing moment, his fate was slipping through her fingers.

Climbing back in the saddle she took off, following the tracks as the sun set to the west of her, casting a deep shadow onto the land. Like a bird in graceful flight, its silhouette gliding over the sun, the darkness mirrored its ghostly journey on the earth below.

"I'm coming, Arthur," she whispered, her voice carried away with the evening breeze. "Please, don't give up on me."

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

Hours later, Arthur stirred from the depths of sleep, his body an orchestra of aches and throbs. Yet amidst the pain, the surge of adrenaline lent clarity to his thoughts. For the first time in an eternity, his mind emerged from the murky depths of fear and uncertainty, guided by an unseen force, a flicker of determination that refused to be extinguished. An arm of support that gently held his heart, and willed it to keep beating.

In the recesses of his consciousness, Kate's presence loomed large, her tender care a distant memory amidst his current turmoil. He recalled the night she had tended to his wounds, her gentle touch and warm words a soothing balm to his battered soul. Oh, how he yearned to hold her, to envelop her in an embrace and bask in the warmth of her presence.

Her words that night, soft as a whispered prayer, stirred a tempest within him. Regret washed over Arthur like a relentless tide, for not seizing the moment to bare his soul, to taste the sweetness of her lips in that fleeting moment. A vulnerability, veiled by fear, held him captive, yet now he feared the chance might never come again.

"I'm always here if you need a hand," her offer, a mere echo in the vast expanse of their shared moments, resonated deep within his being. Beyond the surface, he understood its true meaning, Kate had shown him time and time again that she was patient and resilient. She had already pledged unwavering loyalty, a vow to stand steadfast by his side.

With certainty, he envisioned Kate riding alongside Dutch, her fate entwined with theirs, destined for a violent end. He could not bear the thought. It was like barbed wire around his throat. Arthur couldn’t allow that. He was the protector, he was the strong arm. He would shield her from every blow if it ever came to it.

He would crawl home on his hands and knees if he had to, back to the gang, back to the closest thing he had to family. Back to her.

In the dim candlelit room, Arthur's senses swam in a haze of crimson. His eyes, heavy as lead, strained against the oppressive darkness. Alone in the cellar, he listened to the distant crackle of a fire and the muffled voices beyond the stone walls. He quickly realized he was alone.

With a groan, he lifted his gaze to his body, bathed in the flickering light. His torn union suit exposed to the chill of the dank air, while the glint of steel protruded from his belly. The knife, a silent tormentor, surrounded by angry, swollen flesh, oozing rivulets of blood like winding red streams.

It was his only chance, a gamble with his own mortality. With a determined resolve, Arthur braced himself and grasped the hilt of the silver dagger. A muffled cry escaped his lips as he wrenched it from his abdomen. A rush of warmth flooded his side, pooling around him in a macabre embrace. As the wine red tide gushed, the world spun around him, threatening to engulf him in an abyss of darkness from which he might never return.

Summoning every ounce of strength, Arthur clenched his teeth and pulled up. With the knife gripped tightly in his good hand, he strained against the weight of his own body, reaching desperately for the lock that bound the shackles to his ankles. Each labored breath expelled blood onto his chest, a stark reminder of his life threatening state.

Years of Dutch’s patient tutelage in lock picking flashed through his mind, a skill honed in moments of leisure now turned to desperate necessity. With a primal cry, Arthur thrust the blade into the lock, his hands trembling with fatigue and adrenaline. Time seemed to stretch into eternity as he wrestled with the unforgiving metal, his fingers numb and unresponsive.

Then, with a sudden, almost miraculous click, the lock yielded to his persistence. The shackles fell away, and Arthur collapsed onto the cold, unforgiving floor, his body trembling with exhaustion. Every fiber of his being screamed for rest, for the sweet embrace of surrender. Yet, even as despair threatened to engulf him, a flicker of determination ignited within his soul. He refused to yield, refused to succumb to the weight of his own despair.

Despite the agony coursing through his body, Arthur mustered the strength to turn himself over, his groan echoing in the dimly lit cellar. The slick floor beneath him bore witness to the blood trail he left in his wake as he reached for his journal and satchel, discarded amidst his own filth.

With determination etched into every line of his beaten weary face, he stretched out his good arm, using the wall for support as he dragged his battered form inch by painstaking inch toward the door. Each movement sent waves of pain rippling through him, threatening to engulf him in darkness. Fueled by an unyielding resolve, he pressed on, driven by an instinctual tug toward freedom. Dragging his knees up each step of the cellar.

He refused to succumb to the pain, pushing himself forward with sheer force of will. Each labored breath threatened to be his last, but he refused to entertain the notion of surrender. This would not be his final chapter, and he would not allow Kate to suffer the same cruel fate. He held out hope that he would see her again, even if it was his final moments he would spare no time in warning her of the threat that loomed just out of reach. Waiting like a snake in the tall grass, ready to strike its unsuspecting victim.

The fools had left the door unlocked, a small oversight that granted Arthur an opportunity. With a grunt, he pushed against the door, surprised by its lightness. In an instant, he was bathed in the cool embrace of the night air, a welcome respite from the stale confines of the cellar. The night air is fresh and crisp, but like a soothing balm against his weakened lungs.

The darkness enveloped him in his embrace as he emerged, the stars above his only witness. In the distance, a flickering campfire cast dancing shadows, accompanied by the murmur of many voices. More of Colm's men lingered nearby, their presence a reminder of the danger that lurked.

Arthur wasted no time, he needed to be quick before they realized he had escaped, frightened by the idea of what they would do to him if they caught him. With caution born of desperation, he lowered himself onto the dew-kissed grass, the sensation offering a fleeting comfort to his battered frame. Every movement was accompanied by a sting of pain as twigs and rocks scraped against his skin, but he persevered, inching his way toward the side of the house.

A sudden scuffle in the dark sent Arthur's heart into a frantic rhythm. He braced himself for danger, muscles tensed for a confrontation that never came. Instead, a soft whinny broke the silence, a familiar sound that stirred a glimmer of hope within him.

Arthur looked up, his vision swirled, but he would recognize that pearl white coat anywhere. Belle. His mare was hitched to a tree just shy of where he had been kept prisoner. With renewed determination, he quickened his pace toward her, each step a struggle against his battered body.

Reaching out to grasp her reins, Arthur was met with unexpected resistance as Belle recoiled, fear evident in her wild eyes. He coaxed her gently, murmuring soothing words as he leaned heavily against the sturdy trunk of the tree. In the dim moonlight, he noticed the dark crimson stains marring her once perfect white fur, a grim reminder of the violence that had unfolded in his absence.

"Oh, my sweet girl… What did they do to you?" Arthur's voice was a tender murmur as he reached out to her, his fingers brushing against her shaken form. Belle trembled before him, her hind legs quivering like fragile branches in a fierce storm. "Shhh, shh. You're alright now…"

Belle's ears twitched nervously in response, but Arthur knew he couldn't linger. The pain pulsating in his side intensified with each passing moment, and the trail of blood he left behind painted a grim picture of his dwindling durability. Summoning the last shreds of his strength, he untied her reins and hoisted himself into the saddle, his movements slow and labored.

Every motion was agony, every breath a struggle against the darkness threatening to consume him. With great effort, he swung his leg over Belle's back, his body hunched over her pristine mane. Arthur held on tightly, the warmth of her presence offering a faint glimmer of comfort amidst the chaos.

As Belle began to move, Arthur rocked gently in the saddle, his body protesting with each jarring step. But there was no time to dwell on pain or weakness. With a surge of determination fueled by fear and longing for freedom, Belle broke into a gallop, carrying Arthur away from the shadows that had haunted them both.

The rush of wind against his face felt like a bittersweet embrace, a fleeting taste of liberty amidst the suffocating grip of captivity. And as the darkness closed in once more, Arthur surrendered to its embrace, his consciousness slipping away like a fading whisper in the night.

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

Kate felt like she was staring down death between its eyes.

She had spent hours following the trail, a winding path that seemed to vanish and reappear at will. With the setting sun, darkness enveloped the landscape, making it increasingly difficult to discern the tracks from the myriad of others imprinted upon the earth. The prints of three riders merged seamlessly with those of the countless travelers who had passed this way before, creating a labyrinth of confusion.

Despite the growing sense of desperation gnawing at her heart, Kate refused to succumb to despair. With each passing moment, her pulse quickened with the weight of impending dread, the relentless march of time driving her forward. Each minute stretched into an eternity, a torturous reminder of the urgency of her quest.

Undeterred by the encroaching darkness, Kate retraced her steps, her eyes scanning the ground for any trace that might lead her to Arthur's captors. Determination burned within her, a fierce flame that illuminated the path ahead even as shadows threatened to consume her. She knew that she would search until the first light of dawn if necessary, unwilling to abandon her friend to the mercy of his tormentors.

As if guided by a twisted hand of fate, she stumbled upon a vantage point overlooking a serene waterfall. Bathed in the ethereal glow of the moonlight, a sudden glimmer of white caught her eye amidst the darkness, resembling a fleeting star in the night sky. Squinting against the veil of shadows, she discerned a figure sprawled on the ground below.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl as she approached on horseback, the air thick with anticipation. Realization dawned, and with a desperate urgency, Kate flung herself from the saddle and rushed to Arthur's side. His body lay crumpled in the dirt, a haunting sight that sent shivers down her spine.

A surge of panic gripped her, rendering her mind blank as she absorbed the gravity of the situation. It was as if she was staring into the abyss of death itself, uncertainty clouding her thoughts like a turbulent storm. With trembling lungs, she dared to wonder: am I too late?

In a sudden moment of awakening, Arthur emitted a low groan, stirring Kate from her daze. With tender hands, she reached down and cradled his battered face, the chill of his skin a stark contrast to her warmth. Once handsome features now bore the brutal marks of violence—black and blue bruises adorned his visage, while deep cuts marred his brows and lips.

“Oh, Arthur,” she murmured softly, her voice a delicate whisper as if afraid to disturb a baby from its fragile slumber. A tremor coursed through her lip, tears welling in her eyes and blurring her sight.

“Arthur,” Repeating his name like a sacred invocation, she sank to her knees in the dirt, wrapping one arm around his torso. Her breath hitched at the sight of the gaping wound carved into his left shoulder, a dark abyss that seemed to swallow the very essence of hope. Gently easing him onto his back, her throat constricted with a wave of anguish as she beheld the extent of his injuries.

His torn undersuit left him exposed to the unforgiving elements, his stomach and chest stained with a mixture of blood and dirt. Bruises, a tapestry of purples and yellows, painted almost every inch of his battered skin. But it was the festering wound in his stomach that seized her attention, a steady bubbling stream of blood served as a grim reminder that she was still running out of time.

She couldn't fathom how he managed to escape, but in that moment, it didn't matter. Arthur was back in her embrace, and time was their only remaining lifeline.

As Kate attempted to lift him, he winced in agony, his eyes fluttering open. Once a beautiful deep blue, they were now swollen and obscured by blood.

Arthur had shed copious amounts of blood since extracting the small steel knife from his side, his mind teetering on the edge of delirium. Hovering between the realms of existence and oblivion, he questioned the reality before him. When the familiar warmth of Kate's hands caressed his cold, weary face, he entertained the notion that perhaps she had been his guide all along, a psychopomp leading his fractured soul into the unknown.

She spoke to him, but her words were drowned out by a deafening ringing in his ears. In that moment, he felt it might be his final breath, but he found solace in the thought of resting beside her, his last act of devotion to warn her of the impending danger.

"Kate," he managed to rasp, his voice strained, "it’s…it’s a t-trap." With trembling fingers, he reached out to grasp her arm.

Her voice, a soothing melody in the chaos, reached him, "I know, honey, I know," she reassured him, her thumb tracing gentle circles on his cheek.

Arthur's urgency escalated, "Th-they'll k-ill… you," he struggled to rise, his efforts met with a wince of pain, "Dutch, I… I-I have to… warn him." He fought against the agony, his body writhing on the ground in an attempt to compose himself.

"Shh, easy, honey, I'm right here," Kate comforted, her words a balm to his panicked soul, "I'm going to take you home." She knew Dutch wouldn't come for him. She was his only hope.

Tears, warm as summer rain, streamed down her cheeks as Kate beheld him in agonizing pain. She longed to erase the brutal images of his torture etched in her mind, willing to claw her own eyes out to rid herself of the haunting sight. Regret gnawed at her, wishing she had searched for him sooner, trusting her instincts and her faithful mare who sensed the danger from the start. If only she could shield him from suffering, but all she could do was cradle him in her arms and summon the strength to lead him home.

His breaths quickened, lips trembling, cheeks shimmering in the moonlight as tears mingled with blood and grime. Kate pressed her forehead against his, placing a tender kiss on the bridge of his nose. "I'm so sorry, Arthur," she murmured amid her own silent tears. "I promise to bring you home. You're safe now. You're safe," she repeated, a whispered mantra of hope and solace.

The moonlit night felt strangely empty, punctuated only by the distant murmur of the nearby waterfall. With a sharp whistle, Kate commanded Lorena to kneel, bringing her closer to the ground.

Bracing herself, Kate wrapped her arm around Arthur's waist, feeling the weight of his pain with each whimper that escaped his lips. "I've got you, Arthur," she murmured, determination lacing her words. "I won't let go. Just hold on tight to me, alright?"

His labored breaths filled the night air as she maneuvered him into the saddle, settling herself in front of him. The task seemed insurmountable; she needed one hand for Belle's reins, the faithful mare bearing the burden of her own torment. With her free hand, Kate clung to Arthur, his cold, wet form pressing against her skin. He seemed to embody death itself, his scent a sickening mixture of the metallic tang of blood and bodily fluids.

Kate's heart pulsed with the weight of his condition, each beat echoing like a stone sinking into a tranquil pond. His body, cold and broken, found solace in the warmth of Kate's embrace. She was his guiding light, a beacon amidst the darkness that enveloped them. In her arms, he felt a sense of security, akin to a child cradled in the arms of a loving mother.

With his trembling hand clutching her tightly, he whispered her name, “Kate…” his voice a desperate plea for solace, for reassurance, for escape from the torment that surrounded them. Kate could offer nothing but her unwavering presence, her words a gentle murmur of comfort as they embarked on the long journey home.

As Lorena maintained her steady stride, the passage of time stretched before them like an endless expanse. With her hands occupied, Kate placed her trust in her faithful mare, each hoofbeat a testament to their shared urgency.

Alone with her thoughts, engulfed by the fear that Arthur might slip away from her grasp, Kate turned to the only refuge she knew: prayer.

She prayed to her mother for strength, her father for wisdom. With a heavy heart, she sought solace from her siblings, urging them to extend their gentle hands of comfort to both her and Arthur. In the depths of her anguish, Kate's prayers reached out to her husband and daughter, silently imploring for their support and guidance. She longed for their presence to envelop them both, for she needed their reassurance now more than ever.

The ache of losing yet another loved one gnawed at her soul, a pain all too familiar. Kate feared she would not withstand the agony if Arthur were to slip away. The thought of starting anew, of becoming someone else after this loss, felt unbearable. It was as if God had marked her hands since childhood, decreeing that every soul she held dear would be untimely ripped from her embrace.

A poignant memory of River flooded Kate's mind, the day he mourned the loss of his wife and child. Amidst his anguish, he had railed against his God, offering his own soul in exchange for theirs. He had once confided in her that their God watched over them, listening to their pleas. Sometimes it intervened and sometimes it did not.

In a moment of desperation, Kate cried out into the chilly night air, invoking the ancient tongue River had taught her—a language born of the elements: water, fire, air, and earth. “I will make a deal with you,” she cried. To whom she addressed her plea, she could not say. "If this is our fate," she implored, her voice trembling, "so be it. But spare him and take me instead. I offer myself for his salvation," her words echoed through the silent darkness. "I was given a chance at redemption long ago, but please, give him a chance to seek his own. His heart is pure, I know it."

But of course, nothing replied to her in the night. Save for the whisper of an owl and the rustle of leaves in the wind. "Take my soul for his," she whispered, her voice barely a murmur against the darkness.

Arthur stirred in his slumber beside her, his lips yearning for the kiss he once denied. In his dreams, they met, releasing the longing he dared not express.

The world seemed to unfold anew, reborn in her presence. Her voice, like the gentle morning, whispered into his soul, slowly emerging like the dawn. His heart swelled in her presence, lifting him to new heights, unwilling to look down.

AN: This chapter was so hard to write. I had to take frequent breaks just for my own mental health it was breaking my heart. Since Arthur doesn't have TB in this fic, this event will kind of be the turning point for him. His injuries are going to render him disabled and he'll be forced to confront the idea that his days as a gunslinging outlaw are finally at an end. You'll start to see more of that in the upcoming chapters. I wish I could say that the next chapter will be happier, but alas, it's now Kates turn to suffer. But she will do everything she can to save Arthur from his torment. As always thank you so much for reading/commenting/reblogging, this story has become so important to me and I appreciate every single one of you that's supporting me on this journey!

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dracoxmalereader · 6 months

Text

Clock Tower

Draco x Male Reader

Context: Can be read as any house reader but I did write it with my main Hufflepuff!Reader in mind. Takes place during half blood prince before most of the main plot but post Draco being made a death eater.

Summary: Draco didn't show up to charms, and ever the worried boyfriend you are, you've gone looking for him. After an exhausting search around the castle, you finally find him in the clocktower. What a wonderful opportunity to get emotional. <3

Word Count: 1290

A breeze whirls through the air and warm leaves dust the sky. The sound of rustling trees echoes distantly, few clouds marring the evenly blue sky. Wings flap, and birds chirp and sing their fresh autumn songs to fill the silence brought on by class time.

Your shoes crunch against wet, grassy stones. You breathe in the smell of the clayish mud that paves the floor of the clocktower courtyard, hearing the low and steady swing of the pendulum inside. It’s hard to see in with the shadow cast over the archway, but blonde hair sticks out against the dim walls and floor and you quicken your pace.

“Draco?”

His head turns to you. He’s sat on the floor, knees tucked to his chest with one arm wrapped around them, another splayed out on the ground to balance himself. It makes him look incredibly small.

His eyes meet yours as you step into the room with him.

“What are you doing here?” His eyebrows are drawn tight, his voice coming out uncharacteristically weak.

You approach and sit beside him, legs crossed. “You weren’t in charms.”

There was so much you wanted to talk about. Unsure of what to say, you reach a hand up to smooth down a strand of hair that had broken free from the formal do he’d gelled it into.

“I like what you’ve been doing with your hair these days.” You spoke, looking over him with fondness.

He stares at you silently. His face, paler by the day, holds a weight of stress. Lines etched deeply behind either side of his nose, and he’d been walking the halls with his worried expression long enough you weren’t sure if the wrinkles on his forehead were intentional or not.

Sighing, you resign yourself to honesty. “I’m worried about you.”

His brows draw ever tighter and he wrenches his gaze away from you, watching the shadow of the passing pendulum. “All will be well.” The way he says it makes you wonder who he’s trying to convince.

You inch your hand closer to his and run your pinkie finger along the side of his hand before hooking it under his. He takes a breath and swallows audibly, making an effort to further avoid your watchful eyes. He turns his focus to an empty flower pot in the corner farthest from you.

His resolve bleeds, and he breathes from his nose, not ready to let it break. His pinkie finger twitches and curls tighter around yours.

“Doesn’t it remind you of the O.W.L.s last year?” You prompt, partly out of nostalgia and partly just to get him talking. “The pendulum.”

“Yeah.” His lips purse, something akin to a smile, though the corners of his mouth remain downturned. “It was fun while it lasted, wasn’t it? Those weasel-bees little light show?”

You chuckle. “Yeah. It was.” You scooch yourself closer to him, unlatching your pinkies in favor of draping your palm over the top of his hand.

“Until it was over, at least.”

You could feel his knuckles trembling ever so slightly, and wished he'd been around enough for you to know when they’d started doing that.

“I studied so hard for that test.” He sighs, his chest visibly deflating. He curls in on himself, running the hand not blanketed by yours over his hair. "It felt like the end of the world."

There’s an air of longing to his tone. You tighten your fingers, slipping the tips between the side of his palm and the ground. You knock your shoulder against his. “You know you can tell me anything, right?”

His eyes finally flicker to yours. His gray irises are dim, lacking the childish glint he’d evidently lost over the summer. You watch his face morph, frown deepening. The wrinkles on his forehead spread.

“Draco…” You trail on.

He takes a sharp breath. “Don’t-” His words come out choked, forced through the back of his throat like he almost doesn’t want to say them. “There’s… just a lot going on.” He focuses his attention on the floor again.

You nod, and you can see his gaze linger over your connected hands.

“I have to do a lot of things I don’t want to do, now.” He says it like he’s chasing it down. “And it’s changed a lot about how I see the world.” He swallows, and you can hear how his lungs tighten as he speaks. “How I see you…”

His fingers ball up, lifting from the floor and wrapping awkwardly around the tops of yours. You lean your head on his shoulder to show him you’re still listening.

His free hand roughly bunches up the fabric of his dress pants, forearm quaking like it aches. “I haven’t been around a lot this year. Or last year. I’m sorry.” His voice quivers, a desperate lilt coating it like the spit you hear collecting in his mouth.

There’s a deeper layer to his words that you can’t quite place. You raise your head to see him blinking away tears.

“It’s okay.” You reassure him. “It’s fine, and-” Your hand leaves his to travel up his arm, squeezing the space under his shoulder so you can feel the muscles tense. “Whatever it is that you’re having to do, I’m here for you, okay?”

His eyes meet yours again and he nods. He sniffles once, then, “Thank you.” His fingers drum against the floor. “I think you might be the only one.”

You rub your thumb back and forth over his arm and feel when the trembling in his knuckles rumbles through the rest of him. He clears his throat to shake it off and pushes himself up all at once, turning away from you again.

“We should get to class.” He rolls his shoulders and stretches his head to the side, fruitlessly as he remains tense. He holds himself with an ill-fitting urgency. “Charms will be over by the time we get back.”

“Draco-” You try to keep his attention. You stand up as he’s swatting the dirt off the back of his pants, and he brushes you off again.

“It’s best we hurry. If Flitwick sees us after we both ditched he’ll have our heads-”

“Draco!” You cut him off, brows tilted inward only for a moment. You take a step closer to him and grab his face in both of your hands. He's still and quiet, looking almost fearfully so. You sigh. Leaning forward, you close your eyes and press a firm kiss to his mouth.

You pull away and his face, still sunken and pale with exhaustion, has reddened. The stress ebbs from it, and you watch his eyebrows relax just a little. He takes a deep breath.

Hands still on his face, you hold eye contact. “Thank you for telling me.”

His mouth pulls inward. He looks you up and down, gaze catching on your lips before coming back up to your pupils. His stubborn, tired eyes swim with vulnerability and your heart swells with affection. You grin at him.

“Let’s walk together, hm?”

He nods, and for the first time in weeks you see a small but genuine smile tug at his lips. “You’re such a sap.” The lighthearted jab feels like the calm after a storm. The wind turns just right and a gust of cool air washes through the tower. The strand of hair you'd smoothed down blows loose again, fluttering.

Your thumbs indulgently trace the skin of his jaw a few times before you let your hands fall, brushing your shoulders and lacing your pinkie fingers together again. Wings flap, and birds sing in the distance as the two of you start out of the clocktower and through the courtyard.

I really try to like Harry x Reader content and just Harry in general but Daniel Radcliffe looks so much like my ex in the movies that I'm immediately put off. It's so uncanny I honestly barely survived the movies to begin with. He looks JUST like him it's terrifying. RIP what I could've had with Harry if they didn't cast Daniel Radcliffe. Timbers shivered.

Draco is more than enough for me anyways. <3 How wonderful he is. <3 If he's OOC in this it's because I forgot to go to bed last night and have been awake since the dawn of time. Creative liberties.

Trying to tag everyone this time because tumblr magically made the tag work under Express so I'm hoping it'll do that here too. OOoOoOoOooOo tumblr you want to tag properly soOOoOoOOo bad

Tags: @nowayisthistakenyet @gayaristocrat @dracoshusband @siuspider @skrunklespoingo @esperfraud @joongbin @midwestemosblog @we2222

#draco malfoy #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy x male reader #draco x male reader #draco x reader #harry potter fandom #draco malfoy x reader #draco x y/n #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco x you #draco malfoy x y/n #draco malfoy x you #x male reader #x male y/n #x m!reader #tagging is hard

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borathae · 4 days

Text

↳ Index [Chapter 06 - Hay]

Warnings: so many fluffy sweet moments, the four of them help on the farm, her grandparents are couple goals, Yoongi being the best magic teacher, he's so funny without trying, she is so cool <3, Tae and Koo being tiny horndogs, just a tiny bit, everything about this chapter is fluffy and sweet though hehe

Wordcount: 8.7k

a/n: this story is so healing <3 i love that they're so happy together <3

Taehyung smiles fondly at the memory of yesterday and nods his head.

“Yes, Jungkook and I went to the woods to paint. We had a picnic hence we were absent during dinner”, he says with giddiness in his eyes.

“I see. I hope you had a lot of fun.”

“We did. We talked so much and truly bonded”, Taehyung says and smiles when you kiss his cheek.

“That’s good to hear, my darling. I’m so happy that you had time to get to know each other better”, you say, playing with his hair.

Taehyung meets your fond eyes, giving you a smile, “thank you.”

“Mhm, my darling”, you say with a soft pinch to his cheek, “are you feeling okay today? Honest answers only.”

“I feel good”, Taehyung says, feeling his heart flutter at the realisation that you care about him. The memory of yesterday is good to him, but he also knows how unstable he acted when he believed that he needed to serve Jungkook. It feels good to know that you care for him.

“That’s good to hear, my sweetest darling”, you say, following it with a kiss to his cheek and stand back up, “are you making cherry pie, grandma?”

“We are”, your grandmother confirms.

“That’s wonderful. I’m so excited already. I love your pies so much”, you say as you are busy dancing around Yoongi as you and he both try to look into the fridge.

He looks at you and steps aside, giving you view of the contents.

“Did you have breakfast already?” you ask the others.

“We did. There’s probably more eggs outside if you want to eat some”, your grandfather answers you.

You look at Yoongi. He knows what you want to say without needing to hear it.

“Do you want to get them?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, let’s go”, he says and snatches the egg basket, “we’re outside. Do you need more eggs for the pie, Agatha?”

“No thank you, dear.”

Sunlight floods the clearing and the air smells like fresh flowers. The humming of bees and other helpful insects surrounds you, high above your heads the birds greet the new day in happy songs. Truly, you feel like singing yourself. It has been days and the happiness of being here just doesn’t shrink.

You intertwine your fingers with Yoongi, swinging your arms back and forth as you skip along the path. He glances at you, smiling fondly.

“You seem happy.”

“I am happy. Today’s such a sunny day and we’re getting gram’s cherry pie later, we can eat fresh eggs for breakfast and I get to hold your hand. There’s no reason not to be happy today.”

“Yeah true. It sounds like a good day”, Yoongi agrees, letting you swing your arms. He listens to the soft humming you do and thinks to himself that he is lucky to have someone as positive as you for his love. He thought the day to be okay, but your perspective on it makes him see it in a brighter light.

The chicken coop is open. The hens are running around their part of the garden, chatting to themselves between picking for worms and bugs. They let you and Yoongi pass, gurgling curiously but never daring to approach. You still greet every single one of them, while Yoongi follows with the basket.

The door – the big, human sized door that is – to the coop was open. Maybe Taehyung or your grandparents left it open accidentally. You step inside the spacious coop, meeting Jungkook there. He is sitting cross-legged on the ground with a full egg basket next to him and a brown chicken atop his lap.

“Kookie? Hey, what are you doing here?”

He lifts his head and shushes you loudly. He even goes as far as to furrow his brows.

“What are you doing here?” you whisper.

“I was getting eggs for brekkie”, he is whispering, “and then Jolene climbed into my lap and asked for pets. So I gave her pets and now she’s fallen asleep”, he explains.

The small head of the chicken is resting in Jungkook’s palm. Her eyes are closed, small chicken purrs leave her as she slumbers deeply in her cozy nest.

You and Yoongi snicker.

“That’s so cute though. Look at her snoozing.”

“I know, right? I don’t wanna move, I’m so scared to wake her”, Jungkook says and sobs soundlessly, “I need to pee so bad. I’ve been here for twenty minutes”, he whines.

“Oh gosh, poor you”, you chuckle, “that’s not that good then.”

“No, it’s not. It’s bad. So bad actually.”

“Poor baby”, you whine with him, laughing softly afterwards.

“We could try freeing you?”

“How?”

“I’ll take her”, Yoongi says and squats down in front of him. He slides his hands under Jolene carefully.

“You’ll wake her”, Jungkook gasps.

“Trust me, I won’t”, Yoongi assures him and moves as slowly as humanly possible. The brown hen leaves Jungkook’s lap, gurgling softly without ever waking.

“There we go, my girl”, Yoongi whispers and cradles her in his arms like a small baby, “there we go, sleep.”

The hen rests her head against Yoongi’s arm, slumbering peacefully.

“Crisis averted”, Yoongi tells Jungkook.

“I love you so much. You have no idea how hardcore you just saved me”, he says and stumbles to his feet, “oh god, I’m gonna pee myself, standing up made it so much worse”, he whines and hurries out the coop in typical pre-pee-steps.

He disappears behind a corner to most definitely use the nearby bushes for his business.

“Poor man”, you say and chuckle.

“Yeah, right.”

“Thankfully we arrived when we did.”

“Yeah.”

You study Yoongi and the peaceful chicken in his arms.

“I thought you couldn’t get any more attractive but I was wrong.”

“What? You mean ‘cause I’m holding a chicken?”

“You’re holding a chicken without managing to wake her. You’re such a safe space, Boongie. Even animals agree.”

He lowers his eyes shyly, “whatever”, he murmurs.

You smile fondly and squat down to pick up Jungkook’s egg basket. He managed to collect eight eggs before Jolene occupied his lap. That should be enough for three people.

“I don’t think we need to get any more eggs. Kook was really diligent”, you say.

“Yeah, it should be good for three people.”

Yoongi in the meantime carries Jolene to her sleeping spot in the coop, setting her down gently. He even puts more hay around her, making sure that she is cozy. He gives her head a soft pet, “sleep tight, my friend”, he tells her and stands back up.

“I’m back. Wah you guys have no idea how much I just peed”, Jungkook announces himself, standing in the doorway, “where’s Jolene?”

“Her bed, let’s get outta here so we don’t wake her”, Yoongi says and together you leave the coop and the chickens’ garden.

You walk side by side. The sun warms your faces, the scent of lavender accompanies you.

“You didn’t have breakfast yet either, did you?” you check with Jungkook to which he shakes his head.

“No, I didn’t. I came outside because I wanted scrambled eggs.”

“I figured. Is it okay for us to use the eggs as well?”

“Of course, but should I carry them?”

“No, it’s okay. It’s not heavy”, you assure him.

“Are you sure? I wouldn’t mind.”

Knowing Jungkook and his enjoyment of being helpful, it would make him a lot happier to carry the egg basket than stand idly by.

“Fine, thank you so much for offering”, you say and place the basket in his open palms.

“Of course, I’m happy to be of help”, he says, glowing so much brighter now that he can be your helpful boyfriend. He even seems to walk easier, swinging his head from side to side slightly. He is so cute.

“Were you really in there for twenty minutes?” Yoongi asks.

“I was. Wah seriously, I thought that I might have to pee myself. It was torture.”

You laugh. Yoongi chuckles.

“I can imagine. One time, ___ fell asleep on my lap and I almost pissed myself.”

“Wait. I did?”

“Mhm.”

“When?”

“The murder mystery night. When we solved that murder on the submarine.”

“Oh that night. Gosh, I’m sorry I was so tired.”

“I know. It’s okay. I managed.”

“You’re cute”, Jungkook says, “I think I would have peed myself as well if you fell asleep on my lap because I definitely wouldn’t have wanted to move.”

You look at him, meeting his sweet smile.

“You’re cute”, you say, reaching for his hand to intertwine your fingers with him. Then you swing your arms back and forth, letting out a small snicker of contentment.

Jungkook smiles, squeezes your hand softly.

“Tae told me that you guys spent the day painting yesterday.”

“Yeah we did. It was nice. I painted the forest. I think it turned out really pretty.”

“You gotta show us later. I really want to see.”

“Yeah, I can show you”, Jungkook says and stops in front the closed door.

Yoongi is the one to open it, holding it so you and Jungkook can get inside first. Taehyung and your grandfather are still on the floor, while your grandmother is washing dishes from a previous breakfast.

“We’re back.”

They look at you.

“Did you get eggs?”

“We did and we saved Kook.”

“Saved? What happened? Are you alright?” Taehyung gasps with widened eyes.

“I almost wasn’t.”

“Why? Are you hurt?”

Jungkook shakes his head, “Jolene climbed into my lap as I was collecting eggs and then fell asleep. I didn’t wanna move, but needed to pee so bad.”

“Oh dear”, Taehyung relaxes and chuckles, “things like that can only happen to you”, he adds and returns to his task of getting the cherries ready.

“Yeah, right”, Jungkook agrees with a smile, then turns his attention to you and Yoongi, “do you want scrambled eggs as well?”

“Yes, please”, you say.

“Sure”, Yoongi says.

“Nice. Sit down guys, I’ll make them for you”, Jungkook says and points at the sofa not far from the kitchen. The sunlight kisses its pillows and makes the dancing dust visible in the warm air.

“I can help you”, Yoongi offers, but Jungkook merely shakes his head and gives his cheek a soft peck. He massages Yoongi’s sides in gentle squeezes, gazing at him with sparkly eyes.

Yoongi gawks at him with parted lips, looking completely and utterly queer-panicked.

“Sit down, hyungie”, Jungkook says and gives his hip a little rub, “I’m not repeating myself, okay?” he adds and snickers with cute eyes.

“Okay, fine”, Yoongi murmurs, turning away shyly. His cheeks are rosy from getting them kissed. He rubs the side of his neck as trots to the sofa, looking oh so flustered from being handled the way Jungkook did.

Jungkook turns and begins preparing breakfast. He sings to the song on the radio.

You and Yoongi sit down on the warmed, sunkissed sofa, sharing one pillow because you instantly cuddle yourself into Yoongi’s side. He hums and drapes his arm over you, kissing your temple. He rests his lips against it afterwards, caressing your upper arm mindlessly.

“Did you sleep well?” you ask him.

“Yeah, I did. You?”

“Yeah, me too. Do you think that the bed’s too small?”

“I guess a little. You kept breathing into my face during the night.”

“Oh god, I did?” you gasp.

“You did.”

“Ew, I’m sorry. That’s so unromantic. I hope my breath wasn’t too bad.”

“It’s fine. I kicked you accidentally once. Did you notice?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Good. I felt bad”, he says, making you chuckle.

“It’s okay, I didn’t even feel it.”

“Mhm”, Yoongi hums and settles deeper into the couch pillow.

“What should we do today?” you ask him as your fingers dance over his stomach.

“I don’t know. Do you have something you want to do?”

“Not really. I thought of maybe taking a walk again and then reading a book under a tree.”

“That sounds nice. Do that then.”

“Yeah, but what should we do?” you ask him, craning your neck so you could look into his eyes.

He is craning his neck as well.

“What do you mean?”

You shrug your shoulders, “just us. Together. Don’t you want to do something together as well?”

“Of course. Do you wanna swim again?”

“But the frogs.”

He chuckles softly, shaking his head in fond disbelief. You laugh, beaming up at him.

“Do you really wanna risk it again?” you joke.

“No I guess not”, Yoongi says, letting out a fond scoff.

“Oh Yoongi”, you say, snuggling into him, “you cutie, you.”

“Did you guys go for a swim yesterday?”

You look over your shoulder. Taehyung asked, looking at you with curious eyes.

“We did”, you say and turn on the sofa so you were kneeling and facing him that way. You rest your arms over the pillow, moving your toes mindlessly as you talk, “it was so much fun.”

“That sounds lovely. I had no idea that there was a possibility to swim close from here.”

“There is”, your grandfather says, “not far from here, there is this very nice lake. Agatha and I took our ___ swimming countless times during the summer months.”

“The days were always so nice. I always had so much fun.”

“Except that one time you climbed onto grandpa’s shoulders to jump off. Remember? You got water all up your nose.”

You laugh, “I remember that. I think that’s one of my earliest memories that really stayed.”

Your grandparents chuckle fondly, your boys smile at you.

“The lake’s so nice. It has the perfect temperature and the water’s really clear for a forest lake”, you say.

“I really want to see it now”, Jungkook says.

“Yes me too. I would love to see it”, Taehyung agrees.

“Then let’s go there today. We can take a walk in the forest and then cool down in the lake. Would you guys say yes to that?”

“It sounds like a lovely plan. I would love to do this with you.”

“Me too”, Jungkook says as he is busy plating the eggs. Not long anymore and he can serve them to you and Yoongi.

You glance at Yoongi. He notices and nods his head.

“Sure.”

“Oh you guys”, you squeak a giggle, “that makes me so happy to hear.”

“It seems that you have a lovely day ahead of you”, your grandmother says, “it would be unfair of me to ask you for a favour before you go, wouldn’t it?”

“No of course not, grandma. What do you need?” Jungkook asks.

“Oh well, you see. Harald and I have to go into town soon, but the hayloft needs to be filled with new hay. We were wondering if maybe you could do it while we are in town?”

“Of course we can”, Jungkook says without hesitation, looking at you and the others, “right?”

“Of course”, you say.

“Sure”, Yoongi agrees.

“I would love to help. The hard work would make the swim feel all the more rewarding”, Taehyung says to which you agree with nods of your heads.

“Yes? You are saviours. Thank you so much, my dear ones”, your grandmother says with a smile on her lips.

“We’re just happy to help”, Jungkook says and carries two plates to you and Yoongi, “there you go. Your eggs”, he says, handing them to you.

“Wow Kookie, thank you so much”, you accept your plate, feeling your heart flutter when he kisses your cheek.

“Dig in”, he says and turns his attention to Yoongi, “there you go.”

“Thanks”, Yoongi accepts his plate, waiting with a toothless smile as Jungkook kisses his cheek as well.

“Enjoy, my two lovelies”, Jungkook says, straightening up. He gives your and Yoongi’s chin a gentle pinch then turns to get his own plate from the kitchen counter.

He sits down by the dining table, having a view of the entire room like this. You and Yoongi are on the couch and Taehyung is on the floor with your grandfather. Behind him, your grandmother is beginning to prepare the pie filling. He likes the view a lot. Comfortable silence is present where music and the natural sounds of baking fill it. It makes the morning feel even more healing.

Taehyung and your grandfather soon finish cleaning the cherries. Your grandfather brings them to your grandmother, while Taehyung sits down next to Jungkook. He hugs his arm and kisses it, giving him a shy grin afterwards.

“Hm”, Jungkook smiles with his eyes and pecks Taehyung’s nose, continuing to eat afterwards.

Now happy with the affection he received, Taehyung turns on the chair to look at your grandparents.

“I have a question about this realm.”

“Yes, dear?”

“You spoke of visiting town today. Does this mean that there are communities of witches and their loved ones in this realm?”

“Yes, it does. We don’t pay with money here, but trade with goods or services and everyone will always be ready to help their fellow people.”

“I see. This sounds wonderful. I believe that money truly is the source of most evil. Trading with goods, art and services should be normalised again.”

“You might be right about this, young one”, your grandfather says with a nod of his head.

“I have another question as well.”

“Yes?”

“You say that there is a community of witches and are these witches all from your time period?”

“What do you mean?”

“I was just curious if the witches forming this community all died around the time you died or if there were also witches who died way earlier or later than you.”

“I see. You want to know if this world looks the same for every witch or if there are time differences.”

“Yes, you figured me out.”

“It’s a little complicated to explain. There are differences, but there also aren’t. The Plains isn’t just one big world, but consists of different layers, different plains if you want to call them that, where each witch and their loved ones live. There are meeting points where these plains overlap and time doesn’t exist. We call them towns because over time, these meeting points evolved into town-like places. It’s where we come to trade, meet friends, socialise and ask for help. And it’s also where we can go to other plains.”

“I see. This world is very impressive. It truly is. Is it dangerous to visit other plains?”

“For you it is. This world doesn’t allow living visitors and you are only here because I gave you a connection to my plain. If you were to wander to other plains, it could be very dangerous because your souls could get lost in them.”

Taehyung looks at Yoongi with a heavy heart. The latter, who has been looking at Agatha throughout the entire conversation already, meets his eyes and lowers them. Taehyung looks away, feeling great grief for his friend’s sake.

“I see”, he says quietly, “so there is truly no way for us to visit other plains without getting lost?”

“It is possible, but the chances of getting lost are very high. You would need a very powerful anchor to the real world in order not to get lost. I wouldn’t recommend it, I really wouldn’t.”

“I see. Can people like Harald visit other plains as well?”

“No, because I allowed his soul to be here with me after death, it means that his soul is bound to this plain and if he were to visit other plains, he would get pulled back to my realm the moment he entered another realm.”

“I understand. So he wouldn’t get lost, he would simply return to his world each time he tried to leave.”

“Exactly”, your grandmother says, “but why are you asking me all of this? All of you shouldn’t venture outside this plain.”

“Oh, worry not. Those were solely hypothetical questions. I was curious to know if it was possible for living souls to find the souls of dead loved ones.”

“There is a possibility of sending messages to other witches. The post offices in town aren’t normal post offices, but are there to send magical signals to other plains. My best friend lives on another plain and we regularly send each other signals so we could meet up in town and visit each other’s cottages.”

“Oh, this sounds wonderful. So if I was to plan to meet up with a certain witch, but they don’t know of my presence here yet, I could go to the post office and send a signal to their plain?”

“Yes.”

“And is it warranted that they will receive my signals?”

“Yes, if they would answer you is another question however.”

“Yes, that is very true”, Taehyung says with a laugh, looking at Yoongi again.

The latter has been listening, meeting Taehyung’s eyes and unlike before, he doesn’t look away instantly, but stays connected with him until Taehyung can spot the small hopefulness in his eyes. Taehyung gives him a smile, one Yoongi shyly retorts. And then, only then, does he finally look away, looking at you instead. Taehyung watches him brush his hand down your face and then kiss your cheek to which you ask him why he did it and he tells you that he just felt like it with a bright smile on his face.

Taehyung looks back at your grandmother. He feels hopeful for his friend. Perhaps he can see the other Creators again.

“I thank you for answering my questions. This world is wondrous and very new to me, so I have many questions to ask.”

She smiles, “I’m happy to be of help. You know, I hope that it never happens, but if ___ ever dies, she would enter this plain and if she infused your souls, you would be able to live here with her and us.”

Taehyung smiles, “I must admit that this sounds like a very good afterlife. We would be very happy here.”

They exchange a fond smile and then your grandmother turns to your grandfather, telling him to cut the cherries just a little bigger.

Taehyung turns to Jungkook. He has already finished breakfast and is now doodling on a piece of paper. Taehyung leans his cheek against his shoulder, resting his arm on the backrest of Jungkook’s chair.

“What are you drawing?”

No answer.

“Jungkook?”

“Huh?” Jungkook lets out and gawks at him with big eyes. It is as if Taehyung ripped him out of a trance.

“What are you drawing?” Taehyung repeats his question, pointing at the sketch.

“Oh that? I don’t know, just some doodles”, Jungkook says, drawing again, “I think it’s gonna be the moon with a face on it.”

Taehyung laughs, “what a peculiar thing to doodle.”

“Yeah, I dreamed of it tonight. I don’t know why, but the moon kept talking to me and now I wanna draw how he looked in my dream.”

“I see. This sounds like a confusing dream. Did he say good things?”

“I can’t remember. I just know that he talked to me. I think he said something about chickens. I’m so bad at remembering details, sorry.”

“I see”, Taehyung says and loses to his urges of kissing Jungkook’s cheek. He cuddles into him afterwards, closing his eyes for it.

Jungkook allows it to happen with a faint smile on his lips. He can feel Taehyung’s heart race like crazy in his chest.

You and Yoongi bring your empty plates to the sink.

“We’re gonna wash up now. Do you wanna start with the hayloft afterwards?” you ask them.

“Yes, we could do that”, Taehyung answers for them because Jungkook is already lost in his drawing again.

“Okay, okay”, you say and pull Yoongi with you, “Boongie, you have to help me with my hair, I wanna keep it out of my face and don’t know how.”

“Yeah, I’ll help you. You gotta tell me how to take care of it either way, I wanna learn.”

“Oh Boongie, my love you are so full of love.”

Your conversation drowns out naturally as you disappear upstairs.

Your grandparents exchange a fond look.

“She got someone who deserves her”, your grandfather says.

“She does. Our honeybee”, your grandmother agrees with love in her eyes.

“Remember how you taught me how to do your hair?”

“Of course I do.”

“He’s gonna be worthy of her, I can feel it.”

“I agree. All of them will be”, she says and places her hands on Taehyung’s and Jungkook’s shoulders, “isn’t that so, my boys?”

Taehyung and Jungkook look at her with shy yet sparkly eyes, smiling brightly. She chuckles fondly and ruffles their hair.

“Dear ones”, she adds, turning back to Harald and the cherry pie.

Taehyung and Jungkook exchange a giddy look, feeling so good about being worthy that they needed to give each other a kiss. They feel more comfortable doing so in front of your grandparents, knowing how accepted they are.

You meet up outside soon after. Your grandparents are dressed for town. Your grandmother is carrying a bouquet of flowers, while your grandfather pushes their Vespa out of the garage. It is orange in colour and their helmets are green.

“Oh what a wonderful Vespa. I love the colours”, Taehyung gasps, hurrying to it to inspect it.

Your grandfather is by his side, looking highly proud of their little treasure.

“Right? Agatha picked them.”

“She is a beauty. And so wonderfully taken care of. One can truly see your talent for restorations, Harald.”

“Thanks, I tried my best. I did all the painting too.”

“You did? How wonderful. You did an amazing job. Oh, the brushwork is beautiful. May I touch?”

“Sure.”

Taehyung strokes his hand down the front of the Vespa.

“Magnificent. What a beautiful piece of history. I truly cannot get enough of the colour.”

“I really like it too”, you agree, having joined their sides with your grandmother.

Taehyung steps away from the roller and puts his arm around your waist.

“Remember what you called it when you were little?” your grandmother asks you.

“I do. I always called it carrot driver.”

Taehyung laughs fondly, “what an adorable name. It truly fits with the colour scheme.”

“Yeah. Paps always took me for drives.”,

“I did. They were the highlights of my week. We shared pie somewhere in nature and collected flowers to press later.”

“Gosh, yes we did.”

“This sounds wonderful. Shall we take a trip too once home? I still have my old girl in the garage, she would be perfect for a trip to the coast”, Taehyung suggests to which you nod your head vigorously.

“I’d like this so much, wow.”

“Perfect, it is decided then.”

Your grandparents put on their helmets as you made plans with Taehyung, now getting ready to leave.

You smile at them, “be careful and have fun in town.”

“Thank you, honeybee. Don’t you forget about the cherry pie if you get hungry”, your grandmother says as she climbs on the Vespa.

“We won’t, grandma.”

“Be careful, my girl”, your grandfather says, sitting down behind his wife. He wraps his left arm around her, carrying the flowers with the other.

Your grandmother starts the Vespa with a skilful kick and lifts her left hand to wave at you. Moments later, they zoom off into the forest, past high trees and along the gravel roads.

You wave them goodbye until distance swallows them and only the purring of the Vespa can be heard.

“You have the coolest grandparents ever”, Jungkook says.

“I really do.”

“She drives really fast. She’s gotta be careful on those roads, they’re slippery”, Yoongi says, earning himself fond chuckles from everyone. Of course he’ll worry.

“Gosh, you guys I’m so happy”, you say and turn around with a little jump, “come on, if we start with the hayloft now, we’ll be done early afternoon.”

You lead the way and your boys follow.

“Work like this always reminds me of my time living on a farm”, Taehyung says.

“You lived on a farm?” Jungkook asks.

“Indeed I did. Jimin and I had a quaint, little farm in the French country side. We spent a few decades there together and even had an intense relationship with a person called Ava.”

“What happened to her?”

“They preferred not to be addressed a woman.”

“Oh, sorry. What happened to them?”

“Namjoon killed them.”

“Oh”, Jungkook takes Taehyung’s hand, “I shouldn’t have asked. I’m sorry. Shit, now I feel twice as bad. First I misgender them and then I ask an insensitive question.”

“Don’t apologise, you couldn’t have known. I like talking about Ava as it keeps their memory alive”, he assures him, “Jimin struggles with talking about them. He really loved them.”

“I see. I’m sorry, I’m sure they were a wonderful person.”

“They really were. I think you and them would have gotten along wonderfully.”

“I’m sure we would have”, Jungkook says, looking at you and Yoongi as well, “did you guys know about Tae’s farm already?”

“I did. He told me about it a while ago.”

“I knew too. It’s still impressive that you lived as a farmer for years and never learned how to cook”, Yoongi teases.

“Hey”, Taehyung gasps, “in my defense, I rarely ate human food back then and Ava insisted on cooking for themselves, so I didn’t need to acquire this skill.”

Yoongi chuckles, “that’s just an excuse.”

“No, it isn’t”, Taehyung laughs and nudges his arm, “you are truly mean, hyung. Besides, I learned how to make cheese during this time. My cheeses were magnificent in taste, I must tell you.”

“I’m just teasing”, Yoongi says and goes to nudge Taehyung’s chin, “spoiled kid.”

Taehyung blushes, looking to the side. Receiving Yoongi’s affection is still flustering him.

“So where should we start? I assume we all know how to fill a hayloft?” you ask.

“I do. Our farm had a hayloft. We shared many heated hours in there.”

“Wasn’t it really pokey?” Jungkook asks.

“It was, but we didn’t care. It is fun. Have you tried?”

Jungkook flusters, “uhm. Uh.”

“Guys, focus. We’re not here to get steamy in my grandparents’ hayloft”, you say with a fond chuckle.

“It could be very fun however. Imagine a foursome in a mountain of hay”, Taehyung jokes, wiggling his brows.

“Behave, this isn’t the time”, you chuckle and climb up the ladder, “we have so much work to do. Wow, I’m actually really excited for it. I always loved hayloft days at my grandparents because it smelled so good and I could jump into the fresh hay. It was so nice”, you speak while your boys look at you climbing the ladder.

“I can imagine”, Yoongi says, following after you, “I helped around the stables too sometimes. Time spent was alright.”

“I can imagine. I love horses.”

“We had a hayloft as well”, Jungkook says, climbing after Yoongi, “actually my grandparents had it and we had to help. I didn’t really like it though because my grandpa was really strict and always scolded us.”

“Gosh, poor boy.”

“Mhm yeah, I do miss it these days though. Being immortal is kinda weird in that sense.”

“I can imagine”, you say and welcome him with a little snuggle, “I’m here, yeah?”

He smiles, kissing your cheek, “yeah, I know. Thank you.”

Taehyung is the last to climb the ladder, only doing so after rolling up the sleeves of his linen shirt. He is wearing slacks to it. And dress shoes.

“Don’t you wanna change your clothes?” Yoongi asks.

“No, I haven’t planned on doing so”, he answers him nonchalantly.

“Alright”, Yoongi gives up and looks at you, “I’ll start with the lifting.”

“Sounds good, I’ll do the raking up here.”

“I’ll help you”, Jungkook says.

“And I will help Yoongi”, Taehyung says, “crap, we climbed up here for nothing.”

“Yeah, I guess”, Yoongi says, climbing back down after Taehyung.

Once downstairs, the latter tries to hand him a pitchfork but Yoongi refuses.

“I don’t need tools, thanks”, he says and lifts his hand, guiding a big stack of hay up to the loft this way.

“Woah, how cool”, you gasps.

“Are you using magic, hyungie?” Jungkook gasps.

“Yeah. It’s easier than tools”, Yoongi says and picks up another stack.

“This is so cool, wow.”

“It is truly remarkable”, Taehyung agrees and begins raking the hay into little stacks so Yoongi can pick them up easier.

Now with the lower group having the perfect rhythm, you and Jungkook make up your own rhythm to match. Jungkook welcomes the stacks Yoongi moves and shoves them closer to you so you can get them and move them to the back of the loft. Like this, you are slowly working your way to the front, filling the loft with more and more hay and the day with comfortable silence.

The work is repetitive and therefore meditative. With Yoongi’s magic, the tedious task of throwing the hay up to the loft is missing as well, saving him and Taehyung a lot of difficult work. It is a time well spent, a time meant to relax and soon the floor downstairs is empty.

“Wow, we already did it?” Jungkook asks with a thin layer of sweat on his forehead.

“It seems that we did and it only took us”, Taehyung wipes his own forehead and checks his watch, “two and a half hours. Oh goodness, this took longer than it felt.”

“Are you guys thirsty as well?” you ask, sitting down by the edge of the loft. You feel heated.

Jungkook sits down next to you, tangling his feet.

“I am parched actually”, Taehyung says, smacking his dry lips.

“Yeah, me too”, Jungkook agrees.

“I’m not that thirsty”, Yoongi says.

“No wonder. All you have to do is lift your hand.”

“Yeah, I guess. I can get you guys something”, Yoongi says and hurries away.

“Should I help?”

“No, it’s okay. Rest for a while.”

“Do you guys wanna rest in the hay?” you ask them to which both men nod their heads. Taehyung climbs up the ladder after you gestured him to come up here.

You get cozy in an especially fluffy stack, snuggling together even if you were hot and sweaty. You are between them.

“God, you two are so hot it’s actually insane”, you whine.

“This is cozy”, Jungkook says.

“It really is”, Taehyung agrees and snuggles into you, kissing your neck, “you smell good.”

“I smell good? I’m sweaty and full of hay.”

“Exactly. The sweat brings out your true scent. You smell so warm and”, he nibbles on your jawline, “rather addictive if I may be honest.”

“Tae”, you shudder, but wiggle away with a giggle, “are you trying to be horny again?”

“No I am not. I am merely speaking the truth”, he defends himself, “Jungkook, smell her. Go on, tell her that I am right.”

Jungkook wraps his arms around you before you can flee, tugging your back against his chest and burying his nose in the crook of your neck.

“Kook”, you squeak, laughing loudly when he inhales dramatically.

“Mhm”, he hums and lifts his face again, “you’re right, Tae. You smell really good, babygirl. Like really good.”

“Don’t you miss being a vampire right now? The scent would be mouth-watering.”

“Mhm, it’d drive me fucking crazy”, Jungkook purrs and gives your neck a soft bite.

You writhe in his arms, grabbing Taehyung’s lower arm to tug yourself away.

“Boys please”, you say, “I’m really trying to keep it PG today.”

“Why? Doesn’t this location make you want to…” Taehyung dances his finger up your arm, “...give yourself to us? Allow us to still our thirsts with…well, you know what I am talking about.”

“I mean, it’s not that I’m not thinking about it but what if my grandparents come back? I would literally have to die on the spot if they caught us. It would already be bad enough if it’s just two of us, but a foursome? I think I would have to kill myself actually just to escape the shame.”

Jungkook laughs, “no, don’t say that. We won’t do anything you’re not comfortable with, don’t worry.”

“Yes, worry not. You know me, I am a flirt who needs to at least shoot his shot, but I would never force you to do anything”, Taehyung says, making you laugh

“And I love this about you, darling. Keep being a flirt.”

He grins cutely and settles into the hay, holding your hand as he does. He wiggles his feet from side to side.

“Actually this is too hot”, he decides, taking off his shoes and settling back afterwards. He wiggles his naked toes, “better.”

You settle into the hay as well, holding Jungkook’s hand just as tightly as you do Taehyung’s. Jungkook lies down, resting his head against your shoulder.

“I would actually really, really take you up on your offer if it wasn’t for the location”, you say into the silence, making you two boys snicker.

You have to laugh as well.

“I’m serious. There’s something about you being hot and sweaty that gets to me. You guys are so sexy when you’re working hard. Gosh you guys, we really gotta build a hayloft at home just so we can bone in peace.”

“Oh my god, baby”, Jungkook laughs.

“Do not tempt me with a good time, I will actually build it”, Taehyung says.

“I wasn’t even kidding. I bet it would be really hot to get steamy there.”

“It really would be”, Jungkook agrees.

“It is. I can tell you from experience that it is very sexy. Especially if it is with the right people. Oh, then it is such a truly wonderful time. Very romantic as well, despite the eroticism of it.”

You glance at Taehyung, giving him a fond smile.

“I like you so much, you know?”

“Oh”, his flushed face flushes even more, “I, uh, I like you too. Wow, uhm, wow you have my heart aflame. Wow”, he stutters, touching his own chest giddily.

“You cutie”, you say and look at Jungkook, “I like you just as much, you know?”

Jungkook cranes his neck, gazing up at you.

“I like you too”, he whispers and puckers his lips. You kiss them, then turn your head to kiss Taehyung just as sweetly, settling into the hay afterwards.

“Do you think Yoongi is still gonna take long?”

“I’m already here”, Yoongi announces himself down below.

“Oh? Hey Boongie. Do you need help?”

“No, I can manage”, Yoongi says and finally appears in your sight. He carries a tray of snacks and drinks, clearly using magic for it because he can climb at the same time.

The magic disappears once he is up on the loft. He carries the tray to you and sits down facing you, placing the tray in the middle.

“I made lemonade and cut up the cherry pie. I’ve got some water too and crackers with some tuna. I don’t know, I saw the crackers and thought I could make something.”

“It looks so yummy, thank you so much, my love”, you gush, taking a glass of lemonade and a cracker after pecking his cheek.

“You have truly outdone yourself”, Taehyung says.

“You’re the best, hyungie”, Jungkook says.

“Yeah, dig in”, Yoongi mumbles. He takes his stuff last, watching you with hesitant eyes. Only once all three of you hummed in approval, does he take his own first bite, blushing vividly and smiling to himself.

You share the delicious food up on the hayloft where the air smells like summer days and the dust in the air makes the sun rays appear. They enter the barn through windows, warming the hay which in reaction deepens the scents even more.

“I saw more hay balls outside. I think we need to keep working”, Yoongi says.

“That’s alright. I was actually a little sad that it was over already”, you confess.

“Mhm, me too”, Jungkook agrees.

“I must change shoes before we continue. They are very uncomfortable.”

“See? I told you that you’ll regret them.”

“That you truly did”, Taehyung says and looks at the sunlight. His back and shoulders are relaxed.

They don’t hunch their backs in the real world. Vampires have perfect postures, so Taehyung told you once. So it is peculiar to see them all slack so much now that they are free of their curse. They look relaxed and so perfectly human.

Taehyung takes a deep breath, “I don’t regret my choices however.”

“Mhm.”

Taehyung runs his eyes over the sunrays. He sips on the lemonade, finishing it this way.

“This feels healing”, he says.

“It does?”

“Yes, it does. Work is rewarding, the location is relaxing and I find myself counting the specs of dust in the air. Life is so, so…” he takes a deep breath, “...so peaceful. Life is so peaceful.”

“And I’m sure that it will be peaceful from now on”, you say with fondness in your voice.

“Yes. Yes, I truly hope that it will be.”

“I’m sure of it. We’ve got the worst behind us”, Jungkook says, “right, hyung?”

“I don’t know”, Yoongi says and stands up, “I’m outside already.”

And with that, he flees.

“Did I say something wrong?” Jungkook gasps.

“No, uhm. Work’s just…waiting.”

He is gone. You exchange a confused look with Taehyung and Jungkook.

“Did I say something wrong?” Jungkook asks again with sad guilt in his big eyes.

“I cannot say.”

“No, you didn’t. I’ll talk to him, okay? You boys clean up the snacks and get started on the hay.”

“Okay, okay.”

“Can you tell him sorry from me?”

“I’ll tell him”, you promise and jump down the last step of the ladder to hurry outside.

Yoongi is by the hay balls behind the shed. He has his back turned to you, doing nothing except standing still.

“Hey, there.”

He looks at you.

“Hey.”

“What happened back there? Did Kook say something wrong?”

“No, it’s just. I just. I uh, sorry I panicked. I, I don’t know if life’s gonna be peaceful. I didn’t wanna, uhm, wanna lie.”

“I see. Well, Kook is really worried that he upset you, so maybe talk to him and assure him that he’s got nothing to worry about, okay? He even told me to tell you sorry.”

“Oh. No, sorry, it’s just…” he hesitates.

“Go on.”

“I’m not ready to share these feelings. Nothing with Kook! Just my own thoughts, I guess.”

“I understand. If you’re ready and you need someone to share them with, I’m here. Okay?”

He nods his head.

“Okay, now let’s do something else to distract ourselves.”

“Yeah”, he smiles, “yeah, I’d like that. Thank you for understanding.”

“Of course, my love.”

You squat down in front of a big cube of hay and try to lift it.

“Woah, that’s heavy”, you say, having to stand up in defeat, “I tried to be cool and lift it, but no chance in hell.”

“Wait, let me”, Yoongi says and pushes you to the side gently. He squats down and places his hands under the big cube. Then he lifts it. At least that is what he would do in the real world. The cube doesn’t move an inch.

“Woah, okay”, Yoongi lets out and straightens up with his hand pressed into his lower back, “I totally forgot that I cannot lift for shit in here. This was one major fail. Phew.”

He makes you laugh. So hard in fact that you stumble and collide with him in a tight hug.

“Oh Yoongi, this was hilarious. You looked so cute trying to do that.”

Yoongi laughs, blushing like crazy.

“I looked like an idiot. Thank god nobody saw me.”

“No, you didn’t. You looked cute and funny. God”, you snicker, “thank you for that laugh. I really needed it.”

“At least it was good for something”, he says and chuckles, “let’s try to move it with magic, yeah?”

“Oh, we can do that too? I thought it only works with lighter stuff.”

He nods his head, “it works with heavier stuff too.”

“That’s so cool. Okay, okay what do we gotta do? Show me.”

“So the most important thing about this kind of spell is the connection with the object you are trying to move.”

“Okay, connection. So I’m gonna channel it?”

“No, you are gonna channel yourself and use the power to build a connection with the object. Once you did, you can manipulate its whereabouts and lift it.”

“So in a sense I’m just making it float? Because I’m manipulating its location?”

“I guess? Yeah, I guess you could say that you’re just making it float and guiding it with your hands”, he says and squats down, “watch me first.”

“Okay, okay.”

Yoongi’s eyes glimmer purple for a moment as he channels himself. He furrows his brows and touches the log, lifting it off the ground seconds later.

“Wow. Woah, you’re doing it”, you gasp.

“I am, yeah”, Yoongi says and stands up easily. He is holding the log, it looks as if he is carrying it, but his arms are relaxed. No strain, no flexing, just relaxed muscles and tendons. It is the only indicator that the magic is working.

“Is this difficult to do?”

“No, I don’t feel it at all”, Yoongi says and lets go of the log. It stays floating in front of him.

“Woah!”

“Yeah, pretty cool, isn’t it?” he says and drops it on the ground carefully.

“Woah, that was so cool! You made it fly!”

Yoongi grins, “I did, yeah.”

“You are the coolest person ever, oh my god”, you say and touch his waist, “Boongie, you’re so cool.”

Yoongi brushes his thumb over your chin, gazing at you fondly.

“Do you wanna try it too?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I really do.”

“That’s my girl. Squat down”, he orders and lowers himself.

You obey, squatting down next to him.

“Now try to find the connection to yourself.”

You glance at him hesitantly.

“Don’t be scared”, he assures you, rubbing your back.

“Do you think that I’m ready for it?”

“I do. For emotion based witches like us, channelling ourselves comes natural. You'll be able to do it really easily. Just like you did when you sent us here.”

“Oh? Oh, yeah I actually did it before”, you say and close your eyes to concentrate better. You try and try and try, but can’t find the connection. Nerves are holding you back.

You open your eyes.

“Sorry”, you whisper.

“You did nothing wrong, keep trying.”

You close your eyes again and try. Try. More trying. The connection is flickering far, far away but you can’t seem to grasp it.

“It’s difficult”, you whisper.

Yoongi rubs his hand down the nape of your neck, leaning in to kiss your cheek.

The connection is instant, flickering to life in sync with the fluttering of your heart.

You open your eyes, meeting Yoongi’s purple eyes. Your own eyes are glowing purple as well.

“There it is”, he says, caressing you under your eyes, “that pretty glow. You did so well, I’m so proud of you.”

The glow becomes stronger with his praise, the fluttering of your heart does as well.

“Now, touch the log and visualise how your energy is moving it to where you want it to be.”

You follow his instruction, touching the log with both hands and your eyes closed. You imagine how it lifts off the ground and how you lead it to its new spot.

“Yes, that’s it. Good job”, Yoongi’s proud voice makes you open your eyes.

The log is floating. You are actually doing it.

“I’m doing it! I-” the log drops as you lose connection, “-no! Goddamn it no, I lost it.”

“That’s okay, you did really well for your first time. You got too excited and lost it. Just take a deep breath and try again.”

“Okay, okay I will.”

The hay lifts again.

“That’s it. Keep it going. Good job”, Yoongi praises you as you stand up slowly with it.

“I’m doing it”, you whisper.

“Yeah, you are. Feel the connection, you’re doing really well like this.”

“Oh wow, I’m doing it. Wow. You’re not helping me secretly, are you?”

“Of course not. I want you to fail properly, if you do. Mistakes are allowed here, I won’t prevent them. This is all your doing.”

“Oh my god, I’m actually doing it”, you say, taking your first steps with the hay in your arms.

“Good job, you’re such a fast leaner”, Yoongi says and lifts up two hay cubes, carrying them on each shoulder with the help of his magic.

He walks behind you, keeping the slow pace going for your sake. You are slow, but you are steady. He feels incredibly proud of you. Not many witches learn spells as quickly as you do.

You manage to carry the hay all the way to the barn, dropping it right in front of Taehyung’s and Jungkook’s feet.

“Tada”, you say, “I carried it all the way here with magic.”

“You did? Wow, baby that’s so cool.”

“You are beyond impressive, my darling.”

“She really is”, Yoongi agrees and drops the hay next to yours, “I’ll show you another spell. Get up in the loft everyone.”

You follow his order, placing yourselves by the edge of it. Yoongi claims the spot next to Jungkook, draping his arm around his waist.

“Huh?” Jungkook gawks at him with widened eyes.

“You didn’t do anything wrong”, Yoongi says and kisses his jawline softly.

“Oh”, Jungkook leans in with closed eyes and a giddy smile, scrunching his nose in happiness.

“Now”, Yoongi breaks away, “take a few steps back, I need space.”

You find out the reason for it when seconds later, he drags one of the cubes through the air, making it land where you once shared the snacks.

“Excuse me? You were able to move an entire heap all this time and you let me work my bum off for two and a half hours?” Taehyung squeaks out.

“The heap before was lose, I couldn’t have moved it in one piece. It works when the object is really compact and solid in a sense, once it’s scattered, the magic can’t reach every part of it and therefore I had to move it in small stacks.”

“I understand. Well, that does make sense and I must take my words back.”

“No worries. I get it”, Yoongi assures him, “do you wanna try the spell as well, princess?”

“Yes, I’ll try”, you say, positioning yourself next to Yoongi, “do I have to visualise it floating to me?”

“Yes, form a connection and visualise how you are dragging it to you. It’s more difficult than the other spell, so don’t be sad when it doesn’t-”, he stops talking, watching in delighted surprise how a cube of hay flies past him. It drops next to the one he moved.

You open your eyes, looking at the hay, then at your boys.

“Did I do it?”

“Uh…yeah? Shit princess, that was impressive. You did it right away.”

You smile brightly, “I tried really hard.”

“I couldn’t even tell. It came very natural to you.”

You giggle, “I, I wanna try the last one too.”

“Go ahead.”

You lift both your arms and visualise. Unlike the first one, the second cube of hay flies past you quickly, landing on the ground in a loud bang.

“Oh damn”, you gasp, flinching hard.

Jungkook and Taehyung jumped back in order not to get hit.

“Did I do that?”

“You did. Nothing happened, but your emotions are getting stronger, so you’ve lost control the second time.”

“Is it because I was so happy about the first time?”

“Yes.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“Don’t be sad, you still did really well”, Yoongi praises, caressing your arm.

You smile at him shyly.

“Thanks.”

“I am very proud of you too, my darling”, Taehyung says and gives you a grin.

“Yeah, thanks”, you murmur shyly.

“You’re so cool and you saved us a lot of time. Where are the pitchforks? We gotta separate the hay”, Jungkook says.

“Downstairs.”

“Should we use magic to get them?” you ask.

“No, you definitely shouldn’t. If you lost control over it, people could die.”

“Yeah, right. And you?”

“I could, but I don’t wanna risk it. Someone should get them manually.”

“Wait. I’ll get them”, Jungkook says and runs to the edge of the hayloft to jump down like he would do in the real world.

“Jungkook, no!”

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