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cricketequipment · 11 months

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Kookaburra Bat English Willow: The Ultimate Guide to Choosing and Using the Perfect Cricket Bat

Introduction

Cricket is a sport that demands skill, technique, and the right equipment. One of the most crucial pieces of equipment for a batsman is the cricket bat. When it comes to selecting a high-quality cricket bat, the Kookaburra Bat English Willow is a popular choice among professional players and enthusiasts alike. In this comprehensive guide, we will delve into the world of Kookaburra Bat English Willow, exploring its features, benefits, and how to make an informed decision when purchasing one. So, let's dive in and uncover the secrets behind this exceptional cricket bat!

Kookaburra Bat English Willow: An Overview

Kookaburra is a renowned Australian brand that has been manufacturing cricket equipment since 1890. The Kookaburra Bat English Willow is crafted from the finest English willow, which is widely regarded as the best wood for making cricket bats. The combination of expert craftsmanship, superior materials, and attention to detail makes the Kookaburra Bat English Willow a favorite among professional cricketers.

The Unparalleled Benefits of Kookaburra Bat English Willow

The Kookaburra Bat English Willow offers several advantages that set it apart from other cricket bats. Let's take a closer look at the key benefits of using a Kookaburra Bat English Willow:

Superior Quality: The Kookaburra Bat English Willow is meticulously crafted using premium grade English willow. This high-quality wood ensures excellent durability, strength, and performance.

Impeccable Balance: A well-balanced cricket bat is essential for precise shots and effortless maneuverability. Kookaburra Bat English Willow is expertly balanced to provide optimal control, enabling batsmen to play shots with precision and confidence.

Enhanced Sweet Spot: The sweet spot is the area of the cricket bat that delivers maximum power and generates explosive shots. Kookaburra Bat English Willow is designed with a larger sweet spot, allowing batsmen to hit the ball with more power and consistency.

Exceptional Pickup: The pickup of a cricket bat refers to how it feels in the hands when taking a stance. Kookaburra Bat English Willow offers excellent pickup, providing batsmen with a natural and comfortable feel, allowing for quick reactions and swift shot execution.

Excellent Shock Absorption: When facing fast bowlers, the impact of the ball on the bat can be quite substantial. The Kookaburra Bat English Willow is engineered to absorb shock effectively, minimizing the transfer of vibrations to the player's hands and ensuring a comfortable batting experience.

Longevity: Investing in a Kookaburra Bat English Willow means you're getting a bat that will stand the test of time. The high-quality English willow used in its construction, combined with Kookaburra's expertise, ensures that the bat remains durable and reliable, even after prolonged use.

How to Choose the Perfect Kookaburra Bat English Willow

Choosing the right Kookaburra Bat English Willow can be a daunting task, considering the various options available. To make an informed decision, you need to consider the following factors:

1. Bat Size and Weight

The size and weight of the cricket bat are crucial for optimum performance. Selecting the correct size ensures better control and maneuverability. Kookaburra offers a wide range of bat sizes to cater to players of all ages and skill levels. Here is a helpful table illustrating the ideal bat size based on a player's height.

2. Willow Grade

Kookaburra Bat English Willow is available in different grades, which represent the quality of the wood used. The grades range from Grade 1+ (the highest quality) to Grade 5 (lower quality). While Grade 1+ bats offer exceptional performance and aesthetics, they are usually more expensive. Grade 2 and Grade 3 bats provide excellent performance at a more affordable price point.

3. Bat Handle

The handle of a cricket bat plays a vital role in determining its performance and feel. Kookaburra Bat English Willow offers a variety of handle options, including round, oval, and semi-oval. The choice of handle shape is subjective and depends on personal preference. However, it's essential to ensure that the handle provides a comfortable grip and allows for easy maneuvering.

4. Bat Profile and Edges

The profile of a cricket bat refers to its shape, particularly the curvature of the blade. Kookaburra Bat English Willow offers a range of profiles to suit different playing styles. Bats with a higher spine and bigger edges provide more power, while lower-profile bats offer better control and maneuverability.

5. Bat Finish and Aesthetics

While the performance of a cricket bat is of utmost importance, the aesthetic appeal cannot be ignored. Kookaburra Bat English Willow comes in various finishes, including natural, oiled, and painted. Additionally, the bats feature stylish decals and branding, adding to their visual appeal.

By considering these factors, you can make an informed decision when selecting the perfect Kookaburra Bat English Willow that suits your playing style and requirements.

Frequently Asked Questions (FAQs)

1. Are Kookaburra Bats made from English willow?

Yes, Kookaburra Bats are made from English willow. The brand is known for using the finest quality English willow to craft their bats, ensuring superior performance and durability.

2. How long does a Kookaburra Bat English Willow last?

The lifespan of a Kookaburra Bat English Willow depends on various factors such as usage, maintenance, and playing conditions. With proper care and maintenance, a Kookaburra Bat can last several seasons, making it a worthwhile investment for cricket enthusiasts.

3. How do I take care of my Kookaburra Bat English Willow?

Taking care of your Kookaburra Bat English Willow is essential to maintain its performance and longevity. Here are some care tips:

Keep the bat in a dry place, away from extreme temperature and humidity.

Apply bat oil or linseed oil to the face, edges, and back of the bat to enhance its durability.

Regularly inspect the bat for any signs of wear or damage.

Avoid knocking in your bat on hard surfaces, as it can cause damage to the blade.

After each use, clean the bat with a soft cloth to remove dirt and moisture.

4. Can I customize my Kookaburra Bat English Willow?

Yes, Kookaburra offers customization options for their bats. You can personalize the stickers, handle grip, and even get your name engraved on the bat. Customizing your bat adds a personal touch and makes it unique to you.

5. Can beginners use Kookaburra Bat English Willow?

Absolutely! While Kookaburra Bats are favored by professionals, they are suitable for players of all skill levels. Kookaburra offers a range of bat sizes and grades, making it accessible to beginners who want to experience the quality and performance of these bats.

6. Where can I purchase a Kookaburra Bat English Willow?

Kookaburra Bats are widely available in sports equipment stores and online retailers. You can also visit the official Kookaburra website to explore their range of bats and find authorized dealers near you.

Conclusion

When it comes to choosing a cricket bat that combines exceptional performance, durability, and craftsmanship, the Kookaburra Bat English Willow stands out as a top choice. With its superior quality materials, impeccable balance, and enhanced sweet spot, this bat allows batsmen to maximize their performance on the pitch. By considering factors such as bat size, willow grade, handle, and profile, you can find the perfect Kookaburra Bat English Willow that suits your playing style and preferences. So, gear up with a Kookaburra Bat and take your batting skills to new heights!

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tender-rosiey · 9 months

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a star — gojo satoru x f!reader

a/n: lovesick gojo does smth to me

it’s not often that you don’t find your husband on the jujutsu grounds terrorizing some students, save for today that is. however, it doesn’t pose that much of a problem to you. in the end, he is your husband and you should know him more than anyone else.

so you pride yourself in the fact that you quickly spot his figure on top of one of the buildings. you swiftly make your way up. your shoes click on the roof as you walk towards your husband, “hey ‘toru.”

“hey,” he smiles while you sit beside him and get yourself comfortable. his face turns towards you with a little tilt of his head, “why’re you here, wifey?”

“why’re you here?”

“fair point,” he sighs blissfully, “reminiscing.”

you hum quietly and your hand moves slowly to hold his own. your thumb slowly rub his hands. he chuckles at your concern before pulling your hand to his lips, pressing a firm kiss, “don’t worry; I am not sad.”

he takes a deep breath, “it’s just nice to remember these fun moments every once in a while.”

you nod quietly before looking in front of you, the view captivating you even if you have seen it a million times. tokyo was always a sight to behold from such heights, especially in the night. you close your eyes for a moment, taking it all in.

“yuuji is getting stronger.”

you perk up at your husband’s comment then you murmur, “yeah.”

“so is megumi, but he just has to adjust his way of thinking.”

you smile, “good thing he has you to do that then.”

he throws his head back in laughter, “I am his teacher, after all.”

“everyone tends to forget that,” you tease and he rolls his eyes, “all mighty silly teacher.”

with a tsk, he raises his index finger, sporting a smug grin, “didn’t you know that women like their men dumb?”

“I don’t know if all women do that,” you hum before resting your head on his shoulder, “I sure do, though.”

his hand slips around your waist, and he gasps, “are you flirting with me? I will have you know that I have the prettiest woman ever as my wife.”

“she’s a lucky one.”

he frowns then pouts, lips jutting out and everything, “she sure doesn’t think so.” poking your side, he huffs, “she’s always so mean to me, the epitome of bullying even.”

you giggle swatting his hand away, “you probably deserve it.”

“you’re just like her,” he whines. you giggle and he slowly rubs your side after he lets out a grumble. you let out a soft breath and your hand moves to hold his own. his hand squeezes yours and you squeeze it in return.

the atmosphere is filled with the sound of the soft breeze and crickets’ noises. you’re both left to relish in the silence and the comfort it gives. you’re both looking up at the sky. your gaze trails to the trees on the ground that sway with the wind.

you see the tree where shoko was healing haibara that one time. you see the vending machine that satoru and suguru always hit. you see the bench that nanami always used to sit on. you see the cabin that you and satoru used to hide in to escape from yaga.

you finally understand why your husband chooses this place.

he gets to truly see it all because despite his six eyes’ powers and capabilities, it doesn’t let him see what he truly cares about: friends and memories. from here, he is able to be the spectator that relishes in memories that passed, but will always live in the minds of those who experienced it.

even if, sometimes, only one of the two remains.

feeling your throat tighten at the melancholy thoughts, you take a breath. you take a moment then you inquire, breaking the silence in hopes of distracting yourself, “sooo, what are you watching?”

“a star,” he answers simply.

you furrow your eyebrows, focusing on the dark blue canvas above you, “‘toru, there are no stars tonight.”

he breathes out a chuckle, “I know. I said a star not stars.”

you narrow your eyes, “what do you mean?—“

and then your eyes lock with his own. he is staring intently at you, almost memorizing your features with a lovesick smile on his face.

you don’t know when did he take his blindfold off, but you’re met with his azure eyes that have love and adoration swimming in them, shades of blue mixing in with the invisible shades of love.

you see your reflection in his eyes and others could swear they see hearts surrounding your figure. his eyes are now a canvas for what he wholeheartedly believes to be the love of his life.

the small soft quirk of his lips is noticeable. the light crinkle of his eyes as he gazes at you gives away how he feels. his entire face is glowing as it faces your own. his hand reaches to hold your face and he grins.

“my star.”

“satoru, that was so cheesy!”

“you love it.”

taglist: @magenta-cat-drawingss @pompompurin1028 @scul-pted @requiem626k @nameless-shrimp @shinys-bsd-world-1 @sonder-paradise @ravenina14 @jessbeinme15s-notebook @todorokichills @ginneko @missrown @shrynkk @simplyxsinned @beautiful-is-boring @starlostlaiba @izukus-gf @irethepotato @thekaylahub @dazaisbloodybandages @aeanya @sweetcloudsimp @moon-catto @the-midnightskies @pianopuppygirl @gojosblackqueen @kryscent @kunikida-simp @whoami-72 @mx-0-child @fiona782 @kisakitwister @imjustasimpxd @psychopotatomeme @dreamcastgirl99 @watyousayin @doobiebochana @laylasbunbunny @hojicha-expresso @4sat0ruu @nineooooo @chuuyasboots @alekssashka7 @rieejjyubi02 @wemma67 @nothisispatrick300 @fallencrescentmoon @etheviese @ho34gojo @the-mom-friend-dot-com @the-weeping-author @stray-npc @libbyistired @anon1412

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wyniepooh · 1 year

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aaron

hotch doesn't really like when fellow members of the team calls him by his first name. for you, however, maybe he can make an exception.

traumatized!hotch core, mentions of stabbing and TW: foyet 😔. The team investigates a case that reminds hotch of f*yet, he is not well and reader sees right through him. bau!reader, hurt/comfort/fluff that turns into something a lil more towards the end slightly bc it’s hotch so i can’t help myself .

hotch preferred when everyone called him by his last name. he never explicitly said it, but it was an unspoken rule of sorts. whether it was hotchner, hotch, or even whatever nickname penelope often came up with, he didn’t mind. as long as it wasn’t aaron.

'aaron' felt too personal to use with his co-workers. too intimate. as much as you guys were like a family, hearing aaron come out of spencer’s mouth would be as strange as a quiet crime scene.

and heck, was this crime scene hectic. the aftermath of a negotiation involving drawn weapons was always hazy— body overfilled with adrenaline and running on approximately three hours of sleep. all the law enforcement agents you could think of was present, interviewing people, collecting samples. all the lights and voices didn't help with the anxiety. but this scenario in particular had everyone scrambling to collect their thoughts.

hotch, especially. the mo of the unsub was eerily similar to that of foyet— the intricate stabbing that ensured the victim suffered long and hard but was still conscious enough to feel every inch of the next stab. the whole team was aware of the elephant stealing all the oxygen in the room, but no one really knew what to say or do given hotch’s constant stern affirmation that he was fine.

and so the whole team walked into the local police department in silence, hotch leading as the rest of you trailed behind. tired of the crickets practically sounding, you cleared your throat and exclaimed,

“so, does anyone want to get some food? i saw an authentic taco sta-“

your words trailed off as your eyes followed the figure in front of you, who was walking away haggardly towards the washrooms. you turned back towards your teammates, all of them shrugging and letting out a sigh. eventually, they all walked away with a promise to fulfill your hungry request and disappeared to their work stations.

you stood outside the bathrooms for at least five minutes, taking a step forward, then back. forward, then back. finally, you shook your head quickly, straightened your shoulders, and pushed the door into the room.

"h-hey! this is the men's-"

you didn't bother to acknowledge the young police officer by the urinal who was frantically pulling up his pants. you simply lifted an extended arm and nodded to silence him. you walked to the front of the stall where you spotted hotch's perfectly polished shoes, and stopped. once the guy left, you knocked on the door.

“hotch? i know you’re in there.”

silence. you began tapping your foot and crossed your arms, blowing out a rush of air. exasperated, you repeated again, “hotchner. open up. please.”

a click enabled you to release a breath of relief, the door opening to reveal hotch sitting on the closed toilet, head looking down with his hands crossed in between his legs.

“listen… i know you said you’re fine and that you're good to keep going, but we both know that’s bullshit. we know you. too well, even. we can tell that you're struggling, whether you like it or not. it’s obvious this case has brought up…”

your voice progressively got more silent as you noticed the response you got. silence. it wasn’t until you stopped talking did you realize his rapidly rising shoulders for each breath he took, and the way he fidgeted with his hands to hide the shaking. you immediately knelt down to his level, putting both hands on his shoulder.

“hotch? hey-“

“i'm sorry,” he mumbled.

“what?”

“i’ve been dismissive the whole day. i want to say it’s simply because i didn’t sleep last night, or the night before that, and that is part of it but… the reason i haven’t been able to sleep is because of the case. i thought the therapy was enough, i thought it would be fine once i was distracted with work,” he sighed, “i know i’ve made you all uncomfortable and i don’t know what to do about it. i wish i-“

“hotch.”

“-could just open up. i’m so sor-“

“aaron.”

he stopped his sentence midway and found your concerned eyes.

you chuckled, “if you say sorry one more time, i’m going to really make you sorry.”

it took a second for aaron to muster out a laugh as well, but eventually he did, and the sound put a genuine smile on your face.

still kneeling, your hand came up to softly caress his jaw. “don’t apologize for how you’re feeling, aaron. i’ll admit that the atmosphere is a little more tense than usual, but let's be honest here," you dropped your hand from his face, “we're all tense. we're profilers, for gods sake. what are we but tense?"

aaron gave a nod of approval, his lip curving into a small smile.

"and also, don't feel obligated to talk to us. everyone has their own coping methods. we're just reminding you that if you do need a person to talk to... we're here to lend an ear. and of course, we hope you remember that it's more than okay to take a break or admit you're uncomfortable. we get it. we won’t judge.”

you feigned a thinking face, “well, rossi might judge a little, but at least we won’t!”

he snickered and nodded again at your words, taking a deep breath. his hands had stopped shaking and his breaths seem to be more regulated. you smiled at him one last time before the both of you began to stand up.

as aaron straightened himself, he realized something. he didn't like the others calling him by his first name, but there was something different about the way his name sounded rolling off of your tongue. in fact, he would do anything to hear you say 'aaron' again.

before you could both exit, the stall door behind you suddenly closed. a surprised ‘oh’ left your lips, and aaron looked equally as confused. the inclosed space pushed you closer to him, and just for a second, you saw his eyes flicker to your lips. you expected him to open the door like a gentlemen or apologize for the close proximity, but nothing ever came. you opened your mouth to say something, but all you could breathe was a quiet whisper of his name before he crashed his lips onto yours.

a/n: the washroom stall door was truly a paid actor.

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sunshine-theseus · 4 months

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Bia | Kyra Cooney-Cross x Reader

Words: 2.8k Summary: you create your own boots and meet the most beautiful girl - sorry I also used this to info dump about the necessity for boots designed specifically for women to lower injury risks Warnings: none i think. lemme know if there are any requested by - @hottiedogs375 i hope you enjoy, it's probably not my best :( definitely not as good as pequeña i think

My family was more of a cricket family than a football one. I wasn’t really fond of either, the shouting was always too much, and the food was somehow sloppy yet rock hard at the same time. Even when we watched at home. The living room would be full of sweaty angry men, sometimes my mum and sister would join if our team was actually doing well. Meanwhile you’d find me in my room at the very back corner of the attic, my room, with headphones on to block out the noise, usually designing something.

Despite the cricket background, I found myself intrigued by the design of women’s football kits. In my design and technology class in year 13, I fell down a research rabbit hole on football boots for women. It was then I discovered the lack of adaptation for the shoe. Women often just wear smaller sizes of boots designed for men, which has been one of the factors in the increase in injuries in the women’s game and I’d decided I wanted to fix that.

That’s how I found myself in front of a crowd, made up of possible brand ambassadors and sponsors, as well as a range of women’s athletes from across the world, pitching my idea.

“And that’s why brands like Bia are important to the growth of women’s football. The shape of the boot, the length of studs, the sole support, they’re all contributing factors to how players perform. When women footballers use the men’s boots, which is basically the only option, they aren’t going to grow used to the details designed for male anatomy. It’s causing stress on not only their feet but every ligament, every bone, every piece of them is suffering because they have to try and adapt to things they can’t possibly adapt to.” I felt like the closing of my speech was rather strong, especially as I watched players and possible sponsors stand to clap. The noise echoes throughout the auditorium and a happiness bubbles within me.

“Thank you for providing me this opportunity. Please, if anyone has any questions.” I gesture to the stand-up microphone in the middle aisle, and people rush to line up.

“What made you intent on creating a boot specifically for women, risking money and time on something people have tried to do before? Something you knew wasn’t guaranteed to work?”

“I know it’s funny, but my family was not a football one, so I didn’t grow up knowing much about the game. But in my a-levels design and technology class, we had to research an issue prevalent in an existing design, and I for some reason was just drawn to the idea that women don’t even get the choice of having a boot made for them. I found it unfair and uncaring. Everyone expects women to play at the same level as men yet won’t provide them with the necessary equipment to do so without them having to risk, quite possibly their career. And I couldn’t just move on after the class, I knew that I had to do something about it. So I’ve spent the past 3 years perfecting the design and building the brand, to be here in front of you all today.” Another round of applause is heard throughout the room before the next person steps up.

She’s a footballer, that I know. Young, no older than 21, my age. And very very pretty.

“This question probably isn’t quite as important as that one but, what made you pick the name Bia? It just seems like an interesting name.” people chuckle at the question, and the (newly discovered) Australian shyly looks around.

“No, I love this question. Bia is the Greek goddess of force and raw energy. She’s actually Nike’s sister, the goddess of victory and very obviously the brand. I think Bia resembles a lot of things within female athletes. They have this driving force and unbelieve power that they bring, and it just felt so right.”

“That’s sick. Can I also quickly ask, sorry, are these boots made for every female athlete? Like can someone in track and field use these or are they just for footballers?” the girl smiles brightly after her question, and I have to remember not to lose focus.

“While the primary focus is obviously footballers, I have researched the compatibility of boots between sports and yes, a professional sprinter like Sharika Jackson can use them just as well as you or Alexia Putellas could. And of course as the brand grows we’ll be able to develop even further and broaden our research further in creating boots fit for anyone.”

Questions carry on for a while, then I disappear behind the curtain that’s suspended behind me, rushing to remove my microphone. Eventually I slide out the side door and reach the separate room booked for ‘mingling’ after the panel.

Between talking to rich people desperate to make it seem like they care about others, and athletes who are very eager to know everything they can about the shoe, I try to keep an eye out for the nameless Australian. Every time I think I’ve spotted her; it seems she disappears. Bodies keep moving and she seems to be one of them.

Then I bump into someone. We both go stumbling but she catches me just before I head for the floor.

“I am so sorry I wasn’t looking where I was going.” And there she was, the girl I’d been looking for.

“No, no need to apologise. I’m Y/n.” I give her a hand to shake.

“Kyra.” There’s a pause before she continues.

“I’m a big fan of your boot. It’s truly incredible.” It’s hard not to blush and sputter out random sounds at her praise.

“Thank you. I’m really hoping this function works out.”

“Well I was thinking, when it does, if you need ‘a face of Bia’…”

“Oh my god yes that would be amazing. Seriously you have no idea how cool that would be.”

We talk for quite some time, and she sticks by my side when someone else comes to talk and ask question. When it’s time to go home we exchange numbers and that’s the first and last time I see her for a while.

5 months later is the next time I see Kyra in person. We’d both been travelling a lot, me for sponsors, ambassadors, and athletes, her for work. I’d expected to meet with her a few more times before we kick started the ‘face of Bia’ photoshoots, but as the fates had it, we found ourselves in a large warehouse, photo equipment, and many boxes of my shoes filling the space.

It suddenly all started to feel very real, and that made me nervous. So I packed myself into a small room in the corner as I tried to calm down, hoping the isolation and quiet would help me feel better.

Not even 2 minutes in, someone is following and taking a seat next to me.

“You right?” the voice is familiar and smooth.

“Yeah, yeah of course I am. It’s not like the biggest thing I’ve ever worked for in my life is basically in its final stage of release in the next room and I’m freaking out about it. What if they aren’t actually good? What if th-”

“I’m going to stop you right there. You sent me a pair 2 months ago, and I told you I would test them before saying anything, and I did just that. I took them to training. Ran on the pitch, walked, kicked the ball, passed, made risky moves. And what did I tell you after that?”

“‘These are the best fucking shoes ever.’ But what if they aren’t?”

“Listen Y/n, how many other athletes, not just me or footballers, did you send a pair to for testing?”

“Like 43. Basically every one that came to the panel plus some more.”

“How many told you they were good?”

“43.”

“Exactly. So we’re going to go out there together, you’re gonna tell the photographer what you want to see, every opinion, every change, anything, and we’re going to finalise your fucking dream.” Kyra picks me up without me even agreeing, and basically carries me out to the set up.

Ali Kreiger, despite her recent retirement, was currently being photographed. She’d been the one to reach out to me when she heard from, someone, and wanted to be an ambassador. I probably screamed so loud my neighbours thought I was getting murdered that day.

“They’re going to want a couple photos of you too probably. Either with the shoes or with one or all of us. Okay?” Kyra rubs a hand up and down my back as I take it all in.

I nod vigorously and try to shake my hands to get rid of the remaining nerves, eventually taking a seat next to the photographer, Eve. She asks for my input on every shot and manages to carry out my vision without fail every single time. As players filter in and out, I begin to truly relax and allow myself to take in the moment.

Zimmorlei Farquharson and Poppy Boltz, two AFLW players for the Brisbane Lions, were being photographed together when Kyra slid into the spare chair next to me. She didn’t say anything but when I looked over, I had to quickly look away again. Her outfit wasn’t something out of the ordinary, a loose cropped top and bike shorts, plus the sage green boots she was promoting. But the strip of skin that was exposed between her shirt and shorts was enticing and it was hard not to stare at the way her muscles contracted every time she moved in the seat.

I’m certain she caught me staring.

As she stands to take over the Australian Football players, Kyra leans over and whispers in my ear. It takes me a moment to process her words and by then she’s already under the lights.

“Good thing we’re taking some pictures. They’ll last longer.” To say I was stumped was a rather big understatement. Was she flirting with me?

I don’t get to think about it too much, Kyra looking my way every time she changed position or began to play around with the ball provided.

Not long after, I’m asked to join all the girls in front of the camera for a few shots. I knew it was coming but my heart still dropped into my stomach, and I choked on my breath. As expected, it’s Kyra who grabs my hand and instructs me to breathe slowly. Her thumb runs over the back of my hand and the motion begins to sooth me.

I take a place in front of the camera and the group of athletes. I’m not quite sure how to stand, but Kyra takes the space behind me, resting an arm over my shoulder and the other around my waist. It forces me to lean back naturally and as the girls around us take a stance, Eve continues to shoot.

“You and Kyra have a lot of chemistry by the looks of it, and she’s who you’re most comfortable with. Use that. Make it natural. The girls around you will adapt.” I expect the comment from Eve, but it’s Ali who puts a hand on my shoulder and reassures me.

With that instruction, and a nod from Eve, Kyra jumps on my back. It’s a pose that helps with showing off the boot and making me laugh. She then jumps off and takes my hands, turning me to face her as she dips. I rush to catch her as she falls, our faces a hair width apart.

Before I can think, I close the gap. My lips press hard against her’s as the camera shutter repeatedly goes off, but I don’t think anything of it. Until I pull away.

I almost drop her once my thoughts catch up to me.

“I am so sorry. What the fuck did I just do?” the rest of the girls had already walked away, so it was just us.

“Nothing you should regret or feel bad for.” Kyra stands right in front of me, our lips basically touching again.

“And maybe you should do it again.” I pause for a moment before leaning back down, kissing her again.

~~~~~

It takes three more weeks for the official brand release. After years of designing, making, spending every cent I had on these boots, Bia was officially the first woman specific sports boot.

Kyra’s first Arsenal game wearing them was the day of the release. She ended up talking about them in post-match interview after being asked “how were you excelling so well in the midfield today?” Not only was Bia’s sale numbers skyrocketing and the media account blowing up, so was my own.

I’d of course attended the match, excited to see them as an officially released boot. Someone had spotted me in the crowd and tweeted about it, talking about ‘the creator of that new boot brand is watching Kyra rep them for the first time live’. Someone else had caught me hugging Kyra on the pitch after the game and giving her a kiss on the cheek.

The rumours could only be expected. They also couldn’t be denied. Not without lying.

“I’m so proud of you.” The smooth Australian accent almost lulls me to sleep as we rest in Kyra’s bed, the sheets hiding our bare skin.

Her fingers trace shapes on my hip as she holds me, and I kiss along her collar bones and neck.

“And also very, very grateful for your genius brain creating those boots. Not only for helping my game play, but for bringing you to me.”

“I’m also grateful for my genius brain bringing us together.” I tease before softly kissing her.

It’d been impossible to escape her charm after our kiss at the photoshoot, so naturally we went on a date. And another, before she asked me to be her girlfriend. Eve sent me those photos just in case we wanted them in the brand release post. They currently sat in my hard drive, but it was very tempting to post a couple.

Kyra wanted a moment of privacy before the world knew, but I knew it didn’t matter whether it was out or a secret, as long as I had her.

A new power couple is on the rise in the world of Women’s Football. Creator of new women’s sports boots brand Bia, Y/n L/n, spotted with girlfriend, Arsenal and Matildas midfielder Kyra Cooney-Cross at a café in North London this morning before the London Derby. The couple confirmed their relationship mere days ago with photos of the lovebirds kissing from L/n’s brand shoot.

I laugh at the article as Kyra pulls into the Emirates parking, hand in mine. I’d become rather acquainted with her teammates and they begged me to come to the London Derby on the weekend. I couldn’t refuse when my girlfriend pulled out the puppy dog eyes and promised to ban me from any sort of affection, specifically kisses, for the week.

“You better win. I have a bet going with Niamh that you’ll beat her and I cannot lose a bet against her again.” Kyra chuckles and leaves with a kiss, sending me into the friends and family section of the stands.

It was nerve wracking going alone, but it was for Kyra and that was all I cared about. Supporting her like she supported me.

Kyra doesn’t start, which had been expected. Despite it, the girls were playing well and were up 3-1 at half-time. No yellow cards for either team had most people shocked though. The derby was known to be rough and physical, yet it seemed things were rather calm for the situation at hand.

There’s a substitute at half-time that puts Kyra back on the pitch. I blow a kiss when she looks my way as she jogs out and she pretends to catch it and place it on her cheek. Both of us are unaware of the interaction being caught on the big screen while people wait for the countdown.

It’s when extra time is announced that everyone in the stadium knows Arsenal have won the game. The Chelsea players look tired and defeated and the Arsenal girls don’t look much different, apart from the massive smiles that grace each one of their faces. The final whistle blows, and the crowd erupts in deafening cheers for the gunners, and I can’t help joining in.

After congratulating the blues on their performance and huddling with her own teammates, Kyra comes running for me. The guard on the other side of the barrier grows wary when I stand, clearly about to jump it, but Kyra gives him the okay and grabs me by the waist, helping me join her on the pitch.

“I’m so fucking proud of you.” I whisper as she stands on her tippy toes.

Her arms wrap tightly around my neck and mine go around her waist as she pulls me in for a kiss. It’s deep and passionate and the crowd around us cheers, some of the girls joining in.

“We’re both kinda killing it aren’t we?” I let out a laugh as she hops on my back, pointing me in the direction of her Matilda’s teammates, even Sam, who are grouped in the middle of the field.

She sprinkles kisses around my face as they talk between each other and I’ve never felt more content.

Fuck cricket, football is the sport for me.

#woso x reader #woso #womens soccer #wsl #woso fanfics #the matildas x reader #the matildas #kyra cooney cross x reader #kyra cooney cross #kyra cooney-cross #kyra cooney-cross x reader

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pawnshopbleus · 3 months

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Miller's Girl - Part One

Professor!Joel Miller x Fem!College Student!Reader Very Loosely based off of the new movie, Miller's Girl, starring Jenna Ortega and Martin Freeman

Summary - Your landlord decides to raise the rent in your studio apartment the day you are fired from your job. In need of money, you sign up for a babysitting service your friend suggested. You didn’t expect to get an offer so quickly, and you also didn’t expect to come from your professor.

Series contains - cursing, mature language, teacher x student relationship, age gap, smut, fluff, angst, non beta read chapters and everything else I forgot to mention

College, no outbreak, and modern AU

The record store in downtown Austin was filled to the brim with people excited to have their items signed by their favorite band. The crowd was a mix of teen girls with their dads and middle-aged men on their lonesome. The band in question was some underground band from the eighties that you had never heard of.

Your co-worker, Emma, was in charge of keeping the crowd in check while you were manning the register. This wasn’t the first time you had done these signings. In the two years that you have worked here, hundreds of artists have come in and out of those doors. They attract their loyal fans to the store which can give it more publicity and customers.

Your eyes scan the crowd. It was still pretty full, but the line had stopped trickling out of the doors and onto the sidewalk. You look over at Emma to see her standing with her weight on her left hip and her arms crossed. If you didn’t know her, you would have thought she looked like a bitch, but in all actuality, she is the nicest girl you know.

The doors open and the bell above it rings. Your boss comes in and surveys the store. His bald head nods as he skims it. Nothing had been stolen and the customers looked happy. When his eyes land on you, your heart drops. You know that look. It was the same look he gave your other co-worker that look right before he fired him. You cross your fingers under the counter and plaster a fake smile on your face.

Your entire world looks like it’s in slow motion. Your boss steps closer. Each step he takes makes your heart thump in your chest. The sound his thousand-dollar shoes make on the floor sounds like the bombs used on the battlefield.

You don’t know if you either blacked out or passed out, but the next thing you knew, you were in the staff room gathering your things. This would be the last time you would ever step foot in this record store as an employee, but that should have been the least of your worries. You needed this job. Without it, you won’t be able to afford rent. Luckily, you were smart enough to get a full-ride scholarship for the university you attended, but there were still other expenses that needed to be paid.

The hallway of your apartment building seemed colder than it usually is. The usual shushing of dogs who aren’t supposed to be in the apartment is replaced with static. The crickets weren’t even chirping. The sound of your breathing brought you out of your tiny rut. At least you were still alive.

The pink paper in front of your door made you stop in your tracks. You could read what it said from where you stood. ‘Rent will be increased to a thousand dollars a month’ was typed out in Times New Roman. Only pretentious bitches type in Times New Roman.

You were sure that this was the work of the couple that bought the building six months ago. They promised the residents who lived there that the rent would stay the same, but the promise had just been broken. You were worried for yourself, sure, but you were also worried about the elderly people who couldn’t afford to go anywhere else.

You wish nothing but the worst for the new landlords and make your way into your studio apartment. It’s a mess, just the way you left it this morning. Your cat, Bill, lays outstretched on your couch as if he were the one who just worked eight hours only to get fired at the end of it.

You flop on your couch and sigh. For the first time in a while, you don’t know what to do. You just got fired and your rent got increased. If you can’t pay rent then you’ll become another homeless college student. Just another statistic to the state and a burden to the university.

Your phone chimes and you almost cry with joy as you see your best friend’s caller ID flash across the screen.

You pick up the phone and she begins talking immediately. She goes on and on about some boy she saw a the mall. He had icy blonde hair, but his roots were showing which meant that he wasn’t a natural blonde. This was a good distraction for about a few minutes until you realized that you wouldn’t be able to afford to go to the mall anymore.

Your hot tears dribbled down your cheeks and fell onto your chest.

“Are you okay?”

“Cherry, I just got fired from my fucking job because my boss wants to buy more fucking shoes and my rent just got fucking increased because my landlords are fucking bastards!” You say through tears. “I think I just heard you say ‘fucking’ in that one sentence more times than I have heard you say it in your entire life,” Cherry laughs.

“It’s not funny, Cherry. I'm going to be homeless!”

“Stop being dramatic. Sign up for flowers for one dot com. It’s a babysitting website where single parents find a babysitter for their children. My cousin did it for about a year and made more money than she does at her regular job.”

For the first time in a very long time, Cherry gave you actual good advice. She gave you a solution to all of your problems.

“Thanks, Cher, bye.” You hang up before Cherry has a chance to say goodbye.

Your phone drops onto the couch and bounces off, falling on the floor. You suck in air through your teeth and grab your phone off the floor. You should be more gentle with it because you can’t afford to get a new one if it breaks.

Flowers for one dot com was a simple website. It got straight to the point. No fancy explanation of ‘who are we’ or ‘why do we do this.’ You include the fact that you are certified by the Red Cross in CPR and that you are a senior at The University of Texas at Austin. You also add that you are majoring in architecture and the fact that you want to become an interior designer.

Your profile is up and running in an hour. You look over it again and close your laptop. Your life is falling apart piece by piece, but maybe you should clean up a bit.

The dirty clothes that were being neglected in the corner of your room are now in your hamper. You can see the hardwood floor that you’ll be paying a thousand dollars a month for.

Your phone chimes once again, but this time it’s an email from the website. You almost drop your phone again as you read who it’s from.

Joel Miller, Professor of Architectural Studies at The University of Texas at Austin.

I'm the pretentious bitch that writes in Times New Roman 🙋🏿‍♀️

#joel miller #joel tlou #joel miller x reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #tlou

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roseghoul26 · 13 days

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Chapter 5: Your Opal Eyes Are All I Wish To See

Arthur Morgan x fem!Reader

Synopsis: A fic based off the song “ivy” by Taylor Swift. After a startling introduction to the man, Arthur Morgan became the most important part of your life. Married at a young age to an older, wealthy man to help your family, you were trapped in a loveless marriage, your only sense of escape with the rugged cowboy. Will you be able to keep your affair hidden, or will your husband find out, and destroy the last thing that made you happy? Tags: Fluff, Angst, Smut, Strangers To Lovers, Infidelity, Fem!Reader, She/Her Pronouns Used For Reader, Period Typical Misogyny, Emotional Manipulative Relationship (not with Arthur), Mostly Follows Timeline of Game, High Honor Arthur Morgan, Not Beta Read, Slow Burn, First Kiss, Tags Updated Per Chapter Author's Note: this is a short chapter sorry! Taglist: @lokiofasgard12 @ultraporcelainpig @that-one-beannnn @morethantheycansay Chapter List

It was comical, the way the cricket chirping filled in the silence as you stared at the older man. Your mouth formed the words but nothing came out, leaving you looking like a fool. You glanced between the two men, Hosea having a sympathetic look on his face. You couldn’t see Arthur, as he was behind you, but you quite honestly didn’t want to see his reaction. A sinking feeling formed in your gut. Did he know the entire time?

“I… what?” You finally found your voice, barely. You had to admit, it did make sense. You knew so little about his work, only knowing that he did distillery work, but made a surprising amount of money from it. It wouldn’t be surprising if he was actually invested in more… illegal means of work.

“If there’s a moonshine shack in the western states, then Mr. Kerrigan is tied to it. Either he owns it, supplies it, or gets a cut from it. No matter where you look, his fingers are all over it.” Hosea spoke, he and Dutch had moved closer to you now, now that they realized you wouldn’t lash out angrily at the information.

“Alright…” you took a breath. “So how does this include me?”

The two gentlemen looked surprised at your willingness, and that predatory smile returned to Dutch’s face. “You see, Arthur told us you might be willin’ to help us… deter your husband from further illegal endeavors… while we get our own cut, of course.”

At the mention of Arthur, you turned to look at him, finding him glaring at Dutch. “I thought I told you I don’t want her involved in this.”

“I know. But we couldn’t pass up an opportunity like this.”

Another sinking feeling formed, this one stronger than he last, and the thought was dizzying. Did he only get close to you to secure a job?

You had to turn away from Arthur, no longer able to look at him. You didn’t think he’d be that cruel, right? Still, you couldn’t help the hurt and anger swirling in your mind.

Silence hung in the air now, and even the crickets seemed to realize the gravity of the situation, halting their songs. “Let’s continue this conversation inside,” you said through the lump in your throat. Climbing up the stairs of the porch, you held the door open, gesturing for the men to come inside. “Go ahead and take a seat in the living room. Just take your shoes off,” you added as they entered.

Arthur stayed put, looking at you with an indistinguishable expression. He murmured your name gently, but you just shook your head. Sighing, Arthur slowly climbed the stairs, halting in front of you in the doorway. When you still didn’t look at him, he continued on inside, glancing back at you with guilt in his eyes.

Dutch and Hosea sat on one of the couches, chatting between each other, and Arthur sat on the one beside them. They stopped their conversation when you walked in, and you shook your head, signaling for them to continue. “I’ll go get some tea,” you murmured, heading to the kitchen, and you heard them resume talking, but you couldn’t make out what they were saying.

You took a shaky breath once you were alone in the kitchen, bracing yourself against the countertop. You felt like you should’ve been more surprised about your husband's true business, but that wasn’t what was causing the negative emotion you weren’t feeling. Those two questions were playing on repeat in your head, and left you analyzing every moment you’d had with Arthur, questioning the authenticity of them.

The clinking of his gun belt moving as we walked brought you back to the present. Straightening up, you grabbed the kettle, filling it with water and setting it on the stove, and began the process of boiling it. You didn’t even look at Arthur, not even when he said your name again.

“I’ll be out in a moment,” you responded, grabbing teacups and saucers. You hated the way your hands were shaking slightly.

Arthur didn’t respond, and you thought he left, until you felt him beside you. He didn’t touch you, but you could feel the proximity of his body. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, and that all but confirmed your thoughts.

“So you knew?” You stepped away from him, grabbing the tea leaves, strainer, and a few sugar cubes in a small bowl. Tears welled in your eyes, his silence speaking for him. You laughed bitterly. “You didn’t think that was important to tell me?”

“I didn’t know it was moonshine.”

“But you knew he was doin’ somethin’ illegal.”

Again, his silence spoke volumes. “I could care less if he was breakin’ the law. I don’t care that he’s sellin’ moonshine, or whatnot. But imagine if someone found out. I mean, y’all were able to. That would wreck my family. Any credibility gone, like that. And then what? I’m married to some old sack of shit with no income who can’t help my family and who doesn’t give a damn about me!” You really tried to keep your voice down, but you still found it rose in volume as the words spewed from you. “Those two years I sacrificed, worth nothing. So I apologize for my anger, but I don’t think any of you realize how ugly this could get.”

You barely felt the tears streaming down your face, panting as you caught your breath. There was still one question that burned in the back of your mind. Finally turning to face him, he stared at you wide eyes. “You know, you’re a damn good actor, Arthur Morgan. I guess I should’ve expected that from an outlaw. For a moment, I really thought you actually cared about me.”

That seemed to get him out of whatever shocked trance he was in. “Whaddya mean?” He asked, genuinely confused. Or at least you thought it was genuine. You couldn't trust your judgment anymore.

“Don’t lie. All this, gettin’ close to me, little touches, nearly kissin’ me. It was all a ruse, wasn’t it? Just to get the money, and once you get it, you’re gonna vanish, leaving me heartbroken and alone and stuck.”

“Darlin’,” he muttered, and you scoffed.

“Don’t. You don’t get to call me that like you… like you mean it.”

“But I do mean it. I know what this looks like, but please… please don’t think that the past weeks have been fake.” Arthur slowly moved toward you, and when you didn’t back up, he continued until he was right in front of you, just like he had been a bit ago.

“Then what should I think, Arthur?” You whispered.

“I can’t tell you that,” Arthur admitted. “But I can tell ya what you should know. You should know that I fought ‘em both on this job. You should know that I’ll make sure that nothin’ happens to you and your family. And you should know that I truly do care ‘bout you, darlin’. More than I can put into words.”

The kettle whistled, but it was all background noise to you. You also noticed the way Dutch and Hosea had ceased their conversation, blatantly eavesdropping on the two of you. You didn’t care. All that mattered was the man in front of you. It was hard to stay upset at him though, when he was looking at you so fondly, so softly.

“You mean it?”

Arthur smiled a bit, relieved. “I do.” You felt him bring his hands up to your face, gently brushing away the tears. “I hate seein’ you cry. And I hate that I was the reason why.” He held you for a few moments, and you felt the tears subside, your cheek only slightly damp.

The kettle’s noise finally registered in your brain, and you gestured to it with your head. “Mind takin’ that off for me?” You croaked out, voice still recovering.

Without another word, Arthur did as you asked, the annoying noise disappearing. You grabbed the teacups with their saucers and set them on a tray, along with the other components needed. You walked past him with the tray in your hands, heading to the living room. You walked with the confidence of someone that wasn’t just crying, and you prayed that your eyes weren’t puffy.

“Go ahead and bring that kettle with you,” you called over your shoulder.

Setting the tray on the coffee table, you took the kettle from Arthur. Pouring out cups for each of the men, you sat once you’d finished, leaving the kettle in reach of the men. Sitting across from them, you observed them preparing their drinks, and Arthur stood around, not quite sure where to sit. Moving over, you patted the cushion next to you with a soft smile.

With an equally soft expression, he sat next to you, and you resisted the urge to burrow yourself in his side. “Mrs. Kerrigan, thank you for inviting us into your home-”

You cut Dutch off with a light laugh. “No need to be so formal. We’re alone, ain’t we?”

“That we are,” Dutch agreed. “Should we get straight to the point, then?” You nodded. “As we said, Mr. Kerrigan runs the moonshine business in this part of the States. As you were made aware, we ain’t exactly upholders of the law, so we ain’t exactly looking to stop him. We only wish to sabotage him a bit. Attack his supplies on the road, destroy a few of his distilleries. That way, he starts looking for guns to hire. And that’s where Arthur and the rest come in. We’ll offer our services, protect his goods, and we’ll get paid.”

“Alright, that sounds like a decent enough plan, but how does this involve me?” You watched Dutch set the drink down on the tray, halfway drunk.

Hosea spoke now. “We have no idea where anything is at. We have no idea where the caravans are, where the shacks are, who he gets his supplies from. Nothing. We need you to get information for us.”

“You’ll probably have better luck doin’ it yourself, to be honest. He tells me nothin’.”

“We know that. We’re talking about physical evidence. Letters, logbooks, stuff like that.”

“That’ll probably be in his office, but I ain’t got access to that. Again, why don’t you go ahead and just break in yourself and I’ll just, I dunno, not pay attention.”

Hosea sighed. “Because the man sitting beside you would kill us if we broke into your house.”

So that’s what he meant when he said that you weren’t to be messed with.

You still didn’t think that they needed your help, but a new thought had you grinning. “Are… are y’all askin’ for my permission to rob my house and husband by havin’ me do it myself?”

“In a backwards way, yes,” Hosea conceded, and you snorted. “Arthur did also say you might be interested in… getting back at Mr. Kerrigan, in some way.” It was Hosea’s turn to set the cup down, this one completely empty. You noticed that Arthur hadn't made a move for his own cup, which sat steaming where you’d set it.

You had to admit, the thought was appealing, and you told them that. “It’s just, I’m afraid how this might end up affecting my family. What if he stops sendin’ my them money ‘cause he doesn’t want to lose more?”

Dutch and Hosea looked at you, confused. That’s when you realize you said too much; the only person beside you to know what was actually going on with your family was Arthur. It did mean that he had upheld his promise that he wouldn’t tell anyone else, though, and you were grateful for that. Still, you explained to the two men your situation, withholding details you deemed they didn’t need to know.

“I see,” Hosea shifted in his seat, giving you a sympathetic look. “We can’t promise that he won’t stop sending money, but we don’t plan on asking for a significant sum. Just enough to… help us.”

“And I want to help you, too. But you have to understand where my priorities lie. The minute he even debates ceasing his help to my family, then this is done. You stop attackin’ his supplies, his shacks, everything. If I find out you’re continuing afterwards, then I will be involvin’ the law.”

Hosea nodded, content with your response. “So you’re willing to help us?”

I want to help Arthur. You nodded, and Dutch extended out a hand. “It’s been a pleasure doin’ business with you, Mrs. Kerrigan.”

You took his hand, shaking it. “You too, Mr. Van Der Linde.”

You could feel Arthur’s eyes on you, unknowing that you knew what his last name was. You weren’t stupid. As soon as Arthur began to talk about the group that he associated with, it was pretty easy to link them to the Van Der Linde gang that's been headlining the newspapers Hans read. You didn’t mind the headlines; you knew this world was vicious, you had to do what you had to do to survive and protect your way of life. Maybe in another life, you’d be with them, escaping the confines of “civilized” life.

Dutch raised a brow. “Are there gonna be issues in the future, Mrs. Kerrigan?” You knew there was a threat under the disguise of a question, and you smiled sweetly.

“As long as you keep your end of the deal, then we won’t have an issue. I promise.”

The tension dissipated from the room instantly, and Arthur visibly relaxed in your peripherals. Hosea leaned into Dutch’s ear, speaking too quietly for you to make out, and you felt him drop your hand. “Now, I believe that it’s a good time to mention that Hans will be arriving back any day now. He had eyes on him during his travels, and last we saw he was in Valentine, heading back to Rhodes.”

You expected his trip to Tumbleweed to have taken significantly longer than that, but you realized that he was most definitely not there, probably somewhere in New Hanover instead. “I appreciate that. I’ll… I’ll try to get the information to you as soon as I can, but don’t expect it when he’s home. I can’t tell you how long that’s gonna take, so be patient.”

“We have all the time in the world,” Dutch reassured, but even you could tell that he was lying through his teeth.

“Good. Now, was there any other business we wished to discuss?”

“Not today. Thank you for the tea, ma’am.” Hosea smiled at you, and you were surprised to find how genuine it seemed. Out of Dutch and Hosea, you liked the gray haired man more. But maybe that was all a trick, you were talking to the leaders of the most silver-tongued gang in the States.

“It was my pleasure. Arthur, go ahead and wait down here. I’ll get that payment for you.” Without another word, you stood, collecting the tray and the different components. First dropping those off in the kitchen, you then made your way upstairs. You saw the three of them still in the living room, chatting amongst themselves as they got ready to leave. You failed to notice the way Arthur’s eyes trailed after you, Hosea and Dutch exchanging a look between each other.

Entering your room, your hands shook as you grabbed the money. It was ten dollars this time, payment for last time and today. You would be a liar if you said you weren’t scared to do what you were about to do. You’d never done anything that even hinted on being against the law, at least now knowingly. But you’d also be lying if the thought of it didn’t excite you, doing something to get back at Hans for the two years of hell.

The other reason your hands shook made his presence known with a light knock on your open bedroom door. Snapping your head over at him, startled, he stood in the doorway, leaning with his arms crossed. In the dim light, you could only see his silhouette, unable to make out any expression on his face. It had your heart beating, even more so when he slowly made his way into the room.

“How long have you known?”

“That you run with the Van Der Linde gang?” You shrugged. “Since you showed me the drawings.”

Arthur just hummed. “I don’t mind, you know,” you continued.

“You should,” Arthur countered.

“Why?”

“Because we ain’t good men, darlin’.”

“I dunno. From what I’ve seen, y’all are better than most.”

Arthur didn’t respond, unable to disagree with your statement. Tucking the lockbox back into its hiding spot, you met him halfway, holding out the bills for him to grab. He looked down at them, then back up at you. “You don’t gotta pay me anymore.”

Was… was he stopping his visits? Did he lie to you earlier? Dejected, you tossed the money on the bed, taking a step away from him. “So you’re not comin’ back, then?”

“I never said that. I only said you don’t gotta pay me.”

“Why?”

“You sure are askin’ that a lot tonight,” Arthur teased. “Would you believe me if I said your company is payment enough?”

“I’m sure my company is incredible,” you scoffed. “Sad married woman in the woods, nothin’ interesting’ ‘bout her besides being rich.”

“Are you callin’ me a liar, then?” Arthur challenged.

You almost wish you could. It would make things so much simpler. Instead, you found yourself shaking your head. “Why do you keep comin’ back?”

The atmosphere of the conversation shifted when you asked that question. The conversation had started out almost confrontational, but now it was shifting to something more… tender.

“I can’t get you outta my head, darlin’. Every single thought I have is of you. Even in my dreams, you’re in them. I can’t stop comin’ back to you, it’s like I’m fuckin’ addicted to you. And just when I think I’ve got it under control, you take my breath away with one of ‘em gorgeous smiles, those soft touches, those shy glances, and I’m hooked again.”

Arthur had closed the distance between your bodies sometime during his little speech, large hands grasping your hips with surprising gentleness. One of them danced up your body, caressing your side, then over your arm, causing you to shiver. You could see him smirk, loving the way you responded.

He eventually settled on your jaw, tilting your head back lightly. His eyes were dark, but you felt warm under his attentive gaze. Your lips parted, a small gasp leaving them. “Beautiful,” he murmured, almost awestruck, before his mouth was finally on yours. They were soft and overwhelming and they felt like home, and you felt yourself immediately melting against him. It was almost hard to believe that he was an outlaw with how gentle he was being.

He pulled you in closer, and you wrapped one of your arms around his shoulders, your other hand cradling his cheek. His beard prickled the delicate skin, but it just led you to think about what that would feel like elsewhere.

The way he kissed you was gentle, but the tightening grip on your hip and jaw was telling you he was quickly losing the battle with his restraint. Before you could push him further and lead to something more, he broke away, resting his head against yours. At least, as well as he could, his hat mostly got in the way.

Joy unlike anything you’d ever felt bubbled inside of you, escaping you in a small laugh. You’d just kissed Arthur Morgan, the man you thought was unobtainable. “I’ve wanted to do that for a while,” you confessed, breathless.

“Me too, darlin’.”

He moved a bit, kissing your forehead, before resting his chin atop your head. One of his hands cradles your head to his chest, the other wrapping around your waist. Neither of you said anything, simply savoring the moment, and Arthur rocked you slowly. Taking a deep breath, it was mostly the scent of him that filled your senses, making your head spin even more.

He held you like that for a few moments, until you heard the voice of Dutch break the bubble the two of you had created. “Arthur! We’re leaving!”

You felt him sigh, leaning his head back to look at you again. “I’m sorry, I-”

“It’s alright, Arthur.” You wanted nothing more than to have him stay with you, but he had responsibilities. You couldn’t fault him for that. “Just… kiss me again?”

He chuckled, holding both sides of your face now. “Don’t gotta ask me twice,” he whispered before reconnecting your lips, a pleased sigh leaving you. Fingers curled against your head as he deepened the kiss, pulling away when he heard his name getting yelled again.

You chuckled “Go. Before they come up here.”

With one final short kiss, Arthur pulled away, walking backwards to the doorway, eyes not leaving you for a second. “Have a good night, darlin’,” you heard him say before he went to turn, about to head downstairs.

“Wait.”

He did, almost immediately, turning his head to look at you with confusion on his face. You really weren’t quite sure what you were about to say, but you needed to say something to him. “Come back to me, alright?” It wasn’t what you really meant to say, but it would have to do for now.

“Always,” he responded with a smile, before vanishing from the doorway. You heard the sound of the stairs creaking as he headed downstairs, the voices of Hosea and Dutch audible soon after. Eventually, you heard them leave, leaving you in stunned silence.

Another light laugh of disbelief left you, holding your fingers to where Arthur’s lips had been. Everywhere burned where he’d touched you, and your whole body felt like it was on fire. The whole meeting with Dutch and Hosea had practically vanished from your mind, the only thing playing on repeat was the way his lips felt, the way he held you, the words he uttered.

Those memories continued to repeat themselves as you got ready for bed, your thin nightgown doing little to cool you off. They caused you to lay awake in your bed, tossing and turning for what felt like hours. The heat hadn’t subsided one bit, and you groaned frustratedly, sleep coming nowhere near you.

Getting out of bed, the cold floor felt nice against your bare feet, but it wasn’t enough. You debated grabbing a cigarette, the lighter Arthur had given you in your hands but you decided against it. For once, you didn’t want to forget the way someone’s hands were on you, and so you placed the lighter back into your nightstand.

Still, you stepped outside, the air of the night cooling your skin. Your mind still raced with thoughts of Arthur, but you were cooling down. Eventually, the air caused goosebumps to appear on your skin, and you took that as your sign to try and go back to bed.

Like you always had to, you had to pass the locked door of Hans’ office, and you finally remembered the meeting you had that night. Setting your hand on the doorknob, you debated trying to get in right then, but you realized you had no idea how. You didn’t know how to pick a lock, and breaking it down would be difficult and obvious. A problem for later, then.

Getting back under the covers, you felt better than you had the first time you went to bed. Sleep was closer now, and as you turned on your side, about to succumb to unconsciousness, you saw the empty side of the bed.

How you longed for Arthur to be there instead.

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

You didn’t wake up alone.

It took a moment for your sleep-addled mind to realize that, nearly turning over and going right back to bed. But when it clicked, you nearly bolted out of bed, dread and sadness chasing away the happiness that came from your dreams of Arthur.

Hans was asleep next to you, his suitcases stacked in the corner of the room, snoring lightly as he slept. You knew he had to come back eventually, but it still wrecked you. Getting out of the bed as quietly as you could, you snuck downstairs, not ready to face reality yet.

You paced around your kitchen, running your hands through your hair. You weren’t ready to put on the act again. You weren’t ready to pretend like you were content being Mrs. Kerrigan. You weren’t ready to pretend like Arthur hadn’t just kissed you last night.

Groaning, you slumped against one of the counters, burrowing your head in your arms. That familiar feeling of guilt returned, but you fought it. You weren’t hurting anyone, being sweet on Arthur like you were. It’s not like your husband actually loved you, so you doubt he’d be too upset. He’d be more upset that something that was ‘his’ was ‘being used’ by someone else. Besides, what he didn’t know couldn’t hurt him.

And if you were happy, who was to tell you that that was bad?

Standing up, you rolled your shoulders, forcing a smile on your face. You could do this, you told yourself. This wasn’t any different than the last two years. Just suck it up and pretend. And then before you’d know it, Hans would be gone again.

You got to work cleaning up the kitchen from last night, washing the dishes used by the guests last night. Next, you started making breakfast, the smell of it probably being the reason Hans woke, walking downstairs blearily.

He sat in his chair at the dining table, and you served him a glass of coffee with a soft ‘good morning’. He didn’t respond, just sipping on the steaming beverage. It was hard to not look at him in a different light, now that you knew what he was really getting up to behind closed doors. But you kept your face impassive, heading back into the kitchen before the food burned.

Eventually, you served him his food, and you sat in your respective seat, much farther than you had with Arthur. He didn’t even acknowledge your presence, assumedly too tired to do so. “Sorry for wakin’ you,” you apologized, and he grunted.

“How was your trip?” You tried to engage him in a conversation, but were immediately shut down with a glare. All right, then. It took everything in you not to laugh at him. I mean you weren’t a morning person either, but at least you didn’t treat others like this. What an ass.

You turned your attention back to your plate, poking at it with your fork, appetite now gone. The two of you ate in complete silence, the only sounds being your silverware against the china and the scratch of your chair against the floor as you stood to refill his cup.

About fifteen minutes passed before Hans left the table, leaving his dishes for you to take care of. You didn’t have to look up to know where he was going, and you heard the sound of his office door shut moments later. When you confirmed that you were alone, you sighed, tired of just pushing the food around your plate.

You found that you desperately missed Arthur’s warmth, both physically and emotionally. The house seemed to agree with you; it had never felt so comforting, him being there making it so. Now it felt like a prison, your only company the memories of the last weeks.

You stared at the now empty seat across from you, forcing yourself to eat a few bites of breakfast, hating when you wasted food. You found that you were glad you agreed to Dutch and Hosea’s scheme; you were excited to make Hans hurt.

But for now, you had to push those plans out the window. You couldn’t do anything right now, at the risk of you getting caught. All you could do now was play his little housewife and wait for the moment that Arthur’s lips were back on yours.

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #arthur morgan rdr2 #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader

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westernsports · 5 months

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Top Picks for 2023: The Best Cricket Shoes for Peak Performance

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asicsindia · 2 years

Link

Shop for Men’s Cricket Shoes at best price in India. The Cricket shoes are manufactured by the leading brand ASICS that are very comfortable. Buy now!

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asics2022 · 5 months

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https://popularact.com/all-round-excellence-5-asics-cricket-shoes-for-precision-in-the-field/

All-Round Excellence: 5 ASICS Cricket Shoes for Precision in the Field

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cricketequipment · 11 months

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Cricket Bats English Willow: Unleash Your Batting Potential

Introduction

Are you a cricket enthusiast looking for the perfect cricket bat? Look no further than cricket bats made from English Willow. In this comprehensive guide, we will delve into the world of Cricket Bats English Willow, exploring their characteristics, benefits, and why they are a popular choice among professional cricketers. Whether you are a seasoned player or a beginner, understanding the nuances of English Willow bats will give you a competitive edge on the pitch.

Cricket Bats English Willow - The Ultimate Choice for Power Hitters

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bwabys-scenarios · 10 months

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Reunited

Part 24

Illumi x Reader x Feitan

part 23

part 25

warning: feitan is mean and ungrateful but what did you expect, he’s a lil gremlin! reader gets bitten and scratched cuz he’s wild 🙏

taglist: @tsukilover11 @mercyboluthecrazychicken @sxyriii @shidoni-san @living4tomrua @lemonslut @honeylunalove @sugarrushdaydream

if you’d like to be ADDED to the taglist, please comment a red heart ❤️, make sure you’re able to be tagged/mentioned, and have your age in your bio(IF YOU ARE ALREADY ON THE TAGLIST, YOU DON’T NEED TO ASK TO BE ADDED AGAIN!!)

3 years ago

The summer air was suffocating. (Name) had long since abandoned her long sleeves and fluffy blankets, exchanging them for tank tops and sheets.

The girl continued her work of peeling apples. If she wanted to finish her next batch of apple butter before her journey into town next week, she’d need to peel until she couldn’t anymore.

“Reports of the notorious band of thieves, the Phantom Troupe, wreaking havoc in the next city over have reached-“

(Name) switched the channel of her small bear up radio. She didn’t want to hear about some thieves causing mayhem. The girl had already pushed the name out of her mind by the time she continued her work.

As the day wore on, she felt herself grow tired. She’d peeled around 60 apples. (Name) tossed the remaining bags of fruit into her fridge, setting the cut apples to boil on the stove.

‘Mmm, I think I’ll go dip my feet in the river while this boils. I deserve a little relaxation!’

(Name) slipped her flip flops on and ran outside, sliding down the hill and to the river’s edge.

It was calm and quiet, the sound of crickets and the sight of fireflies soothing to the girl. The water was surprisingly cool against her skin, causing her to jump lightly upon contact.

She sat down on the rocky riverside, dipping her feet into the water. “Ahh, now this is nice.”

For a moment, all of her worries of making ends meet and supporting her family melted away, the feeling of the river’s water lapping at her skin allowing her to forget.

But this wouldn’t last long. (Name) opened her eyes at the sound of something bobbing in the water. She turned to look down the river, narrowing her eyes to get a better look.

‘Is that an alligator? No, it couldn’t be, that shape isn’t right…’

(Name) stood and shook the water from her feet. She walked along the riverside until she was close enough to see what was floating on the surface of the water.

“Is that… oh my god!”

(Name) threw off her shoes and jumped into the river, swimming to the center to grab at the shape slowly sinking into the water. It was a person!

She swam back to shore, pulling the man up onto the rocky riverside. He was breathing, thankfully, so she wouldn’t have to do mouth to mouth.

“Let’s get you inside…”

She half carried, half drug the body to her porch, setting him down on the wooden floor as she scurried inside. She quickly turned the apples off before they could boil over, and rushed into the bathroom for her first aid kit and towels.

Not only was he absolutely soaked, but his body was covered in wounds, ranging from small cuts, to gashes. His arms were in the worst of shape though, having turned a strange purple color.

“Ah, he’s shivering. I gotta get him warmed up before he gets sick…”

She pulled at the man’s clothes, muttering an apology under her breath as she began undressing him.

—————

(Name) sighed, setting the small man down on the bed in the guest room. Thankfully she’d just laid out fresh sheets.

The girl didn’t have any men’s clothes for him, so she settled on pulling a pair of her pajama pants over his otherwise naked body. So far she had avoided looking at anything private, and she was planning on keeping it that way.

“Mm, his shirt was destroyed, but his pants and boxers can be washed and dried. Better than nothing, I guess.” She set aside the wet clothing for later, focusing on his injuries.

He had a large gash on his chest. It would need stitches, something (Name) could handle. Any other small cuts and bruises could be treated with a bandaid or salve, but his arms… that’s what she was most worried about.

His arms didn’t appear to be broken, but the purple color was throwing her off. He had also grunted in pain when she’d touched him, the only reaction he’d had the the entire time.

She decided to wait until he woke up to address his arms, setting some packs of ice to help with the swelling.

(Name) got to work stitching up his wound, being as gentle as possible. After that, she wrapped his chest in gauze, tending to his smaller cuts with some antibacterial spray and bandaids.

He had some glass stuck in one of his legs, which she had to pick out as well. Just what in the hell happened to this man to be in such bad shape?

She wanted to call a doctor to come check him out, but she had so signal so far out from town. She’d have to wait for him to wake up and be stabilized before she could leave, and that worried her.

After a few hours of tender care, (Name) covered him up and turned off the light. His breathing had evened out, his chest rising and falling softly.

When (Name) was finally able to climb into bed, she realized she hadn’t taken the time to really take in his appearance. She’d been so focused on saving his life she hadn’t even thought to get a good look at him.

‘That’s alright. I’ll take a good look at him tomorrow…’

—————

Sun filtered in through the curtain drawn window, causing the sleeping man to groan and attempt to raise a hand to his face to block out the light.

He regretted this immediately.

Indescribable pain shot through his limbs, causing him to scream out in agony. He cursed in his native tongue, struggling to sit up.

The door in front of him bursted open, a short, plump woman running through.

“Holy- are you okay? You’re awake oh my-“

She paused at the wild look in his eyes. The man growled, struggling to back away as he practically barked at her.

“Stay back.”

(Name) held her hands up in surrender, giving him the space he requested. Once she was a good distance away, he relaxed, but only slightly.

“Where am I?” He had an accent that (Name) couldn’t quite place, but it was nice.

The girl looked from his face to his arms, concern written across her face. “You’re in my home. I found you in the river last night.”

He frowned, sweat beading down his forehead from him straining to get up. “Who are you?”

“Oh, I’m (Name).”

His next question came fast. “What you want from me?”

She paused, her brows knitting together in confusion. “Nothing? Why do you ask?”

He let out a humorless laugh. “No one helps for “nothing”. What, want information? Better kill me, I don’t talk.”

She blinked before waving her hands frantically. “Kill? Whoah I’m not gonna kill you! I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I don’t want anything from you.”

Although he could tell she spoke the truth, it didn’t do anything to ease his suspicious. “Don’t… don’t come near.”

He felt his eyelids grow heavy. He had just woken up, but he was still exhausted. The weight of his body slowly sunk back into the bed, the man falling back into a restless sleep.

(Name) stood still until his breathing returned to normal. She then walked over and placed a hand on his forehead.

‘He’s burning up!’

She rushed out of the room and returned to place a damp rag on his head, replacing the melting bags of ice on his arms as she did.

‘Hmm… I’ll make something easy to eat for when he wakes up.’

She settled on some homemade chicken noodle soup. She’d recently culled some of her meaner roosters, so she had some left over chicken sitting in her freezer.

“This will do. I hope he’s not allergic to any of this…”

(Name) was able to get a better look at him this time. He was relatively small, shorter than her definitely, with black hair that fell past his cheeks and a pale complexion. She couldn’t place his eye color, they were either a dark shade of gray or a light shade of purple.

The next time the man woke up, it was night. By the looks of the sky outside, it had just become dark out. He could hear the sound of the woman humming, the clinks and clanks of dishes being washed reverberating down the hall.

He was able to sit up with minimal pain this time, the bags of (now melted) ice dripping to the floor. The rag that had been placed on his forehead fell into his lap as he observed his surrounding.

The room was plain, having blue walls and no decorations. Next to him was a night stand with a cup of water and a straw. Had that woman left that there?

‘Need to call boss. Doesn’t know what happened.’

He looked around, spotting his phone next to the water on the nightstand. It was broken, and even if it hadn’t been it wouldn’t have worked because of his dip in the river.

The man thought back to his fight, and how he’d gotten there.

Chrollo had ordered him to steal an expensive relic from a local gang, which Feitan thought was child’s play. Although only Feitan was ordered to take the gang out, the news reported that there was more than one spider ransacking the town. He wondered how scared they would have been if they knew all that damage had been caused by him.

Feitan only ran into trouble when a nen user skilled in paralyzing peoples bodies was able to grab his arms. The limbs quickly turned purple, but Feitan was able to kill the man with little to no further injuries.

He dropped the relic off at the designated spot before walking along the river. Feitan hadn’t realized how badly injuried he really was until he felt himself sliding down the hill and into the river. He passed out before he could swim to the surface.

Thankfully, he was light enough to float down until (Name) spotted him.

‘Careless. Should have contacted Boss beforehand…’

He looked down at his arms, gritting his teeth. It seemed the persons nen hadn’t disappeared after his death. From the small amount of information he’d heard, the paralyzation could last up to 4 months. ‘Stupid. Could have been more careful.’

He wanted to slam his fist into the wall, but knew that would only make things worse. Feitan instead took a deep breath.

His mind wandered back to the woman from the previous day. His arms were next to useless, would he have to rely on her to eat? Feitan didn’t want to. He couldn’t believe that the girl had no ulterior motive, it just wasn’t possible. No one helped others without looking to gain something, at least not in Feitan’s world.

The sound of the door creaking open caught his attention. He’d been so deep in thought that he hadn’t heard her approach the door.

“You’re awake! That’s good, just in time for dinner.”

The girl walked in carrying a plate with a bowl and piece of bread on it. She sat it down in the man’s lap as she situated herself in the chair she’d placed beside his bed.

“Can you move your arms?” she asked, picking up the bags of ice.

“No.”

She nodded. “Alright, then I’ll feed y-“

“No.”

“No? What do you mean no, are you not hungry?”

She reached out to place a hand on his forehand. Maybe he had a fever that was upsetting his stomach! But before she could place her palm on his head, he lifted his head and bit her hand.

“H-hey!” She pulled her hand back and held it to her chest as small droplets of blood beaded to the surface.

“Don’t touch me.”

She could feel the venom dripping from his words, an unspoken threat laced in between them. If she touched him, he’d hurt her.

“But if I can’t touch you, I can’t help you. I promise I’m not going to hurt you, I-“

“Stay away.”

Something about that man felt dangerous, like she was a gazelle standing in front of a lion. His eyes pierced into hers, telling her that he wasn’t someone to be messed with.

(Name) sighed and stood up from her chair. “I’ll try again later. Goodnight.”

She took the bowl and left the room, turning the light off behind her.

Feitan woke up feeling better than he had when he fell asleep, and weirdly not hungry. Out of habit, he attempted to lift a hand again to block out the sunlight, only to be reminded of his condition.

“Fuck…” he groaned, sitting up. He swung his feet over the side of the bed, taking tentative steps towards the door.

He paused for just a moment to look over his attire. Hanging dangerous low on his waist was an oversized pair of sweatpants, with some kind of cat cartoon character he didn’t recognize. They were much to big for him, the drawstring pulled tight to keep them from falling down his hips.

‘If Uvogin or Shalnark saw this, wouldn’t hear the end of it.’

Unable to open it with his hands, he kicked it open, causing it to fly off its hinges.

(Name) screeched from the kitchen. “OH MY- my door!” She rushed over, glancing between her door and the man in front of her.

“Where the bathroom?”

She blinked. It took her a moment to process his question before she pointed to the open bathroom.

As he began to walk away she stopped him by clearing her throat. “Will you be needing any help?”

He glanced back at her, raising an eyebrow. “What, gonna hold my dick for me?”

He didn’t wait for her to respond, just walked in and kicked the door close.

(Name) was left in a stunned silence, staring at the door. ‘Did he…’

She huffed and went back to working in the kitchen. It wasn’t as easy as it had been before she’d had to bandage her hand, but she’d power through it.

——————

Feitan could feel something warm in his mouth, something savory. It tasted good, the man swallowing the liquid in deep gulps.

In his dreams, he was sitting with all of his childhood friends enjoying the soup chrollo had made them. All it was was chicken and water with some sparse seasonings, but feitan enjoyed every second of his meal.

The smallest of smiles was on his face as a spoon was lifted to his lips.

He was still asleep, and (Name) was going to take advantage of that.

She’d propped him up and had slowly been dripping the broth from her soup into his mouth for the past 15 minutes, being mindful of his breathing. For the past two days, she’d been feeding him like this when she could.

He refused to eat anything she offered him, threatening her if she got too close. He always followed through with his words, biting and clawing at whatever skin he could get to.

Feitan didn’t stay awake much, only getting up to use the bathroom before passing out again. She’d gotten used to the man randomly leaving his room only to use the bathroom.

One afternoon after he left, she saw water dripping down his face and onto his chest. (Name) assumed he has been drinking water from the sink. He didn’t even trust her enough to drink the water she had supplied.

This didn’t bother her, though. The kind of wounds Feitan had received, both old and new weren’t the type that littered an ordinary man’s body. He’d had a hard life of fighting to survive, so she didn’t take his harsh words and actions to heart.

(Name) had fixed the door to her best ability to give the man some privacy. She left it cracked open slightly so he could go to and fro without breaking it again. Feitan seemed perplexed by her actions. Despite his less than kind attitude, she seemed unbothered. This freaked him out.

(Name) knocked on the door before entering with a medkit in one hand and his laundry in the other. “Hey. I need to change your bandages.”

He didn’t glance up from looking at his lap, his lips twisting into a deep frown. “I said no touching.”

“Yeah, I know, but if I don’t change your bandages you’ll get an infection.”

Feitan sneered at her, spitting out his words. “Don’t care. Stay away.”

She set the medkit down and placed his laundry on the bed before she sat next to him. Unlike placing ice packs/rags and feeding him, changing his bandages in his sleep wouldn’t be easy. If he woke up, he might seriously hurt her.

“Alright, I won’t touch you, but I’ll need to go to town and get a doctor. If I can’t help you then I can at least get someone-“

“No doctor.”

(Name) raised an eyebrow at this. “No doctor? How exactly do you plan on getting better if I can’t touch you or get you a doctor?”

The man didn’t answer, giving her a glare. “Listen, your three options are to let me take care of you, see a doctor, or die from infection. What’s your choice?”

He looked her straight in the eye as he answered.

“I choose death.”

——————

“God, he’s stubborn. And annoying.”

(Name) loaded her homemade canned goods into her large basket, huffing and puffing over the man’s behavior. He’d fallen back to sleep after his declaration, not bothering to speak on the subject further.

He seemed to be doing alright, all things considered, but his attitude was worsening by the day. He refused to tell her anything, not even his name.

(Name) fastened her basket to her bike and started on her journey to town.

It took around 30 minutes by bike, but stopping to take breaks made it a 45 minute trip.

(Name) participated in a farmers market every Sunday, selling her canned goods to make enough money to support herself and send a little money home to her family every month.

After a long day of selling her goods, she packed up her cash into three plastic jars. One was for her, the second was for her family, and the third was new. It would be her “mysterious stranger fund”, money she’d use for his basic necessities.

She decided to stop by the local thrift store and buy a few different pairs of clothes for the man. It was hard to find things that fit his style. Even in the heat, he’d been wearing a long black coat, so she assumed he liked wearing warm clothing.

She could afford a pair of black jeans, a black hoodie, a few pairs of boxers, some socks, and a set of pajamas. It would have to do until she could come back next week.

He hadn’t bothered to change out of the sweatpants she’d dressed him in his first night there, despite her pleas for him to do so.

Feitan would just scoff, saying that he wouldn’t be able to sleep in his usual pair of pants.

He didn’t seem to like talking, maybe it was because he wasn’t great with words? (Name) really liked his voice though, it was attractive when he wasn’t growling or yelling at her.

She stuffed the jars her loyal customers had returned and the clothes she bought into her basket and started on her way home. It was dark now, but the moon guided her along her path.

——————

“I’m home, I got you some-“

(Name) paused, dropping her basket onto the floor.

The man was sprawled out along the floor, his breathing uneasy and sweat beading down his forehead. It looked like he’d passed out after leaving the bathroom.

She was at his side immediately, hoisting him up as gently as she could. (Name) placed him onto his bed and pulled back his bandages. The woman grimaced at the sight.

“Infected, just as I thought.”

The infection wasn’t bad, but bad enough that if it wasn’t treated, he’d die. (Name) thanked god that she kept antibiotics on hand, running to her bathroom and pulling the out of her mirror cabinet.

“Hey, can you swallow? I have some medicine that will help you.”

The man let out a ragged breath, shaking his head. “N… no. Don’t… don’t touch me.”

He was too weak to fight her, but he still refused her treatment. The girl bit her lip before popping one of the pills into her hand and squeezing his cheeks.

“I’m sorry, but I’m not going to let you die.”

She shoved the pill into his mouth, holding his lips shut as he thrashed, scratching and clawing at her skin. Soon, he lost his strength again and swallowed the pill.

(Name) let go of him, blood dripping down her arms from the wounds he had inflicted. She paid them no mind, leaning him against his pillow and placing a rag on his forehead.

“I’ll be right back with some water and some fresh bandages.”

For the next 24 hours, Feitan was in and out of sleep. Every once and a while he’d feel the cool sensation of water being poured into his mouth, too weak to protest.

(Name) stayed by his side as much as she could, constantly checking his temperature and changing his bandages after applying medicine to his wounds. He’s still bark out complaints and threats, but due to his condition they were now empty.

At one point (Name) was scared he would die, his face turning pale and breathing growing softer. She held his hand through the night, tending to him as gently as she could through his pain.

——————

Feitan woke up to the feeling of someone’s hand in his.

He was still exhausted and weak from the infection, but was able to lift his head enough to see who was holding his hand.

The woman was at his bedside, having fallen asleep while caring for him. Tears fell from her eyes freely as she slept.

Had she stayed with him the entire time? Feitan glanced at his chest, seeing that he was wearing new bandages and a different pair of pants. They were black flannel pajama bottoms, something he wouldn’t usually wear, but comfortable on his sensitive skin.

He noticed his hair had been pulled back into a ponytail to keep out of his face. A rag laid on his forehead to fight his constant fever, the taste of broth on his lips.

This girl had been diligently caring for him through his tantrums and mean words. Could he really keep pretending she was out to hurt him?

(Name) stirred, her tired eyes opening to see Feitan staring down at her with calculating eyes.

“You’re awake-oh sorry.”

She let go of his hand and wiped away her tears. “Sorry, your health declined last night and I was afraid you’d die, so I held your hand. I didn’t want you to… die alone.”

Feitan couldn’t understand her kindness. Her words did something to his chest that he didn’t like, not one bit. He shrugged it off, leaning back against his pillow.

“… you stayed here whole time?”

It was the first time he’d asked her a non hostile question in days. “Yes, of course. You were very sick and needed my full attention.”

He didn’t seem satisfied with her answer, but relented. She leaned closer to look at his face, giving him a sweet smile that unsettled the man more than he cared to admit.

“Are you hungry? I’ll make you whatever you want, if it means you’ll eat.”

Feitan maintained eye contact with her. His body was weak, and he knew he’d need to eat something soon. With the infection and his injuries, he would die if he didn’t consume some nutrients. Although he said he’d rather die than be fed by her, his body wouldn’t allow him to deny his hunger any longer.

“… curry.”

She blinked, leaning back. (Name) tried to hide her excitement over his request for food. “Okay, what kind?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

(Name) was quick to leave after giving him his medicine. He didn’t fight her for it this time, only complaining about the situation.

As she left, his eyes couldn’t help but wander to her bandaged arms, the beginnings of guilt starting to form in his stomach.

——————

“Fei, what was your mama like?”

Feitan and Chrollo sat together under a makeshift shelter, the latter stirring a bubbling pot of soup. Although it was hot, no one ever complained about the food.

They were just kids then, running around having adventures and trying to survive.

“Dunno. Died.”

The young boy didn’t seem to bothered by his own words, looking out into the distance to watch his other friends play.

“Oh. Sorry to hear that.”

A silence fell over the two, Feitan pulling his knees to his chest. When was the last time someone had held him? He couldn’t remember. He didn’t even know if he’d ever been held tenderly, like he was precious to someone.

As he would grow older, Feitan would be able to hide his feeling of loneliness and need for touch, but now he was a child that was struggling to keep it all together.

Chrollo clapped a hand over his back, remaining silent as the boys eyes brimmed with tears.

Feitan always hated that dream. It made him feel soft and sappy, something he perceived as weakness. The Phantom Troupe’s interrogator didn’t have time for such useless feelings.

He had just woken from his dream, the tears that welled up in his eyes pooling down his cheeks. He hated that he couldn’t wipe them away, cursing his heart.

The smell of food cooking caused his stomach to growl. He was now aware that the woman had been slowly feeding him broth over the past few days as he slept, but that was hardly enough to fill his empty stomach.

Feitan watched through the crack in the door as the girl scurried around the house, picking up little messes as she cooked. It was amusing to watch her bump her hip against a counter and gasp before jokingly wagging her finger at it, as if it could feel shame.

He wondered if she’d act so silly if she knew he was watching.

Feitan stood up and opened the door completely. This drew (Name)’s attention, who glanced his direction before going back to working on dinner.

The man stared at her for a moment before going to the bathroom.

(Name) tried to ignore the feeling of his eyes on her, grateful that he left as soon as he did. It was hard to cook when you were being watched.

After leaving the bathroom, Feitan did something that (Name) hadn’t been expecting.

The short man sat at the dinner table, staring at her with unreadable eyes.

To say it was unnerving would be an understatement.

When (Name) turned to ask why he was staring at her, he scowled. “Observing.” was all he said.

She sighed and finished up dinner. If watching her would give him some peace of mind, who was she to deny him?

“Dinners ready.”

She placed a plate of beef curry down in front of him, the smell of the food almost causing his mouth to water. “Here…”

She sat next him, scooting her chair closer. He instinctively shrunk back, like a wounded animal. She only waited for him to calm down, stirring up the food to help it cool down.

“Are you ready?”

He hesitantly nodded, leaning towards her with his mouth open.

The first bite was heaven for Feitan. He didn’t know if he’d ever tasted anything better than the curry he was eating then. After that, he was much more receptive to her feeding him, finishing the plate before he realized it.

“Alright, do you want some more? There’s also some pie in the fridge if you want some!”

He didn’t answer. It was already humiliating enough to be fed by a complete stranger, he didn’t want it to last any longer than it had to.

But his sweet tooth would not agree with his brain.

“Pie.” He stated, staring at the fridge.

——————

After his meal, Feitan retired to his room to sleep. Just walking around was exhausting, he didn’t have any energy to socialize with someone he didn’t really like.

The man stared up at the ceiling, thinking back to her face as she fed him. She didn’t look at him in a condescending way or laugh when the food fell onto the floor because it had been too hot. No, she patiently waited for him to finish chewing his food, and wiped his mouth as if she were taking care of someone she cared about a lot.

Of course, Feitan wouldn’t process that (Name) cared for him, a stranger for a long time. It didn’t make sense to him. Why help someone when you stood to gain nothing?

He watched as she cleaned up the kitchen through the crack in the doorway.

‘Strange woman.’

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