#his short hair is fine but but THE LONGER HAIR
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plsplsplspl soft intimate sex with satoru:(
𝝑𝑒 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒. gojo satoru x female reader. smut, pwp. unprotected. praise kink. spooning position. crēampie. cōckwarming. reader gets called ‘baby, pretty, sweetheart, princess’
“it’s okay, baby, i know,” satoru whispers words of comfort in your ear from behind. one of his arms is wrapped around your waist to keep your body close, the other circles your thigh, holding up your leg so his cock could slide in and out smoothly.
you’ve both just woken up from an afternoon nap, needy for each other’s touch. your lover’s raspy voice paired with his bedhead has been an irresistible combination.
satoru wasted no time in pulling your shorts down and freeing his erection from its confines. he went from rolling his hips against the fat of your ass and fondling your tits under your shirt, to burying his fat dick all the way up your cunt.
he’s so soft—so caring. his butterfly kisses make you drowsy again, the tingly sensations running from your face to your nape, and back down to your shoulders and upper arms. “let it out, yeah—good girl. don’t be shy,” satoru chuckles softly as he grinds his cock upwards, tip prodding at that sweet spot that makes your toes curl.
your eyes are half-lidded and blurry. you’re feeling so good and loved, so pleased and happy to have a partner like him. “right there, ‘toru,” you whimper quietly once you feel the head of his dick rub back and forth on the deepest parts of your velvety insides. satoru happily obliges, hugging your body even tighter to his chest before burying his face into the crook of your neck.
“here, baby?” the white-haired man asks, his hot breath sending a shiver down your spine as it ghosts over your skin. he keeps his dick balls deep inside you and switches to slow and shallow strokes, “y’re so pretty. you always know jus’ how to take it. so, so, so good.”
your hands are scrambling to hold onto the white sheets. you can’t physically take the amount of pleasure you’re getting, that inevitable peak gets closer and closer. your hips involuntarily jolt back against satoru, reciprocating his gentle thrusts. a big hand reaches out to yours that’s tugging at the covers, slender fingers intertwining with your own.
“m’sgood,” you mumble incoherently through a soft whimper. your back is positioned in a nasty arch that makes satoru’s dick tingle. he sighs against your nape before allowing his tongue to wet the skin, sucking on the same spot soon after. he does the same to your sensitive ears and neck—covering you with his love while also filling your body with the same.
satoru holds your hand tightly, squeezing it every now and then to reassure you. “i love you so much, y’know that, right?” he says in a gentle tone. he’s confessed his love to you so many times before, though he always makes it sound like it’s his first time doing so.
“i’m never letting you go, ever,” your partner promises before leaning over your shoulder to catch your lips in a kiss. satoru’s tongue sweeps over your bottom lip before rolling around in your warm mouth. his hips don’t stop, cock repeatedly appearing and disappearing inside of your pussy. the pace never escalates to make the moment last longer.
“mhmm— wanna b-be with you forever,” you mutter against his glossy lips, feeling safe and protected in satoru’s embrace like this. all you’re feeling, hearing and smelling is him. that’s what peace is for you. as long as you got him, you’re going to be just fine.
satoru smiles at your words. you feel so perfect around him, your cunt molded to fit his cock whenever he pleases, remembering its shape and allowing it to ruin your insides. “of course, sweets. i’ll treat you so well, ‘kay? you can count on me,” he comforts you with a forehead kiss.
“pretty girl. you’re perfect,” satoru continues to praise you like no other. his free hand runs over the small of your back and back to your thigh, keeping a gap between them so his cock can move a bit more freely. “let me hear your cute moans, c’mon. fuck, y’ turn me on so much,” he sighs, not knowing what he’d do without you.
satoru is obsessed with all of you. the combination of your personality and looks is heavenly. his lips never stop distracting you, his tender kisses covering your entire upper body. the lovey dovey atmosphere in the room never dulls even once.
“ah, ‘toruu, hnghh—can’t last f’ any longer,” you moan, your eyes nearly rolling back. your lover is all the evidence needed to let you know that sex doesn’t have to be rough to be good. he can make you cum for an infinite amount of times by simply grinding his hips against you—changing his techniques every now and then.
rolling his hips in small circles or simply pressing his cock all the way inside your cunt and then prodding at your sweet spots, is all what’s needed to make you feel like you’re on cloud nine.
“aww, my poor baby. can’t hold it in f’me?” satoru pouts before kissing your temples lovingly. he caresses your hip, other hand still not letting go of your hand. there’s such a deep connection between you two—no one can ever sever it. that strong bond feels more intimate when you’re merged into one like this.
“nooo, can’t,” you shake your head and whine about how close you are. satoru nods at your needy words and dips a hand down to rub your clit. his middle and ring finger move around the small bundle of nerves in circles. “khehe, that’s okay. let’s cum together,” he whispers as kisses find their way down your jawline.
you hum in agreement, little moans filling satoru’s ears as you get closer to your climax. your body trembles and heats up, your tummy tingles and tenses up. satoru’s in the same situation as you, his low moans turning into hisses and even quiet whines against the skin of your shoulder.
he holds you close, preparing both of you to reach your long awaited releases. “sh—shit, ‘m g’nna pull out, baby—give me a second,” you hear him whimper under his breath as his hand tightens its grip around yours. he’s nearly crushing your bones.
you don’t give him time to even think of pulling his cock out. you want to relive the sensation of having his seed spread inside of your cunt, overflowing until it’s dirtying the sheets. “no- ‘toru. inside, please,” you beg quietly as your pussy locks around his cock. your walls cling onto his dick, yearning to milk his heavy balls dry of every drop.
satoru gasps and hisses, trying to speak up, but getting overpowered by his own noises of desperation. “fuck, all right, princess. as you wish,” his voice is husky and deep as he pushes his cock in to the base before dumping his load inside you.
ropes of hot cum come out quickly, one after the other, filling you with a hot creamy liquid. you can feel every drop being drained inside your spasming cunt. your own cum mixes with his, creating a lewd mess between your thighs.
“th-thank you,” you whisper tiredly. your body relaxes in satoru’s embrace. you’re trembling due to the intense aftershocks and your lover wastes no time into kissing it better. your forehead is peppered with small pecks, the rest of your face following.
satoru giggles at your fucked out state. he gives you a head pat and nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck. you can feel him grinning uncontrollably against your skin—the joy emitting from him is contagious.
“any time,” he sighs. you can feel his cock softening after that release, still nestled deep inside of you. he has no intention of pulling out, especially since it’s so comfortable. you let him cum inside you and thus he’ll do everything to keep that hot load buried deep inside your cunt.
you can nearly fall asleep like this with satoru. you have zero complains and simply need to relax after what just happened. perhaps take another nap or two.
the white-haired man kisses your shoulder and rubs your lower tummy, enjoying the softness, “i’m gonna prepare us a warm, relaxing bath in a second. let’s just cuddle some more, baby.”
#sttoru writes.#jjk smut#jjk x reader#gojo smut#gojo satoru smut#gojo x reader#jjk x you#gojo x you#jjk x y/n#gojo x y/n#satoru x reader#satoru smut
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"I love you."
Daisuke kissed the face of the sleeping man beside him, both naked under the duvet covers. The large window panels adjacent to them had maroon curtains shielding the striking shine of the early morning.
Some had managed to peek through, peering inside managing to give Daisuke Yuichi just enough light to reflect in his eyes the beautiful man he had in his arms.
(h/c) hair tousled, skin with (s/c) ink and his heartbeat that was beating underneath Daisuke's hand was nothing short of perfection to him.
Lips pressed into the plush of (m/n)'s cheek, Daisuke peppering kisses all over his face again. "I love you. I love you so much." He pressed another one into his forehead and it woke the (h/c).
"Daisuke..." Groaning, (m/n) winced when he tried to turn his body, feeling a sharp ache striking his bottom. "What are you doing?" The ravenette who placed his face close to the (h/c), his beefy arms caging his body, grinned.
"Nothing."
(m/n) frowned, his head still dizzy and his skin prickling, coated with the aftermath of their passionate scandal in Daisuke's room. He noticed the ravenette was hugging him in his bed and he pushed lightly, opting to leave.
He heard the latter whine and pulling him in closer, Daisuke burying his face into his shoulder. "It's already morning." (m/n) stated firmly, not wanting any other member of the Daisuke household catching him naked in the ravenette's bed. "And? No one's going to come in, just stay put." "Don't think your dad would be happy seeing this."
"My dad likes you. He'd be fine with it."
(m/n) was a bit bothered by the implication, as he managed to slither out of the ravenette's hold, sitting on the edge of the plush bed. He cringed as he felt something pool out of his stretched hole, the wetness staining the covers as Daisuke grabbed his wrist gently.
"Think' you should stay longer." He mumbled, brushing his nose on the tip of (m/n)'s ear, his other hand slinking down the (h/c)'s chest and near his privates. "We did a lot last night." "Nothing's ever enough for me." "Greedy."
(m/n) swatted his face, laughing at his flustered expression. There was no label to them, lovers- friends? Close friends, maybe. A bit too close perhaps.
A whine escaped his throat as Daisuke's hand managed to firmly press against his crotch, his middle finger curling past his hardening cock and dipping into the soft hole he had pounded into last night.
"You'd know me by now." Daisuke whispered, his lips grazing over his jaw as he took (m/n)'s lips for his to claim. The (h/c) sighed as he melted into the ravenette, leaning his body against the kneeling ravenette behind him.
Daisuke continued to finger him, fishing out dried cum and circling around his rim, stretching his loose hole further and (m/n) spread his legs ever so slightly, bucking his hips up against his hand.
"Mmff-ah!" He gasped. The ravenette pulled himself away from the squirming (h/c) just to press their foreheads together, their breaths mixing as their guttural heat began to rose along with the awakening sun.
"Stay a bit longer." (m/n) yelped when Daisuke's pointer finger hit his prostate, curling and mercilessly pressing into the sensitive bundle. His thighs shook as the ravenette began to lick his ear, cooing at him to stay in his arms for a while longer.
"Maybe just...for an hour or two." Daisuke smiled to himself, knowing they were bound to stay at least for half a day as he pulled (m/n) back to the center of the bed, eager to taste the ever-loving man that had warmed his bed for the past two weeks.
The man he had grown to love and cherish with all of his heart, pulling and grasping at his back with equal fervour and somewhere inside Daisuke's mind, he wished it was with equal love he had for (m/n) (l/n).
[END SCENE]
Afterthoughts :
I just miss Daisuke like a lot hm🥲
Ill edit this properly later. Until then!
#oukabarsburg#bottom male reader#sub male reader#x male reader#male reader#x bottom male reader#daisuke yuichi#oc x male reader#oc x reader#male oc
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Some kinky/m-rated post-revival headcanons for msr, please?? ☺️
1. Her moisturizer is obnoxiously expensive. It comes in a fancy little purple jar that he always winces at seeing in the recycle bin because he feels as though even the empty vessel must be worth money that he does not need.
Scully runs her fingers down her Vespucci throat, fingers slick with obscure polymers, and he remembers why he doesn’t care.
“Can I help you?” she asks, massaging nightingale shit or snail venom or some other unholy thing into those impossible cheekbones. Into eyelids taut and fine as dew-jeweled spiderwebs. Watching him in her Edwardian silver-glass mirror through lashes like opera curtain fringe.
Decades of touching her, but he cannot say she has skin like the finest vellum without sounding like Ed Gein. He cannot say “I want to bite your calla-lily throat until it bruises into a violet,” without sounding like Ted Bundy.
“Nothing,” he says, his lip between his teeth. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your ablutions.”
He bites at his tongue like a cherry in April; almost ripened but not quite. He twitches a little in his faded yellow pants, twitches and considers, but isn’t fully hard yet.
Scully watches him in the mirror. Runs lotion between her high, bare breasts with her Rodin hands; studies him with her tourmaline eyes.
***
2. His forearms. She fell in love with restrained sexuality - no. No, she had a concept of it after she watched Casablanca one afternoon home from school with a stomach bug. Catholic girls fall in love with restrained sexuality very young, only they don’t know it. They iron their kilts and they pray and they confess to all the wrong sins. They fall in love with dark wool blazers and satin ribbons and the brave wilted starch of hand-me-down blouses.
The muscles below his elbows, woven like a braid. Like a scourge.
He’s past sixty. He’s past sixty and if she’d met him now at the same age she was then she still would have bitten her lip and said “Jesus H. Christ” and quietly, secretly, shamed her father.
Let him finger her in a Ford Taurus. Called her sister and said, “Ohh, Missy, I think I fucked up.”
Daniel, Daniel. She thought that was love.
Mulder smirks, a five-o’clock-shadow on his disparately perfect face. Mulder with his squinty eyes and his too-short chin and his beestung jigsaw mouth like the reason kissing was invented.
“Can I buy you a drink?” he asks, tapping his nutmeg fingers on the scarred kitchen table.
“You don’t make very much money,” Scully notes, running her thumb along his brachioradialis. His skin is the color of sand castles, of the the edges of chocolate chip cookies. “With your blog.”
Mulder pouts. “I made it the old fashioned way,” he says, his thumb against her philtrum. Her lips. Her tongue.
“You certainly didn’t marry it,” she teases. “Living in sin.”
He nibbles the fleshy pad of her thumb. “I inherited.”
***
3. Her waist is sister to a Stradivarius. Her waist like Maud of Wales. He knows he shouldn’t obsess over this, her taut palimpsest belly, especially after the birth of a child they can no longer even claim. He knows it’s a quirk of genetics, like her startling eyes and her amber hair and her glorious brain. He knows she was born to be someone’s muse and that he has thwarted her destiny of Gauloises and pouting silver-nitrate immortality in a coffee table photography book.
She could still launch a thousand ships, she could bring Rossetti to his knees. He does not realize that the muse she is - a Perugino angel, a Lovelace polymath - remains his alone by her desire.
Scully, nearly sixty. So soft and so hard and angular and curvaceous. How had he ever waited, her waist and breasts and hips all bound in wool and gabardine and fitted black poplin? How had he let her beg off the lyric of “If I were the king of the world/Tell you what I'd do/I'd throw away the cars and the bars and the wars/Make sweet love to you.”
He curves his hot palm below her rib cage with his left hand, thumbs her tailored blouse open with his right.
He sucks at her rosy-brown nipple; her clavicles; her pale calf; sucks at her like Eve drinking in the first sweet juices of the apple.
***
4. Mulder should have been a pianist or a surgeon, she thinks. Should have been conducting an orchestra with fingers that beautiful, but instead he’s massaging a focaccia into a lazy rectangle.
He’s a tactile animal, her love, with his rangy hands and his absence of physical boundaries. Mulder has loomed and leered and poked and prodded for decades. He’s touched her in wildly inappropriate ways since Monica Lewinsky could legally drink. The 90’s, what a goddamn time, with his wholesomely filthy calendars and his flagrant innuendo.
Scully’s watched him squeeze limes and kill terrible people and braid challah and still - shameless - she sucks her bottom lip when he unbuttons a cuff, grips the gear-shift in their Highlander.
Mulder slices a tomato, chiffonades the basil.
“How long to rise,” Scully murmurs, cupping her palm around the tender juncture between his thighs.
Mulder sucks in his breath, arranges a flower garden on his dough. Adjusts an olive slice with the precision of Michelangelo.
“Twenty-four hours in the fridge,” he says, pressing deeply into her hand. “I hope you haven’t got plans.”
***
5. He licks at it like someone’s elderly aunt; like a mother cat; like a judgemental yiayia, bubbie, meemaw.
Scully swats at him, irritated. “Stop it. It’s not schmutz.”
“No,” Mulder says, tenderly. Stubbornly. “All those years, who did you think you were fooling?”
She scowls, too thin and too pale and too aristocratic for his comfort. “When I was nine Aunt Olive said it cluttered up my face.” Scully presses a forefinger to the birthmark above her lip. “It made me self conscious.”
“Je suis coquette,” Mulder says, his tongue teasing her lips apart, pleased with his own cleverness. He took three semesters of French, traveled there, but studied Les mouches independently.
A gentle swat to his nose. “It’s a cluster of melanocytes.”
He would absolutely love to slap Scully’sAunt Olive. Scully's dreary biology professors. “Tell Marilyn Monroe,” he mumbles against her fleur-de-sel mouth. “Tell Cindy Crawford.”
Scully says nothing, but her skin warms. Softens, loosens. She melts, midway cotton-candy at the State Fair, into his waiting mouth.
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in honor of my birthday: have a malevolent fic!! it's shitty, but it's complete!! and because you wanted to be tagged: @lighthouseshepard <3
John's time as Arthur's arm and eyes had prepared him for a lot of things that came with being human. The sensation of touch, for one. How to use muscles and nerves to move limbs and interact with the surrounding world. How to determine direction. How to use force. How to describe things effectively and how to apologize for wrong-doing (sort of).
He’d figured out a lot more after the successful completion of the ritual that granted him his own body. Walking. Running. Jumping. Handwriting. Hugs and handshakes and nearly all of the other casual and not-so-casual ways humans made physical contact with each other, kissing included (with Arthur, no less, but that was a story for another time). Smells and sensations and which ones he liked and which ones he didn’t (the smell of clean laundry was a yes, but the feeling of sand on his feet was a big NO). He was still getting the hang of etiquette and social cues, although secretly he felt like he was never going to fully understand them. But on the whole, John felt like he had figured out a lot of what it took to be human.
But never this. Never hair.
John stood in the tiny bathroom of the apartment they shared, examining his dripping hair in the mirror. It was….. nice, he supposed. In appearance, at least. The color suited him, a deep coal black that suited his warm brown skin perfectly, and when it wanted to cooperate with his efforts to style it, it looked positively regal. Only when it wanted to, of course. It was the styling part that had been causing him problems. Actually, it was the whole taking-care-of-it-in-addition-to-styling thing that had been causing him problems for the past few months.
Arthur had always kept his own hair short and neat, and even when he had been without a barber for several months between the Dreamlands and Addison, his hair never grew farther than slightly past his jaw, shaggy and uneven. His hair was easy to take care of. A little soap, some water, perhaps a comb and pomade when they could get it, and he looked just fine.
John’s hair, on the other hand, was long and thick, falling in neat waves past his shoulders with a slight curl at the ends. He and Arthur had both been surprised when his new body had hair like that. According to Arthur, men typically kept their hair short all their lives and offered to take John to a barber, but he refused. John had never had to take care of long hair before, but decided to give it a try. Arthur offered what little advice he had picked up from his time with Bella and what he knew from taking care of Faroe, but he wasn’t much help, so John was left to figure things out on his own.
Unfortunately, he quickly discovered that long hair was a nuisance. It frizzed at the slightest provocation, leaving John looking like he had just touched a live electrical wire. It tangled in the breeze and got caught in his shirts and his mouth, which he found utterly disgusting. When he woke from a nightmare (which was more often than he cared to admit), it would be knotted and tangled beyond belief like a bramble patch had decided to grow on his head. Washing and brushing it all out took longer than he had patience for. He supposed he could chop it short like Arthur had suggested, but the thought of anyone taking scissors to his hair made him feel sick to his stomach.
Not to mention, Arthur had decided that they were going out to dinner tonight, and while John did enjoy being able to talk to people outside of Arthur, he did not particularly enjoy being the center of attention. People staring at him and whispering to each other always set his teeth on edge. He should be used to it by now. He was a big man, taller than most people, and his eyes were a peculiar shade of brown that turned yellow in the sunlight. It was a bit hard for him to blend in. But unwanted attention, whispers and points and stares, made him feel like the King again, and that made him feel powerful and powerful made him feel…nauseous. And messy hair, as he had already figured out, would only exacerbate that attention.
So, he was stuck here, in their tiny, shitty bathroom, his hair more wet and knotted than rope on a sailboat, trying to figure out how to get it to lay nicely on his head after a wash.
He supposed the best place to start was trying to detangle the knots. John took a deep breath in, picked up the comb that had been lying on the counter next to the sink, and began to try to pick some of the larger knots apart.
You eat the elephant one bite at a time. Just start with this side. The ends of this section of hair. Put the teeth of the comb in, and……
John hissed and dropped the comb. That fucking hurt. Felt like he was trying to tear his damn scalp off. He could even hear strands of hair snapping as he tried to ease the knot out. He stood for a moment, staring at his reflection in the mirror, trying to will the pain to disappear.
Okay. While that did hurt like hell, he wasn't about to give up so quickly. Deep breath. Comb in hand again. Same knot. Try it again.
“Fucking- ow, ow, ow, ow, OW.” The comb was stuck. On reflex, John yanked at it, sending a wave of pain across his scalp. This time, hot, stinging tears began to prickle across his vision, mingling with the water dripping from his hair.
“Jesus Christ,” John muttered, looking at the pained expression fluttering across his face in the mirror. There was some desperate emotion beginning to bubble up inside him that he tried to press down. He had to calm down. He couldn't overreact. It was just hair, after all. Nothing worth getting truly upset over. But just beneath the surface, that feeling continued to roil and churn, like a covered pot a few degrees away from boiling over no matter how John tried to turn down the heat.
Okay. He could do this. It was gonna be fine. Ignoring the dull roar of his emotions and ache in his lip from where he was nibbling on it, he grabbed the comb again, still stuck in his hair. It didn't budge. He tugged at it again, but still nothing happened. John let out a deeply frustrated huff and tugged at the comb one final time.
Between the sweat building on his palms and the water from his hair, his grip on the comb slipped. John's hand shot out and slammed into the mirror, and oh Jesus fucking Christ.
The mirror, in response to the impact, shattered, sending spiderweb cracks skittering across its surface in every direction.
John inhaled and froze. He stared for a moment at his fractured reflection. A dozen slices of himself stared back, looking wide-eyed, wet, and disheveled, a comb still hanging from the ends of his hair. A monster in a funhouse mirror. A part of his brain dimly wondered if this was how Arthur saw him sometimes, when he couldn't see beyond the bits of the King that still lived within him, terrifying and awful and incomprehensible.
The emotion in John's chest finally bubbled over and began scalding its way up his throat.
He yanked the comb out of his hair, taking the whole knot with it but he couldn't give a fuck about the pain anymore, and threw it against the floor as hard as he could. It snapped as it hit the tile. The emotion had made it past his throat and was now burning behind his eyes as John leaned back against the wall and slumped to the floor. Hot tears began racing their way down his cheeks. John buried his face in his hands and let them come.
He felt nauseous. He felt like a fucking failure. He felt like he should turn around and leave, and never let Arthur see his sickening, monstrous face again.
He was on the verge of getting up and doing just that when the bathroom door creaked open.
“John? Are you alright? I heard some noises and I just wanted to check-” Through his fingers, John could see that Arthur had poked his head into the bathroom. There was a second of silence as he took in the broken comb and mirror and John, curled up with his back against the wall.
“Jesus Christ, John, what happened?”
John didn't answer. His chest was still too thick with hot emotions and his eyes still burning with tears.
“John, are you alright? Please talk to me.”
John let out a shaky breath, but still said nothing. There was a pause before Arthur said anything else.
“Oh- John, your hand, it's bleeding a bit. Here, I'll patch it up.”
His hand was bleeding? John's brow furrowed from behind his hands. The pain hadn't even registered over his panic and frustration. Suddenly, there were cool fingers on his wrist, moving the injured hand away from his face and out into the light. John saw that Arthur was now crouched on the floor in front of him, examining his hand for a moment. He used his free hand to wipe some of the tears from his face. He didn't want Arthur to think he'd been crying, especially not over something as stupid as his hair.
Then those cool fingers were moving a lock of still-mostly-wet hair out of John's face and tracing along his jaw before coming to rest just beneath his chin, gently but firmly forcing him to tilt his gaze up to meet Arthur’s.
There was no judgment in Arthur’s bright eyes. Just faint curiosity and gentle concern. “Come on now, John. What happened?”
“I- I tried to- I couldn't…. Nothing. It was nothing,” John said quietly, averting his gaze back to the floor.
Arthur raised an eyebrow as he stood. “I don't call a broken mirror, a snapped comb, and a bloodied hand ‘nothing’.”
“It was nothing you need to worry about. I'll pay for a new comb and mirror.”
“John, you and I both know that's not what I'm getting at,” Arthur huffed, grabbing antiseptic and a bandage from the medicine cabinet. “What happened? Was it an accident or purposeful? That's all I'd like to know.”
“I told you it was nothing. It's fine. I can handle it myself,” John rumbled, trying to inject as much warning as he could into his tone.
Arthur paused his rummaging in the cabinet and looked at John over his shoulder. “There's a difference between independence and forcing yourself to suffer because you think you don't deserve or need help, you know. I learned that difference the hard way.”
John was silent for a minute.
“It's just… it's stupid. It’s so fucking stupid,” he muttered. Just saying those words renewed the burning in his chest, throat, and eyes.
“Tell me anyway.”
“I…. You’re going to think I’m an idiot.”
“I solemnly swear, I will not think you’re an idiot. No matter what you tell me.”
“I… I was trying to make my hair look nice for dinner tonight, okay? I washed it and was going to brush it out, but the fucking comb got stuck in my hair. And when I tried to pull it out, my hand slipped and hit the mirror and-” John's throat began to close with the frustration still boiling over on that stove in his chest. He realized there were more tears slipping down his face and desperately tried to wipe them away.
“Hey. John. Look at me. It's just a mirror and a comb, alright? They're both easily replaced, and-”
“No, I don’t care about the broken shit, okay? That's not it! It’s me I’m upset about. I feel so fucking stupid and clumsy and helpless,” John burst out. “It's just brushing my hair! I should be able to do it on my own! But I'm like a fucking toddler who can't do anything! I can’t take care of this body, I can’t interact with people well, and I can barely control my own fucking emotions! It's just complete bullshit!”
The words hung heavily in the air, and John was on the verge of tears again, his breathing sticky and shallow. Arthur was quiet for a minute, biting his lip in thought as he began to clean the myriad of small cuts on John's hand.
“I don’t want to make you feel worse about being able to accomplish things on your own, but can I help you with your hair? Only if you want, of course. But I might be able to help get some of the knots out more easily. I could show you how to do it so it won't hurt as much,” Arthur asked carefully as he wrapped a bandage around John's knuckle.
“I guess,” John muttered.
“Okay then,” Arthur said, picking up the two halves of the comb up off the floor and placing them in the garbage. “I have a spare comb in the cabinet somewhere… ah, here it is. I have a hairbrush here, too…”
As Arthur searched, John silently moved away from the wall, making space for Arthur. After a moment, Arthur was standing behind him, using his hands to gently pull apart some of the knots towards the ends of John’s hair before raking the comb through. Somehow, in Arthur’s hands, it felt like a feather being swept through his hair. John had used too much force. He always used too much force.
John closed his eyes and gently leaned into the sensation. It felt lovely, a gentle push and pull, like waves lapping gently at the shore of a lake, or like a slow dance, the kind he and Arthur did sometimes on a lazy Sunday morning. He could stay here forever, he thought, sitting on the tile floor, Arthur brushing out his hair. But the longer he sat, the brighter the question brewing in John’s mind that he wasn’t quite sure how to answer. Not that it was a question he himself could answer.
The question went along these lines: he knew he must be horrible to live with. His temper was thin, and liable to be set off at the slightest upset. He lashed out when he got scared or nervous instead of talking. He said horrible things and rarely apologized for them. He was working on it, just like he was working on everything else that came with being human, but he still knew he was not an easy person to be around. And yet, despite all of it, the broken mirrors and sharp words, Arthur still stayed. Arthur still helped him, still loved him, still treated him gently despite all the hurt he undoubtedly caused.
What John wanted to know was this: why?
Arthur was talking, John realized, and had been for a minute or two.
“Next time, try it like this, alright? Pull some of the more difficult knots apart with your fingers before using the comb or hairbrush. It seems as though it’ll keep your hair a bit more intact than-”
“Why?” John blurted.
Arthur sounded confused. “Well, because you don’t want to actually rip the tangles out of your hair. I think that would be pretty painful-”
“No, no, not about the hair. Why… why are you helping me? Why do you care?”
John finally opened his eyes and turned slightly to look at Arthur’s face. He looked nearly as confused as he sounded. His brow was furrowed and the corners of his mouth turned slightly down as he crouched down to eye level with John.
“Why do I care?” he repeated.
John nodded. “I’ve caused you so much trouble. Even from the beginning, I… I killed Parker. I got you involved in all of this supernatural mess. I’ve yelled at you. Said horrible things to you. Done horrible things to you. But you haven’t left me. You still care for me. Why?”
“John.” Arthur’s face had softened completely. “I would never leave you.”
“Huh. I would leave me,” John muttered.
“Well then, thank your lucky stars you’re not me,” Arthur replied, standing back up and returning to John’s hair.
“Believe me, I thank them every day. I do not miss that frail, twig-like body of yours. You could break a bone if the wind hit you the wrong way.”
“May I remind you I’m still the one helping you brush out your hair, and I can leave at any time.”
“Ugh. Alright, fine, I’ll play nice.”
“That’s a good boy.”
Ignoring the wave of heat the final comment brought up his neck and over his ears, John tried to return to the point. “You didn’t answer my question, Arthur.”
Arthur stopped brushing John’s hair and let out a small sigh. “You said you want to know why, right?”
John nodded again.
Arthur was silent for a long moment, his brown eyes growing warm and thoughtful. “I stay with you because of something I learned a lot about over the course of our time together: ‘Life is about survival. Love is about life with others.’ I’ve spent so long surviving on my own that it’s nice having someone else to survive with, and I don’t want to lose that. Even if you think you’re not worthy of it, even if you have caused me problems or hurt me in the past, I stay because I… I love you. I love you a terribly great deal. I stay because I want to see you survive, too, and I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure that happens.”
“Oh. Okay.” John’s heart felt like it might explode in his chest from all the tenderness he felt for Arthur. “I love you, too.”
Arthur smiled softly. “Let’s finish your hair, shall we? We’ve got a dinner we’re going to be late for.”
John smiled back and nodded.
The world was difficult and complicated, and John still didn’t understand a lot of it. He knew there was still a lot for him to learn. But there was one thing he knew for certain: love gave life its color and purpose. And if love meant survival with others, then he could survive with Arthur. All of the tangled hair and shitty combs and frustration in the world wouldn’t be able to stop him from surviving with the man he loved who also loved him. He would do it with pleasure for the rest of his days.
#malevolent#malevolent fanfic#malevolent podcast#john doe malevolent#arthur lester#jarthur#private eyes#malevolent pod#an eldritch being and his wet cat
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Of Love and Loss Ch. 16 (RDR2 Fanfic, Arthur Morgan x F!Reader, 18+)
Summary: Caught by the law, you and Arthur have to find separate ways to escape their grasp.
Author’s Notes: Chapter sixteen of this one.
Tags: Arthur Morgan x reader, high honor Arthur Morgan, minor character death, loss of parents, blood and injury, grief/mourning, survivor guilt, strangers to lovers, slow burn, eventual smut, graphic depictions of violence
AO3 Link
~
Of Love and Loss
Sixteen: Luck and the Lack Thereof
Word count: 5002
The drop was short enough that you landed softly, something you were immensely grateful for when you straightened and saw a deputy manned at the bottom of the stairs. He was too distracted by the nearby commotion a painted lady was stirring to notice your thudding boots on the stairwell, but that still didn’t help the situation, as the only means of getting away was past him. Going back up the stairs would lead you into the hotel, and you wouldn’t risk running into Arthur and that deputy. Christ, you weren’t clever enough for this. The deputy on the stairs was likely stationed there for this very scenario—to catch an outlaw in the middle of escape. But you were no outlaw, couldn’t think like one. And while you stood there stock still, glad for the low evening light if nothing else, you knew there was no way around it—you would be caught. So much for Arthur’s attempt at saving you.
“…know you had another feller with you…” you heard from the window, the speaker’s voice less muffled now. The deputy was in the room with Arthur. Your heart seized knowing they had pinned you too, but that word he used got you thinking. Did they not know you were a woman?
“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Arthur replied flatly. “And you, you make a habit of selling out your patrons to the law?”
“I answer to the marshal, not to you,” came another voice that explained how the deputy had found your room—the hotel owner.
“Don’t know about any partner of yours, huh? Then why’s that window open?” the deputy asked.
Time to go.
You heard Arthur make a sorry excuse that he had wanted some air before you were taking your hat off and fluffing your hair, making your way down the stairs. If they didn’t know you were a woman, it was the only leverage you had.
The deputy at the bottom of the stairs whipped his head around when he heard your approach. “Hold it right-” He looked you over. “There…”
You did as he said, feigning innocence as best you could. “Is something wrong?” You pushed femininity through your voice.
“Come down here,” he ordered, still suspicious. You did so, praying the deputy above you wouldn’t stick his head out the window and find you armed. Woman or no, it wasn’t a good look. Lucky for you, the deputy you approached seemed all too distracted by your opposing sex to care about your gun belt. “What are you doing taking these stairs?” he demanded, his eyes slipping down your body.
Fine. You could do this, or at least try. It wasn’t even close to being in your wheelhouse, but what other option did you have?
“I saw you down here,” you said lowly. “Can’t deny I was curious.” You stepped close, invading his space in a way that had that suspicion of his melting in favor of something else.
“That so? Why you armed then, little lady?”
“I like to stay that way,” you said, spinning a yarn for yourself. “Most men aren’t to be trusted. But you, being a deputy…”
Your instincts screamed at you to cut this meeting short, but you had to sell it or else get hauled in for shoddy acting if nothing else.
You reached in for the man’s badge, touching your finger to it, letting your hand linger on his chest a moment longer. He let you. And just like that, you knew you had him.
He spoke. “Well, I…there is a certain honor that comes with the job.”
“Something a girl can admire,” you replied softly.
He eyed you a moment before looking up at the window. Shit—it was still open. And if he had any wits about him, he would put two and two together.
He looked back down at you, but not an ounce of recognition lit his gaze. Instead, he smiled. “I’m on duty, but how’s about we find each other later when I’m not?”
You let your most saccharine smile curve your face. “Name the place, Deputy…”
“Gillard.”
“Deputy Gillard.”
“How about the Spokehouse?”
You had no idea what that was, but you kept your smile painted on and nodded. “I’ll be waiting for you there.” To keep up the ruse, you brought your hand to his badge again and ran your thumb over it, lingering a moment as you met his gaze. Lucky you, there was nothing going on behind those eyes. So you left him standing there staring after you, doing your best not to panic and rush away.
The farther away you got from the threat of danger, the more that nagging panic set in. Even though he had suggested it, leaving Arthur behind wasn’t an option. He had done so much for you, and leaving him now, especially after what you had just shared…it was out of the question. Now all that remained was thinking of a way to get him out of his predicament without finding yourself caught in it in the process. You considered all your options and knew, first and foremost, that you needed your mounts for any sort of escape. Plus, if you could stash away his gun belt in a saddle bag, you would look much less conspicuous. Men already tended to be curious about you with the way you dressed, so the less attention you drew, the better. You considered stealing a dress off some clothesline but thought better of it. It would result in the same feeling you had when wearing Arthur’s clothes—unfamiliarity. And if, God forbid, you needed to resort to any shooting, you needed every advantage of the familiar you could get. So you made way for the nearby stables under the cover of night, hoping Harriet would provide that familiar calm for you enough for this to all play to your advantage.
Upon arriving at the small barn, you found that your luck held. Luck, because there was no other explanation—certainly not any skill or cunning on your part. You snuck into the stables right past the snoring stablehand slumped in a nearby chair and found your mounts. They were stabled beside each other, but their saddles were thrown over their stall fronts. Sneaking them out as is would likely be easy enough, but tacking them would cause too much noise. You couldn’t risk waking the stablehand. Really, you could wake him and pay him with whatever money Arthur had in his satchel, but Arthur had ridden into town on Boadicea, so your taking her would make you as guilty as he was if someone recognized the mare. Best no one saw at all.
Taking a deep breath, you reached for the nearest stall door—Boadicea’s—and slowly pulled it open. It didn’t creak at least, but she nuzzled you when you shut yourself in with her and gave a low nicker of recognition. Your eyes snapped to the stablehand, but he remained deep in slumber, far from any consciousness to speak of. So you got to work, bridling first in case you needed to leave the saddles behind and make a run for it. That, and the bit tended to be the loudest part of the tack, so you carefully settled it into Boadicea’s mouth while keeping a close eye on the hand. You were lucky the mare had such an easy temperament, as she let you be without so much as tossing her head. Once you slipped the reins over her neck, you looked to the saddle. You would just have to risk its creaking leather.
Easy as you could, you blanketed the mare then lifted the saddle, using all your arm strength to keep it steady. You were keeping quiet enough until you had to swing the saddle over her back—she was taller than you realized. You tried lifting it up and over, but the far stirrup got trapped between the saddle and her back and made an impossibly loud creak of leather on leather. You froze, just knowing you’d awoken the stablehand. But no rebuke came. You slowly turned and looked over your shoulder at him. He had shifted in his chair, but he remained asleep, mouth open wide in a snore. Luck indeed.
You rounded Boadicea and fixed the stirrup carefully, then finished cinching her. Arthur’s saddle was cared for but older and worn, no doubt having many miles traveled in it, so the latigo slid through the cinch ring like butter. Your used up, lesser made saddle likely wouldn’t be so easy. But if all else failed, you didn’t need your saddle anyway.
Satisfied with Boadicea, you quietly left her stall and made for Harriet’s. The mule nuzzled you fondly upon entering, and you gave her a good scratch in return. She somehow always managed to calm your ever-racing heart. It was a wonder, you thought with a smile, just how often you found your heart trying to beat out of its cage since acquiring her. You blamed that on Arthur and his outlaw ways but found that a sliver of pride had worked its way into you for all that you were doing for him, something so brave in return. He likely thought you the least capable person on earth, but here you were, still going. So you once again set aside your nerves and got to work.
Bridling Harriet proved a bit more difficult, as she didn’t take the bit quite as easily as Boadicea did, but you eventually got her fully tacked without waking the stablehand. You dug through Arthur’s satchel, finding a surprising amount of items at your fingertips before landing on the bills you were searching for. You drug them out and counted out enough to be deemed acceptable, then stuck them in the handle of the stall door. Even with the sneaking around, you weren’t a complete reprobate.
With one last prayer that this would be quiet enough, you opened the stall door wide and led Harriet out. You stopped at Boadicea’s stall and did the same. She was the calmer of the two, so you put her on your left—the side closer to the stablehand—as you made to pass him. Only, when you finally worked up the courage to make your great escape, Harriet tossed her head when you tugged on her reins and made her bridle let out an awful clang of metal.
“Quiet down y’ old nag,” the stablehand mumbled, voice heavy with sleep. You froze solid with fear, but he didn’t even look up. Didn’t even open his eyes. He just shifted and slumped in the opposite direction, going back to snoring. You could hardly believe it but weren’t about to stick around and savor your success. You held on tight to both mounts’ reins and carefully led them past him and straight out, thankful for all the mud and horseshit packed down on the floor so that the sound of hooves hardly thudded. Like this had been made to happen all along. Once out, you grinned at your luck, mounted Harriet, and made for the outskirts of town with both of them in the remaining cover of darkness.
~
Arthur was in deep shit. He’d been in deep shit before, narrowly avoiding a hanging here or a bullet through the head there, but this was worse. His only defenses had ever been strength in numbers and his skill with a gun. He had neither. He was alone and weaponless, bound in sturdy handcuffs like some true outlaw these men had no business knowing he was. Worse still, he was innocent. At least, in terms of the past few days by this town’s standards, he was. The only mark against him had been breaking some sorry bastard’s nose, but from the looks of that saloon, that was a regular enough occurrence. So why was he being dragged in with all the pomp of a man gone rogue on a killing spree? He and the deputy had been joined by two more, the three men parading him down the street with some sorry explanation of bringing him in for questioning. When he’d asked what about, he was met with three matching glares and a shove to keep walking. Fair enough, only that it weren’t. And how ironic that was, being the sole instance he could genuinely plead innocence. Just went to show, innocence was exactly what Dutch always said it was—an opinion men had and nothing more. In terms of true innocence, well, that was better left up to a higher power. It was certainly the kind Arthur relied on now.
The deputies led Arthur to the jailhouse, escorting him inside and shoving him in a cell without removing the handcuffs. Even he suspected he weren’t that big of a threat.
“Thank you, boys. You’re sure it’s him?”
Arthur rounded at the sound of that voice, an unfamiliar and commanding one.
“We’re sure, boss. Old Mr. Parks swears by it.”
It wasn’t difficult to guess the first speaker’s identity. He was smaller and less threatening than Arthur imagined he would be, his subtle resemblance to his brother proof of that.
“Marshal James Lawrence,” he said, rounding his desk to approach the cell. “You must be Mr. Callahan.”
Relief trickled through Arthur. So long as his last name stayed out of it, this would be a predicament he could wriggle out of.
Arthur didn’t respond, fully intending to feel the marshal out if he was being accused of a crime serious enough to warrant all this.
Lawrence smiled, like he had already figured how this would go. “Deputy Foreman, would you kindly free our new guest from his restraints?”
Said deputy bumbled about, no doubt surprised at the request given that the marshal had taken such measures in bringing Arthur here.
“You sure? He came peaceable, but he ain’t exactly…”
Arthur glared, daring the man to finish that sentence. But he didn’t, Lawrence interrupting him. “I’m sure. Through the bars should suffice.”
The way he spoke…Arthur wondered where these two brothers had come from. They were educated, that was certain. But where one was condescending about it, this one commanded respect. It was obvious in the way his deputies regarded him.
Arthur turned and backed up to the bars, letting Deputy Foreman unlock his handcuffs. The things were heavy and too tight for him anyhow. They soon dropped to the floor with a loud clank and the rattle of a chain spiraling downward like a snake, the deputy retrieving them through the bars lest Arthur have any ideas about using them for some sort of escape.
“There,” Lawrence said. “More comfortable, I hope.”
Arthur’s eyes narrowed at the kindness as he turned to face the man.
“Ah, of course. Where are my manners? You haven’t a clue why you’re here, is that right?”
The insinuation that Arthur would soon be pleading innocence didn’t sit well with him. He could see how the marshal could come off as becoming, but he wasn’t buying it. The man was a little too greasy-haired and mousy-faced, just like his good-for-nothing brother.
Lawrence smiled again. “Allow me to do the talking, then.” The deputies settled on the nearby wall with matching grins, like they had seen this show before and would thoroughly enjoy seeing it another time.
The marshal went on. “You have been brought in for questioning concerning the untimely death of George Lawrence.”
Surprise hit Arthur. Not just over the death either but because of the nonresponse the marshal had for his own brother’s very recent demise.
“Your brother?”
If Lawrence spited this, he didn’t show it. “Yes. He was found dead behind the saloon on Diggen Street, gunshot wound to the head.”
Arthur knew enough to know he was being gauged for any subtle reaction. Likewise, he kept his face neutral. Nothing good ever came of pleading innocence too soon.
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
This, at least, took the marshal by surprise. His eyebrows raised with it. But he pushed on. “Where were you last night at the hours of ten to midnight?”
“Asleep. In that hotel. That no-good hotel owner can attest to that, he saw me come in.”
“Interesting. He told me quite the opposite. Said he saw you earlier in the day but never again.”
“‘Course he did,” Arthur mumbled. “He sold me out then. That’s where I was. You sure he didn’t kill the man, lying like that?”
The marshal shook his head. “I have my reasons for trusting the man. The question is, what reason have you to lie?”
“I don’t. I told you, I was in the hotel hours before that.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Well, that’s the truth. If you don’t want to accept it, so be it. Ain’t my job to make you see sense.”
Lawrence’s face soured. Like he wasn’t used to someone he couldn’t get a rise out of. “I see.” He looked to the floor deep in thought, going back to his desk. He propped himself against it before speaking again. “So, you claim you were nowhere near that saloon last night?”
“I ain’t sure of the street, but I was at some saloon yesterday behind the hotel these idiots dragged me out of.” Said idiots glared at Arthur, and he couldn’t stop himself from letting out an unimpressed laugh.
“That’s the one,” the marshal continued. “Yet you just said you weren’t there. Which is it?”
“I was there early afternoon. Left no later than four.”
“Ah. Just in time for you to meet my brother.”
Shit. “Heard about that, did you?”
The marshal was smiling again. “Word gets around quickly in this town, Mr. Callahan. Especially when a stranger manhandles one of its citizens.”
“I wouldn’t say manhandle,” Arthur mumbled, knowing no matter how innocent he was, this was starting to look bad.
“I would. From the state of my brother’s wellbeing after his run-in with you, I would say it was worse. A vendetta of sorts, ushered in by a nasty temper and brought to its unforgivable end by a second run-in with him later that night. Tell me, Mr. Callahan, what did he say to provoke you to such violence?”
Arthur didn’t like this one bit. The bastard was good at spinning stories and pointing blame, that was certain. But Arthur hadn’t done it. The only way of proving it, it seemed, would be to prove who had. And in a jail cell, that would be damn near impossible. So Arthur stalled. It was all he had left to do while he thought of a better plan.
“You ever met that brother of yours? Should come as no surprise I wanted to punch him. He insulted me three different ways before I could get a word in.”
The marshal’s face twitched with something Arthur didn’t recognize. He would say fury over the man’s late brother, but that weren’t it. Arthur knew fury well, and he would already be thrashing it around if someone had killed one of his brothers in arms.
“I know he was…difficult to take at times. He never did seem to know when to keep his mouth shut. But that is no means to kill a man.”
“And I didn’t,” Arthur said flatly. “Gave him a good crack on the nose, which was fully deserved, but nothing more. No more than any other man in that saloon wanted to give him just as well.”
Lawrence crossed his arms. “And what’s this I hear about you having someone else with you at the saloon? Where is he?”
Relief flooded Arthur a second time—no one seemed to know you were a woman. Well, he was pretty sure George Lawrence knew, but he wouldn’t be giving that information up anytime soon. And as for the bartender, Arthur just hoped he knew to leave well enough alone in that rough crowd he tended. That left the hotel owner who definitely knew and who had been there when the deputy stormed the room—why hadn’t he said anything about it then? Arthur was starting to suspect him more and more.
“He left town. Said he was headed out early this morning.”
“To where, exactly? And why not with you?”
“I was…preoccupied this morning,” Arthur said, his mind flashing with the sight of you on the bed. “Told him I’d catch up. He has family in the next town over we’re going to see about working for.”
“Preoccupied how?” the marshal asked, no doubt thinking it had to do with covering up a murder.
Arthur’s face remained deadly calm as he said with caution, “With a woman.” It was an easy enough explanation and also ironically truthful, but he didn’t want to bring you into this anymore than he had to.
Lawrence eyed one of his deputies. “See about that, would you, Deputy Gillard? You know the woman folk around here well enough. We’ll have to confirm your story as truth, of course.” This to Arthur.
“Of course,” he grimaced.
“What was her name?”
Arthur panicked all of a second before a smile curved his mouth. “Said she didn’t have a name. Nameless, she got me to call her.” Arthur had to keep the heat off his face when he thought of your real name, of what had come with the knowledge.
“Sounds like Dot Owens if you ask me,” the deputy said. “She’s always playing games like that.”
Lawrence eyed his deputy in disapproval before waving him away. “Go question her then. And Gillard? No funny business. You have a job to do.”
The deputy’s face turned red as a beet. “‘Course, sir.”
He was soon out the door, leaving Arthur with that much better a chance at escape.
The marshal rounded his desk and sat in his chair, letting out a long breath. “I just find it awfully convenient, as I’m sure my deputies here can attest, that you have such ironclad explanations for all of this. Explanations which, pardon my suggestion, seem fabricated to fit the bill.”
Yep. Definitely brothers with that silver-tongued idiot. Arthur shrugged. “I don’t know what to tell you.”
“The truth, Mr. Callahan. It would go a long way.”
Arthur scoffed a laugh. “I’m sure it would.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
It was Arthur’s turn to sigh. “It means I am telling the truth, not that that’ll get me anywhere. It means you’ve done a fine job of pinning me with this without having any real reason to believe it was me besides me being the one person stupid enough to put that idiot brother of yours in his place.”
The marshal’s eyes narrowed on Arthur, though the man went unnaturally still. “Careful.”
Arthur pushed on, not caring if the man was riled or not. “It just seems convenient,” he said, quoting Lawrence, “that you paraded me around town getting me here, that you want this blame pinned on me so easily, not giving it any thought that it could be someone else. Almost like you want me framed, for all this to go away.”
Lawrence just stared. He stared so long Arthur wondered how violent the marshal could be with that supposed quick draw of his. But when he spoke again, it wasn’t to Arthur. “Foreman, Vaughn, go find someplace to be.”
Great. At least Arthur had his hands in the very likely case this turned ugly.
The deputies gawked at Lawrence. “But sir, you don’t mean to-”
“Go,” he demanded. “I’ll come calling when I need you.”
The reluctantly did as he said, stumbling out of the door one after the other. Only then did the marshal rise to his feet. “That’s a mighty claim to make.”
“Give me a better explanation, and I’ll go singing you praises. Until then, this feels pretty forced, Mr. Marshal.”
“Forced? You beat my brother’s face in. That makes you suspect number one.”
“And you seem a smart man, Marshal. Even you must know you have to consider all your options.”
Lawrence waved his hand through the air in dismissal. “Enough of this. I won’t indulge myself in the ravings of a guilty man.”
Arthur found a humorless smile crossing his face. “I ain’t guilty. You just don’t want to believe it. Why is that?”
Lifeless, coal-black eyes met his own, and Arthur knew the answer before the man could say it.
“It’s because it’s your brother, ain’t it? You want someone to swing for this. You have no way of knowing who it was, what with the man being one of the least-liked in town. You just want someone to pin it on, some way of someone paying for this.”
Surprisingly, the marshal’s temper didn’t flare, or it didn’t show if it did. “I want the man responsible for this brought to justice. This town is full of cowards, Mr. Callahan. I can tell by your words, you’re not one of them.”
“And you think that means I killed him?” Again, just words. More stalling.
“I do.”
“Well, I didn’t. And I ain’t the only non-coward in this town, Marshal. Tell me, why exactly did you send your deputies away?”
“Just what the hell are you implying?”
“You thought you’d what, rough me up a little in retaliation? Or worse, did you not want your deputies hearing what I had to say?”
The marshal’s jaw twitched. Now he’d struck a nerve.
“That’s it, ain’t it? Your precious reputation is all you have in this town. Would be a shame for your own men to suspect you of such negligence.”
Lawrence smiled, an evil-looking thing. “I’ll be happy to watch you swing, Mr. Callahan.”
Something finally clicked into place for Arthur. “I’m sure you will. Can’t talk if I’m dead, right? Just like dear old George.”
The marshal slammed a fist down on his desk. “That’s enough! I won’t be accused of such nonsense!”
“Accused? Why, I didn’t accuse you of nothing, Mr. Marshal. Unless you mean to say that I think you did it?”
That lethal calm settled over the man again, and he spoke dangerously low in response. “I would be extremely careful with what you say next.”
Arthur smirked. “That don’t sound like a denial.”
The marshal rounded his desk and stormed Arthur’s cell, pointing a finger at him as he yelled, “I won’t be made a fool of by the likes of a low-down criminal like you! Tell all the lies you want about me, but come morning, you’ll hang!”
The man barely came up to Arthur’s chin, and the effect of him looking up and waving that finger was about as non-threatening as a child throwing a tantrum.
Arthur grinned. “Interesting.”
“What?” Lawrence shouted.
“That’s what got you angry? Not all that talk about your brother?” Lawrence’s face fell, and Arthur took that to mean he was right. “You just seem awful calm around someone you claim killed your brother. That is, until I said you did it.”
The marshal looked stunned. His hand fell, and he backed away a slow step. Then his face soured like it had earlier, and he repeated, “I’ll be happy to watch you swing.”
“Because I’m the perfect cover-up? Because you killed your brother?”
He rounded, his anger coming back full force. “So what if I did? It doesn’t matter anyhow! My no-good brother isn’t here to plague this town or say otherwise anymore, and you’ll be put to death for it no matter the circumstance!”
Arthur couldn’t believe his luck. And how useless that luck was. The man before him was guilty as sin despite his high and mighty manner, but he was right about one thing—it wouldn’t matter a bit come morning. Arthur would hang for this man’s crime, and there was no amount of spewing the truth that would get this town to walk him down from the gallows. They would gladly watch, happy to have not one low-down reprobate gone, but two. And they would hail their marshal even higher than they had before.
Marshal Lawrence had sat in his chair once more, fuming at Arthur and throwing insult at him left and right. But Arthur had no words left, nothing more to bait the man with now that his guilt was exposed. So he stood there crestfallen, thinking, of all things, of you. Not of how death had finally come to call. Not of his gang. Of you, and of how much this would crush you. He hoped you had gotten out of town like he said, but he knew that stubborn streak in you that ran a mile wide and knew you were likely waiting to see what came of him. He couldn’t bear to think about the moment you heard his neck crack. You would turn into that shell of yourself again, and there would be no one there to save you this time.
Funny how life worked. Arthur was at death’s door, and the one person he cared about saving wasn’t himself. It was the person who had made him see why living mattered so much in the first place.
~
After lots of searching and your best attempts at remaining discreet, you had found the jailhouse. And you sat underneath one of its windows, listening in on every word the marshal said. Like how he had bribed the hotel owner into silence, and how he had shot his own brother in the head to keep him from tarnishing the family name any further. How Arthur was the perfect target. How, come ten in the morning, Arthur would hang for a crime he didn’t commit. You could hardly stand the sea of dread that resulted in you, threatening to drown you from within. But you would stand it. You owed him this. So you vowed to be ready at ten in the morning, rifle in hand.
You would save Arthur’s life even if it cost you your own.
_________
tag list: @nayomi247 @ultraporcelainpig @photo1030 @spiritcatcherxo @calcarius445 @meet-me-backstage
#arthur morgan#arthur morgan x reader#arthur morgan x female reader#high honor arthur morgan#rdr2 arthur morgan#rdr2 fanfic#rdr2#fanfic#writing
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Venti Week day 1: Old Friends
For this! Really overdue, apologies. I'm not completely happy with it but I could always polish it for something else later, haha.
A conversation between Venti and Vennessa after the webtoon prologue.
It was the evening after... that. Everything that had happened still hadn't fully sunk in for her. Her imprisonment. Facing the dragon again. Someone she thought was a mildly obnoxious bard, the ancient god of Mondstadt, descending on her people and healing their wounds and laughing in the faces of her captors. Her people's silence as they trudged back to their homes in the aftermath, words beyond them.
-
Wind gently rustled the grass around Vennessa's feet. She stood near the edge of a cliff overlooking Mondstadt.
The exchange after he asked them to make good on their word had been short but heavy with meaning. Venti had left, but not after implying- a hint of sharpness under his playful tone like a knife tucked under a carpet- that the nobles would change the way they do things or he would be back.
She hadn't expected him to be back this soon. He stood ahead of her, back turned and quietly watching the city. Should she be surprised? Her brain still wasn't working properly.
Venti turned his head to glance at her, the green of his hat and cape dulled in the setting sun's glow. Attire that had been shed for something white and radiant and revealing hours earlier.
She continued to stand there. Staring.
He inhaled.
"So."
She blinked. "So."
He glanced away, perhaps fidgeting slightly; it was hard to see much at this angle.
"I should start by thanking you again." he said, head turning back. "You caused quite the scene back there! It gave me the perfect opening to step in."
"Opening?" she replied. "Did you need one?"
"Technically no, but I prefer to help Mondstadt in a way that involves its people," he said, "and I'm reluctant to replace one tyrant with another."
"Right. Because you're... the god of freedom."
He winced at that. "...Yes."
Both of them stood in silence for a moment. Vennessa tried to pull herself together.
"I should thank you for helping my people as well. If you had come seconds later... I don't want to think about what would have happened there."
"Your role shouldn't be underestimated either! The fire burning in your soul is unparalleled. I suspect your prayers are what finally shook me awake."
...Awake?
"You were asleep?"
"Indeed," he replied, before turning back to stare at the city, "though I'd thought I would wake up somewhat sooner than this."
He paused.
"It's really been this way for centuries, hasn't it?"
"It has."
Venti didn't speak further. The breeze tousled their clothes, cold against Vennessa's bare skin.
Vennessa paused, wondering if she was about to cross a line.
"Venti."
Venti turned back to face her.
"Yes?"
"Are you... okay?"
He smiled.
"Of course! My energy reserves are regrettably somewhat depleted, but my public reappearance will accelerate my recovery significantly. I'll be right as rain within a-"
"I meant emotionally."
He froze mid-sentence. If not for her experience reading people she would have missed his eyes widen almost imperceptibly- just for a second.
"Venti?"
"It's fine." A pause. "I'll fix things."
"That wasn't a yes."
He laughed. It sounded a little strained.
"You shouldn't worry about me. You said it yourself; I'm a god, remember? I exist to serve Mondstadt's people. And I haven't been doing that. It's their feelings that matter here."
That last part was oddly familiar. It brought her back to countless sleepless nights before matches, stroking her sister's hair as she rested, crushing down her fear and telling herself she just had to hang on a little longer. She could feel once they were free.
Clearly Venti hadn't let things become this way on purpose. From what little she'd heard about him in legends...
"...You left to give them freedom, right? I guess that included the choice to-"
"Have they been free?" Venti snapped. The breeze suddenly intensified. "Free to express themselves? To self-govern? To live?"
Vennessa didn't know what to say to that. He was right, but...
Suddenly a dam broke, words pouring out of him.
"Do you know what a thousand people praying in desperation sounds like, Vennessa? Because I do. They've been flooding in since my little stunt earlier. But Mondstadt was so quiet before. How many generations did that take? How many people begged and begged for my help, still believing someone listened and cared?"
Wind whipped wildly around them. Sparks of teal in his eyes and hair grew in number and intensity the more he spoke.
"Venti-"
"And that includes you! And your people! You've suffered for generations and I did nothing! Why aren't you angry?"
Vennessa paused at that.
Should she be angry?
Her head was still swimming with everything that had happened. Emotions had swirled around her psyche like dust, the air too turbulent for them to settle into anything coherent.
Maybe she should be furious- should call him spineless and a coward and demand justice for everyone that came before her. But that somehow felt wrong. Like there was more to this.
Something in his face reminded her of Lind outside the city's gates. Trapped. Terrified.
"Did you actually choose to leave? Or was there some god business that-"
Venti laughed almost hysterically.
"Oh, that's it. Are you making excuses for me because I'm Barbatos? Because I could smite you where you stand? It's okay, you can still leave! I'm not even your-"
Screw worrying about lines. While she still couldn't say she knew him, god or not, he clearly needed help.
Gathering her resolve, she marched through the cutting gale between them and threw her arms around his shoulders. He made a sound almost like a squawk.
"V-Vennessa?"
"You asked if we could be friends."
"But-"
"Friends help each other when they're struggling."
"But you don't have to be-"
"And I'm not doing this because you're Barbatos. I'm doing it because I want to and you helped me."
"Only after-"
"I don't care what fuckups you've made in the past. All I've seen is you trying to fix them in the present. And I could do that with you."
He was as stiff as a board. The winds around them thrashed, confused and warring against themselves. He tried to push against her chest, push her away, but she squeezed him harder.
"You don't owe me anything. You could die! Your people could too!"
"That's always been the case, Venti. You've given us the first glimmer of hope that things could change. And do you know the most important thing my elders taught me?"
"That the gods should be there for you?" he mumbled into her.
She pulled back a little to look him in the eyes. He was like a deer in torchlight.
"That we shouldn't do everything alone."
Something within him tore. His face crumpled as he pulled himself back into her, a quiet whine escaping his throat.
"I'm sorry." He was almost inaudible.
"I told you-"
"It's just-" he paused- "it's been so long since anyone said that to me."
She hugged him tighter, raising one hand to rest on his head.
"Maybe people should do that more."
"But they need me-" he said quietly, his voice cracking, "to be perfect for them. To not do this. I'm their last line of defense, I can't be weak, I-"
"But you're not perfect."
He went silent again.
"At this point I'm not sure anyone can be," she added. "But that's why we lean on each other. To cover each other's weaknesses."
"You're genuinely not leaving?" he choked out.
She laughed gently. "We both have people on the line if this mess isn't fixed, right? And didn't someone say they owed me some keys?"
His breath hitched. His hands tightened their grip on her clothes.
"It's okay, Venti. I'm not going anywhere. You can be a person around me."
As Venti, archon of Mondstadt, person with feelings, her friend, lost the last of his composure and sobbed into her chest, she knew that her life would never be the same again- that the world would never look the same to her again.
But if even the gods were fallible, so were the Lawrences.
Things could change for the better.
They just had to keep going.
#VentiWeek2024#genshin impact#genshin#venti#genshin venti#vennessa#genshin vennessa#lyre writes#been a mess the last few days augh#but that aside! i love me some venti & vennessa we need way more of it#vennessa being sisterly to him... clenches fist.........
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I think one of my fave things about these new pics is the confirmation of long-haired Bucky for Thunderbolts, since it was supposed to have been starting filming before the writer's strike made it postpone!
Hi!
It has to be! Bucky with the good hair is back! :')
#anonymous#his short hair is fine but but THE LONGER HAIR#i love it :')#sebastian stan#bucky barnes#unearthlydust replies
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for an akifuyu stan i sure do struggle to draw autumn and winter troupe
#chibi wise my main challengers are juju and tasuku ( mostly bc of the hair )#but my big boy style?? hoo boy#banri is usually fine but his eyes and face shape are hard to keep consistent#juzas hair and build give me problems and so does his eye shape#taichis hair is like. controlled fluffy. i can never get it quite right#sakyos hair ( ESPECIALLY his bangs ) are dumb and stupid and i hate them ( i hate drawing short straight hair )#im getting used to omis hair its mostly his face and build that i struggle with now#azamis mostly alright but his half up hair gives me trouble#tsumugis hair is horrible i hate drawing it ( ignore all the stoatmugis ive drawn its DIFFERENT )#tasuku. where do i even start.#his hair is stupid his facial proportions are wack#i cant draw his build and i cannot for the life of me get his nose to look right#i cant decide on a definitive color pallete for him#ive only finished two pieces with him there and unless i am asked i have no plans on increasing that number#( im so sorry nocturnality )#homare is mostly face proportions. and that long fringe messes me up sometimes#plus i try to make him more lean but since i usually draw him w hiso and/or azu he just ends up getting twinkified#i THINK i understand how hisokas hair works. i think.#i do still struggle with azus ponytail. . .#its not fluffy like nagisas so you cant see it unless its over his shoulder and sometimes i just cant draw it right#plus even tho its easier than sakyos bc its longer. its still straight. and i am not good at drawing straight hair.#guy im ALSO mostly used to now its really just making sure he does in fact look older#and not just like. a twink i drew tear troughs and dark circles on yk#part of that is his face shape. i THINK i got it down now but i def need to practice more#alongside the whole 'glasses character without glasses' thing#yeah#not akifuyu but tenma is also a HUMONGOUS pain in the ass to draw#i hate his hair so much#now that i think about it the only ones i can draw satisfactorily are haru 😭😭
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i've decided to cut off a bunch of my hair and now i am so impatient for my appointment like just get it off of me now
#hi im laura im extremely weird about my hair#for about four months now i've been just kind of pretending that it doesn't exist#as it grows out#it's now longer than it's been since like. fifth grade#i like doing a high ponytail but i cannot manage ANYTHING else#and it's too much of a pain to dye so my roots are like 6 inches long#and shot through with gray which is like. FINE obviously??#but gives me a complex#so im going short and pink as god fucking intended
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i think it would be cool if amity eventually got her hair cut real short
and it would be funny if you combined that with how luz's hair is getting longer. reminds me of this couple i was friends with in high school where they accidentally basically swapped hairstyles over the course of a year or so
#eliot posts#toh#like at first she had a short-ish undercut and he had shoulder length hair. and later she had the longer hair and he had the undercut#not identical styles tho. especially bc her hair is fine and curly and his is super straight#but similar enough for me to take notice of it
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if i die before my mom i am going to leave her something very insulting in my will i think.
#i don’t plan on dying before her#but if i do. hooooo boy.#this post is inspired by me stumbling upon a letter my mom wrote me once that was just guilt tripping me for the sin of…………#not being a little robot with no feelings of my own who sometimes calls her out on things??#literally the inciting incident of that letter was me telling my mom i dont think she should make comments on her children’s appearances#specifically negative ones#like. idk. telling my sister she’s too skinny or dresses like she’s homeless or that she looks horrible with longer hair………#or calling my little brother ugly because he doesn’t like having his hair fixed (because he’s a kid and it’s uncomfortable)#or the five million times she talked about my body and hair and sense of style in a negative way……… most of which happened before i was 15..#p sure me calling her out that time was spurred by her ranting about how i was so much prettier before i cut my hair short as a teen#like idk i just think parents shouldn’t be mean about their kids appearances like they’re schoolyard bullies#just a quirky opinion i have i know it’s pretty out there!#sometimes i think about the parenting things i know my mom and her friends think are totally fine and i want to scream forever#like ignoring the outright abusive stuff some of it is fucking bonkers#grown ass adult mothers acting like high school mean girls towards their kids and acting like that’s just normal and fine
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for the first couple of years post-revolution connor would correct anyone who used the word ‘it’ about anyone else, but if they used it directly about him he wouldn’t bother correcting them (unless in a specific Android-safe space i.e. New Jericho, in which case that’s just not acceptable language in that setting). this is old news HOWEVER the new news is this: after those two years post-revolution have expired he’ll correct anyone and everyone. two years is the grace period for his pronouns exclusively, and the grace period has since been used up. you might occasionally get away with it if he can’t be bothered, but usually he can be.
#hi this isn't actually ..... i don't know i just really badly wanted attention so i made a post sdkfjlsdkjlkgj#it's true though. his patience for people misusing his pronouns goes down the longer Android Rights have been a thing#hello tumblr i went out and some guy was mean to me bc i have short hair#i am fine it wasn't Bad and i don't need affirmations etc i am just pouty while i tap at drafts wheeeeze#be safe be well!#i am going to make tea and chill out here or maybe play mario party if my sibs decide they are planning to do that#wow PS once again saying y'all should play tabletop simulator games with me#or a variety of others if we Have the others#play games with meeee
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✶ 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘𝒟𝐎𝐋𝐋? RICH BOY ENHYPEN PINNING AFTER YOU.
目录──────𝗔𝗟𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗡𝗔𝗧𝗜𝗩𝗘𝗟𝗬, 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎'𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝗂𝖺𝗆𝗈𝗇𝖽 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗂𝗋 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌.
𝓉𝗵𝗲 𝗪𝗢𝗥𝗟𝗗 𝗦𝗧𝗔𝗚𝗘 ⋅ enhypen showing that you're not just one of the girls. wordcount total 2882 (approx 0.4k each) ⭑ CONTAINS— female!reader, fluff, suggestive, lots of swearing. % strongly recommend listening to ›› the respective songs while reading! jungwon's is inspired by ␥ kavin and kaning. ( THE ARCHIVE? ) PLS REBLOG ><
𝗟𝗘𝗘 𝗛𝗘𝗘𝗦𝗘𝗨𝗡𝗚
ぃ ⏤ now playing. HELLGIRL BY ARI ABDUL
"shit. you gotta wear this one, angel," heeseung groans in satisfaction, ignorant and indifferent to the fact that all the store employees could hear him, someone who never brings over girls to places like these, going insane over one. and the fact that you were unable to wrap your head around this situation just yet.
it was surreal and it was nerve wrecking. but heeseung was adamant that he needed you.
needed you to dress so fucking gorgeous and stand by his side as his date for the night while he paraded around greeting his parents' guests. showing them that he is capable of being committed by bringing along a partner for the first time ever. that's what he tells you—
"is this really fine?" you ask again, hands dusting over the sleek satin hugging your skin in a way that it tickled. heeseung stands up and strides overs to where you stand, arms sliding around your waist to pull you against him. "it's more than fine, absolutely stunning," leaning into your neck to leave kisses, "and so hot," right infront of everyone, no one daring to say a word to him, except you.
you who has been an exception to all his rules, you who has made him want to do things he has never wanted to before. you who has swept him off his feet.
you push against his chest in an attempt to stop him,"we'll be late, should go now," he hums in a low growl, lips nipping right against your ear before he pulls away with much exasperation almost unsated. clicking his tongue in annoyance for the staff to hurry the billing once he's done admiring you. unable to stand that anyone beside him see you dressed so pretty.
"just smile and follow my lead," heeseung tells you once you arrive at the venue. giving you an encouraging look as he instructs the valet to wait until you seem calm enough to step out. that's what he tells you— heart eyes and odd actions speaking for themselves. his hands find your waist when you finally walk up the stairs, breath shaky as you pass the entrance.
"relax angel, 'm right here, we can leave whenever you want," he kisses the side of your head, lips lightly touching your styled hair. never caring about who's looking and who's thinking what. if only you knew it too.
𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗞 𝗝𝗢𝗡𝗚𝗦𝗘𝗢𝗡𝗚
ぃ ⏤ now playing. STAY BY ARI ABDUL
"look behind you, princess," the voice incoming from your phone suddenly sounds too loud, paired with faint footsteps coming to a halt. jay's lips break into a wide smile when you turn around in an instant to look at him. your eyes following his hands holding an enormous bouquet of red roses, before you notice anything else.
before you notice the want in his eyes. the want for you.
"jay? i thought you were in— " you speak into the phone, eyes locked with his, but before you can finish he hangs up the call. approaching you with quick steps and immediately pulling you into a kiss. one that's short but deep enough to convey his feelings. "berlin? yeah, but i flew back for you," he breathes out against your lips.
"why?" "you know why love," his fingers twirl the hair falling into face, tucking them away and cupping your cheek as he gives you a smile before stepping away.
he waits for you to say something, to address his feelings but like always you avoid it and like always jay lets you. alas there will come a time when you would no longer be able to deny his love, so until then he will continue to show you all ways you own his heart in. his forever princess."what about that conference you were going to attend with your dad?" you ask, accepting his bouquet.
watching him with a soft giggle as he struggles to pull out a single rose and place it behind your ear. "don't worry about it," in a reassuring tone he leads you to his car. teasing you of a surprise each time you question where you are headed.
asking you to have your eyes closed while he leads you to the rooftop of a high-rise building owned by his family, illuminated by pretty lights and flowery wreaths, and a firework show worth a million.
all just for you.
to pose a smile on your face and to be the one to put it. to be the reason of your happiness and to be the person beside you in your best memories,"happy new year, princess," jay whispers into you ear as you open your eyes to see all of it. "jay this—" you gasp in a trance, gaze hooked on the sky while his is fixated in the way the fireworks shine against your pretty orbs and the gloss on your lips,"it's all for you,"
𝗦𝗜𝗠 𝗝𝗔𝗘𝗬𝗨𝗡
ぃ ⏤ now playing. MEDDLE ABOUT BY CHASE ATLANTIC
"you owe me. you can't keep avoiding me forever, doll," jake chuckles, noticing how you turn the other way after catching a glimpse of him. finding it adorable how you do everything you can to not cross paths with him.
leaving him no choice but to wait for you outside your university, leaning against his black lykan hypersport; attracting unwanted attention while his eyes only look for your cute panicked figure amidst the crowd.
"i told you it was a mistake—" you refute, throwing a glare at his smug face as he drives right beside you, following your every step, nonchalant about all the stares you both get as long as you agree to him taking you out. "get in the car," or the other way round, he's fine with both. frustrated and knowing you'd never be able to escape him, you decide to give in.
"you owe me lunch," jake grins as his eyes watch you get into the passenger seat just like the passenger princess you are.
his passenger princess. first and last in his beloved car.
"jake this— isn't this too—" your heart skips beats at the sight of the dock and the luxury cruise restaurant closing in, scared and nervous about how much you'd have to spend but jake just shushes you. getting out the car first and coming over to open the door for you; one hand holding yours and the other cushioning your head as you step out.
"just let me have your time and i'll let you off of staining my prada with coffee," he begs, afraid you'd walk out of here if he were to tell you the real reason. if he were to tell you that you have his heart and no matter what you do his feelings are not changing. if he were to tell you he wanted to take you out to all these places and spoil you rotten and occupy your mind like you occupy his.
if he were to tell you it was indeed not your fault for he bumped into you on purpose to find an excuse to talk to you.
"but—" jake shushes you again, fingers rubbing against your lips as he shakes his head before pulling out the chair for you and helping you sit properly,"don't think too much doll, just do as i say, please?" planning to keep you busy until the sun goes down so he can take you to for a ride on his yacht.
𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗞 𝗦𝗨𝗡𝗚𝗛𝗢𝗢𝗡
ぃ ⏤ now playing. BABYDOLL BY ARI ABDUL
"fuck baby, don't cry like that," sunghoon panics, his fingers grazing under your eyes to gently wipe the tears. afraid if he's not careful enough, he'll break you. "as much as i love the way you look so pretty like this, tears are not for someone like you," he has no idea how to soothe your frantically crying figure, slouched in the passenger seat against the expensive leather of his aston martin.
his hands fumble around in an attempt to think of ways he could just make you feel better and smile for him. those adorable crinkle of your eyes that have him whipped.
fuming each time he thinks of the moron who took that opportunity away from him by making you sad. he swears if he finds him, he'll beat the living daylights out of him. remind him not to linger anywhere around his girl.
sunghoon softly cups your cheek in his palm and leans in to kiss you, lips moving slow and sensual, "forget him, let me make you happy," he whispers into your mouth once he pulls away, foreheads touching and hands caressing your face lovingly. he makes sure your belt is secured before driving off to one of the luxury malls in the city, ones where you need to be of a certain level to enter.
a place you probably could never have the chance to enter if it weren't for him.
"my princess gotta shop her sadness out, hmm?" sunghoon coos as he stops outside the building, watching you gape in surprise, surprised himself that you are yet to realize just how much you mean to him.
"come on, i'll buy you whatever you lay your eyes on," he insists before you have the chance to deny him.
his hands rest at the back of your waist, leading you inside after handing his keys to the valet. dropping a soft kiss on your temple when you watch his vip card being inspected with a nervous breath of how elite this place has to be.
and knowing how new you must feel to all this, sunghoon pulls you closer with the intention of making it known that this is how it's gonna be from now, "get used to it, baby," you're not his yet but he's gonna treat you like you are. after all it's only a matter of time before it happens.
𝗞𝗜𝗠 𝗦𝗘𝗢𝗡𝗪𝗢𝗢
ぃ ⏤ now playing. GOOD GIRL BY THOMAS LAROSA
"good girl, you did a great job," sunoo pats your head teasingly amused at the confusion adorning your features. "sunoo, what were you doing there! you don't even have marketing?" the way you close in, demanding an explanation assures him that you indeed were affect by his presence, by the eye contact he held with you the entire time you were giving your presentation.
walking into the lecture hall in the middle of it as if he owned the place and taking a seat at a spot that directly put him in your line of sight. smirking, raising his brows and pushing his tongue against his cheeks to distract and annoy you.
"would you believe me if i said i came to see you?" his hands took ahold of your wrists playing with your fingers as he waited for you to answer.
"liar," you whisper, suddenly conscious of the implication behind his words and it makes him chuckle, of course what did he expect? you're hard to get, and perhaps that's the reason he feels so attracted, almost crazy over you.
like something he has to have, someone he has to have.
he takes a step closer, his varsity hat poking against the top of your head as his eyes bore into yours just the way they did inside earlier,"see? what do you want me to say then?" he whispers back, tone suddenly changing into a serious one. "you can't just enter any class like that," your innocent claim goes through him from one ear and falls through the other. how naive you are.
"i can if it's my dad's university," he can't help but chuckle at the expression on your face when you put the pieces together and realize it. all those times you came across him in places with strict attendance, it all made sense now.
"as adorably as you scold me, you're gonna see me everywhere you go," sunoo warns, leaning in impossibly close, lips hovering over yours,"you should stop fooling yourself baby,"
his hands move from your wrists to rest against the wall behind, voice dropping an octave,"and you should stop fooling around just because you can," you bite back, pressing your palm into his chest to push him back. "i'm fooling around because i want you, and i will have you," "you—" "we have a party this weekend at our summer villa, come with me?"
𝗬𝗔𝗡𝗚 𝗝𝗨𝗡𝗚𝗪𝗢𝗡
ぃ ⏤ now playing. SINNERS BY ARI ABDUL AND THOMAS LAROSA
"jungwon? what are you doing here? are you okay?" it makes jungwon happy to see you worrying about him, shoving his hands into the pockets of his pant as he watches you walk around the counter to his figure by the door. finding his cerulean blue chevrolet corvette 2lz parked in his usual spot, and him still dressed in the armani and hermès set you saw him in an hour ago when he dropped you off at your uncle's flower shop.
"mhm, just wanted to see my pretty girl again," he grins cockily once you realize there's nothing wrong and he's just trying playing around like always.
albeit to jungwon, it's never been a play and you have never been a toy.
this has been his way of showing you that you're not just another girl he's chasing after; because yang jungwon has never chased as opposed to what you think. and to harbour such deep and honest feelings that compel him to do what he has never done, that should have given you the hint by now. perhaps he'll just have to try a tad bit harder.
"how do you wear this?" he struts inside, passing by you to the space behind the counter you previously stood at, dangling a lone apron by his pinky and raising his brows at you, waiting. "your clothes will get dirty!" your attempts to curb him fall through for jungwon's persistence to stay with you holds like a strong wall, incapable of budging.
"i don't really care," jungwon's hands loop around the strings in a way that has the apron falling off making you giggle as you give in and just step in to help him,"idiot, that's not how you do it," you mumble.
and all he can think of is how he wants to be your idiot.
"how does this look? i think it looks so pretty on you," he says, putting a messy wreath on your head. to jungwon there's always flowers blooming everywhere you go, sweet scent overtaking all his scenes believing that's how you intoxicated him.
you slap away his hands in a shy chuckle that he doesn't understand, did he say something wrong? not aware and quite literally clueless of his own effect. by the time the sun sets down, you're asleep with your head down on the counter, facing him. and jungwon admires the way you looks so pretty, prettier than any flower.
𝗡𝗜𝗦𝗛𝗜����𝗨𝗥𝗔 𝗥𝗜𝗞𝗜
ぃ ⏤ now playing. STUCKINMYBRAIN BY CHASE ATLANTIC
"riki?" oh. you're here? riki looks up at the sound of your footsteps getting closer, halting a metre away from him, like you always do, not too close, not too far and it drives him crazy. "what are you doing here?" you ask, confused to find him waiting outside your mundane apartment building with his out of place red ferrari sf90.
"uh, you left this in the car last time," he fumbles out a dior liquid blush, clearly brand new and a shade you have never used before.
"that's not mine," giggling, you walk over to the other side, opening the passenger seat door to fish out the gloss you actually did leave and waving it in the air to show him,"this is mine richboy," the soft sounds of laughter, your teasing voice.
his favorite thing in the world as of late.
you who has him smitten with infatuation, unable to get you off his mind no matter how much he tries. you who never gives him the answer he wants but never pushes him away either. you who makes him feel like a pathetic loser, you who makes him want to try as many times as he can to win your heart.
"it's a gift," he quickly improvises, wanting you to accept it, of getting a chance to give you something. "you're gifting me a blush?" you question and it throws him off, blush?,"wait, it's not a lipgloss— i, i had no idea, i have never—" riki swears, he really had no clue,"bought makeup?" he nods and it makes you burst into a fit of laughter again. it warms his heart, leaning against his car and watching you with eyes that speak volumes of his feelings.
feelings that anyone could notice, anyone but you.
he lets you revel in his silly naivety, content to know you are not longer sad as you were a few days ago.
"now this suits you pretty little face," he says once you seem to calm down, bewildered at his sudden compliment while he walks over to you.
cupping your face and caressing your cheeks,"so pretty," mumbling under his breath, loud enought to reach your ears,"it's boring when you cry, baby," his lips hover over your own as both of your heartbeats pick up in sync, breath getting caught up at the shift in the atmosphere. "let's go on a drive, we'll get you a bunch of pretty glosses to wear for me,"
TAGLIST ( open. ) @kangseulgithegreat @s00buwu @lilyuwon @pockyyasii @nctislifue @ashtxrie @miniature-tragedy @jayujus @brachives @thoughtsmeander2tumblingblindly @eeunoia @nxzz-skz @shawnyle @potato0579 @enhastolemyheart @ro-diaries @aaa-sia @okwonyo @snoopypupp @enhabooks @jjunae @criminalyun
#enhypen imagines#k-labels#SOMEONE PLEASE HELP ME GET INSIDE HEESEUNG'S SCENARIO#the way i changed riki's part like five times ㅠㅠ#enhypen reactions#enhypen headcanons#enhypen drabbles#enhypen fluff#enhypen soft hours#enhypen soft thoughts#enhypen heeseung imagines#enhypen jay imagines#enhypen jake imagines#enhypen sunghoon imagines#enhypen sunoo imagines#enhypen jungwon imagines#enhypen niki imagines#divider by saradika graphics
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only one bed room
summary: it's the sdc and everyone's staying over at ramshackle but, oh no! you're one room and one bed short. being the generous (or gullible) soul that you are, you agree to share
characters: all sdc competitors, separate
additional info: fair warning I have no replayed book 5 in a while, reader is yuu, reader is gender neutral, rook is rook, most scenarios end in cuddles. can be interpreted as romantic or platonic (nix vil and rook's part)
Deuce Spade
"I don't mind sleeping on the floor!"
it's a big fat no from Vil. waking up sore and tired is unacceptable, and will affect his performance during practice. he will use the bed, end of story.
you offer to take the floor or one of the many stiff and uncomfortable couches in Ramshackle, but he refuses
what kind of aspiring honor student would he be if he kicked you out of your own room?
so, yes, you end up sharing the bed
he's a perfect gentleman about it
he insists on sleeping on the complete opposite end of the bed
to give you your space, of course
not because he's nervous
obviously it doesn't pan out- he's kind of a messy sleeper, and on the first night you wake up with him sprawled on top of you
you decide not to wake him up
you'd been thinking about saving for a weighted blanket, anyway
Ace Trappola
"you better not hog the blankets,"
takes it like a champ, though he might be screaming internally
he already sleeps in a dorm with three other guys- this can't be any different, right?
it totally is
sharing a bed with someone? someone he likes, who he isn't just forced to live with for convenience?
he's not sure how to tease you about this one without coming off as nervous himself
so he just shuts his trap about it (for once) and accepts his fate
in the end, it's no big deal for a player like him
he ends up hogging the blankets, though. hypocrite.
Kalim al-Asim
"YAYYY SLEEPOVER!"
he means exactly what he says
not a care in the world
all he's thinking about is how fun this is going to be! just him and his favorite Ramshackle prefect (Grim heard the news and will be staying in deuce's room to avoid any cracker mishaps)
Kalim, admittedly, is not a creature of great thought. he tends to be dictated by his feelings, and he can be a little selfish sometimes
so when Jamil pulled him aside and asked him to just buy another bed for ramshackle, he ignored him entirely
why would he do that? the situation is resolved, and everyone's happy!
well... not everyone, but Kalim's happy!
he stocks up on Vil-approved snacks, insists you two braid each other's hair and stay up late into the night talking with no one to remind you to go to sleep
(he tried to invite Jamil and got the door slammed in his face)
this arrangement lasts approximately one night
when Vil sees the dark circles under your eyes, it's over
you are confined to the couch, and Kalim is forced to sleep alone
Jamil Viper
"okay,"
really. he's totally fine with it.
besides the fact that he doesn't want to cause any more trouble, he's shared beds with his siblings before. no big deal
he just wasn't expecting to wake up with you snuggled against him
but this is fine
totally fine
he's barely conscious and it's early morning, still dark, the time he's used to getting up at
Vil has things covered, right? he can stay here for a little while longer. it would be awkward trying to get up without waking you
it feels nice having something all to himself for once
he smirks, imagining how jealous everyone else would be:
the beautiful, kind, intelligent ramshackle prefect in his arms? oh, the looks on their faces would almost make this whole thing worth it!
but in the end, he decides to say nothing
he wants to keep you all to himself, after all
for just a little while longer
Epel Felmier
"ain't no way I'm sharing!"
that's what he says in his head, anyway. but it's late and he's worn out from practice (and being shouted at) so he just sighs and accepts his fate
of course Vil would make him do it. it's probably because he's the smallest, isn't it?
you can tell he's unhappy with the arrangement (not that he's making much of a secret of it- he's grumbling under his breath all evening)
he starts coming around to the idea when he wakes up holding something warm
his heart jumpstarts and he nearly panics before remembering where he is
and then he realizes the thing he's holding is... you. somehow the two of you had ended up spooning during the night
but, more importantly... he's the big spoon!
he's almost tempted to wake you to announce that he, in all his manly glory, had naturally assumed the most masculine cuddling position!
(yes he sounds ridiculous. just let him have this one)
he lets you sleep, though. just a little more won't hurt anyone, right?
he's okay with the arrangement after that
Rook Hunt
"I will do it!"
Vil isn't even able to finish his sentence before the vice housewarden is practically jumping up and down
pretty much everyone breathes a collective sigh of relief; a volunteer! thank the sevens. otherwise, this could get awkward...
of course, he quite intentionally ends up with you in his arms
but not for any nefarious purpose, he insists!
he's a light sleeper, and can be stirred by any sudden noise or movement
you appeared to be having some kind of nightmare
it reminds him of a small animal caught in a trap, struggling for its life. he can't bear to see it- it's cruel to let a poor creature go on suffering before you can make the kill
of course, instead of killing you (thank the sevens), he decides to comfort you
he presses your head against his chest so you can hear his heartbeat, and he runs his fingers through your hair until you calm down.
then he keeps you there, just to be sure you don't have another bad dream
if you gave him permission, he would gladly be all over you in seconds. kissing up and down your shoulders, caressing every perfect inch of your body, whispering words of admiration
but he's perfectly content just cradling you for now
hopefully, you will continue to have these nightmares and give him excuses to do this again
Vil Schoenheit
"don't argue with me,"
initially, you just gave him the bed
maybe you were afraid of him; maybe you like him; maybe you just wanted to avoid a conflict altogether
either way, you spent the first night on the terribly uncomfortable floor, and trudged through Ramshackle like a zombie the next morning
Vil was feeling guilty watching you
what? he's not a monster
and he's a leader, which means he has a responsibility. and you had so graciously invited them all into your home...
fine! he'll share. he insists, even
when you try to argue, he shuts you down, repeating all that stuff about responsibility and hospitality, blah blah
and he doesn't want the team manager dead on their feet
arguing with him is pointless, so you just agree
he wakes up with you against him, sleeping peacefully
now, if it were you clinging to him- he might have had a good chuckle. can't keep your hands to yourself, prefect? I'm just that irresistible?
but the way he's holding you, the way his arms are so tightly wrapped around your waist, the way he's so clearly pressing you against him...
he hates to admit it, but you're an elegant sleeper. it's almost cute
the tension is relieved from your face, your breathing graceful and steady, and your perfect lips open just a sliver...
he is a perfect gentleman, and would never dream of doing anything without your explicit permission, but for one shameful second he thinks about how easy it would be to kiss you
... and then he quickly puts those thoughts aside and tries to get back to sleep
he doesn't want any dark circles, after all
#twst x reader#twisted wonderland x reader#lies down. forever#ace trappola x reader#deuce spade x reader#kalim al asim x reader#jamil viper x reader#epel felmier x reader#rook hunt x reader#vil schoenheit x reader
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✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。PRINCESS — GETO SUGURU.
contents. non curse! au, dad! suguru, mom + fem! reader, reader is referred to as “mommy” and “wife,” life with your daughters nanako and mimiko <3, embarrassingly self-indulgent once again
suguru is prideful—you have to hold back a giggle as he gives you a short glare, unwilling to back down.
“it looks good,” he grumbles. you’re not sure if he’s trying to convince you or himself. “it’s great. stop being a jerk. the girls worked hard.”
“of course,” you nod, biting back a grin, “you look lovely. your hair’s never been better.”
“i can hear the laughter in your voice,” he accuses.
“i’m not laughing!”
he raises a brow, and you can’t help it. you giggle. his hair is positively ruined—there are knots and tangles and clips everywhere. you don’t know where one nest of hair starts and where the other ends. everything is everywhere at once and suguru….well, suguru is trying to convince himself this is okay.
it’s for his girls, he reminds himself—anything for his girls.
“you just laughed,” he mutters, looking into the mirror. his eyes are alarmed, but for pride’s sake, he throws on a carefree look as he shrugs. “i look like their princess. they said so themselves.”
“well, i’ll give you a point for sweetest dad ever,” you hum, pulling out a loose clip. “but i deduct five points for falling asleep on watch duty.”
you come home from work and find a sleeping suguru at the foot of the couch with two toddlers hunched over his shoulders, working diligently at his hair. it’s cute—the way he looks as he sleeps peacefully, the way they look as they giggle and twist strands of dark hair with their small fingers. it’s heartwarming and makes you want to keep the moment frozen for just a bit longer.
but then you realize that irresponsibly, suguru has fallen asleep with two toddlers in the house—one of which (you eye a certain blonde) is a bit of a troublemaker.
“negative four?” he gasps, wounded.
“negative four,” you affirm, shaking your head in disappointment.
“i couldn’t help it,” he pouts, “it’s soothing having two sets of hands play with your hair.”
“well, good luck getting this mess out of your hair,” you chuckle, turning to step out of the bathroom—but suguru is quick. his hand snatches your wrist as soon as you take a step.
“hang on,” he tugs, pulling you back in, “you’ve gotta help me with this.”
“i thought you said it was fine,” you raise a brow, “it shouldn’t be much trouble.”
“i haven’t see you all day,” he insists, “can’t i have a relaxing shower with my wife as she washes my hair?”
“i showered this morning. see you after yours though—”
“okay fine,” he deflates, rolling his eyes as he looks off to the side, “this is….gonna take a while to fix.”
you grin victoriously. suguru grumbles under his breath.
“alright,” you poke his cheek with a satisfied smirk, “i’ll help you. if you say pretty please.”
——————
“daddy you changed your hair,” nanako whines in despair as soon as suguru steps out of the bathroom. you stifle a giggle as he looks down at her in alarm.
“sweetheart, daddy just had to shower and—”
“maybe he didn’t like it,” mimiko mumbles quietly from the side. her voice is glum—and like the doting mother you are, your smile drops as you feel your heart ache.
“what? that’s not true!” suguru sputters, “i loved it! mommy loved it too, right?”
the two girls turn to look at you—and because you have long realized that motherhood is the gracefulness of putting your children’s feelings above all else, even if it means lying straight through your teeth, you nod with exaggerated vigor.
“of course!” you say enthusiastically, “it was so unique! i’ve never seen daddy look so….pretty.”
suguru shoots you an unimpressed look as you bite your lip in amusement.
“he was a princess!” nanako brightens, a happy smile erupting over her lips. suguru grins as he melts, pinching the soft flesh of her cheek gently with a low hum.
“i was,” he nods, “wasn’t i beautiful?”
“oh, yeah,” you snort, “way too beautiful—you might dethrone me.”
“mommy we can make you a princess too—”
“who wants dinner?” you cut mimiko off quickly, smiling through the panic, “i bet everyone’s hungry!”
“me!” nanako raises her hand enthusiastically and you sigh in relief—crisis successfully averted. but only for now, you suppose. the devious look suguru gives you tells you this won’t be the last time the suggestion is offered to you.
“what a shame,” suguru sighs dramatically, “i wanted to see you all dolled up. maybe next time.”
and then he reaches down and pulls both girls into his arms, filling the room with giggles as he nibbles on their cheeks affectionately and saunters off to the dinner table. you can’t help but smile softly as you watch his retreating figure—suguru was made for fatherhood, you think, he fills the role so effortlessly.
and then….you hear a thump and a hissed curse under his breath in the distance.
“mommy, daddy said a bad word!” nanako calls, earning a panicked no i didn’t! from your husband. “now he’s lying,” she adds.
well….no one said he was perfect.
i just know nanako is simultaneously a daddy’s girl who also rats him out and tattles 24/7 bc she thinks it’s funny when he gets in trouble
#teepods.writings#drabbles.#geto x reader#geto x y/n#geto x you#geto fluff#jjk x reader#jjk x you#jjk fluff#geto suguru x reader#geto suguru x you#geto suguru fluff#jujutsu kaisen x you#jujutsu kaisen fluff#jujutsu kaisen x reader
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so how about toji and y/n go to a game together and end up on kiss cam oooooo 🎀🎀🎀
꩜ cw : short fic, fluff, kisses, basically a relationship announcement to the whole world
toji has once again dragged you out to one of these basketball games he loves so much. you for one, do not care about basketball one bit, you think it’s boring and find yourself trying not to fall asleep when toji watches it on television.
so there you are, sitting in the crowd next toji, looking at your nails while toji drinks a cup of beer in typical sport fan fashion. it was halftime, so the crowd’s cheers and volume had died down a bit. until now.
you hear cheering and you look up, mildly uninterested but still curious as to what’s happening. you look around. and then you look at the big plasma screen.
on display is you and toji, in two love hearts, with the title “KISSCAM”.
your eyes widen. how did they even know you’d both be here? you tried so hard to keep a low profile.
when the audience seems to recognise who you both are, the screams and shouts only grew louder, pressuring you both to kiss.
you sigh and turn to toji, who’s already looking at you. he tilts his head. you looked so nervous despite being a famous actress and you clearly don’t want to do any major PDA right now, so he just leans down and pecks your cheek. you bite your lip, looking down shyly at your hands.
the crows woos a little, disappointed in the lack of making out but they move on.
you sit back, relieved that the attention is no longer on you both.
you celebrated too soon.
five minutes later, the kisscam is back on the two of you, urging you both to kiss with your lips.
“oh brother..” toji huffs, scratching the back of his head and turns to you. “y’know we can always leave.”
“nah, it’s fine.” clearing your throat, patience wearing thin. “it’s just a little kiss. not a big deal.”
you sit up and kiss his cheek and toji looks a little shocked, but tries to shrug it off by smugly nodding and smirking. you roll your eyes and smack his shoulder. the crowd cheers and the camera goes onto another couples to terrorise, but everyone still wants you both to kiss.
then, near the end of the half time, the kisscam is on you and toji again. but now your patience is all dried up, these people are annoying you, the crowd is too loud and this game is boring.
toji starts shaking his head at the camera. “yeah, i don’t think-��
“c’mere.” you demand firmly, grabbing toji by the back of his head and pressing you lips onto his. toji almost jolts but then just accepts your unexpected advance.
the crowd screaming and cheering louder this time, finally satisfied with the blatant display of affection.
you pull away, out of breath and annoyed.
“you happy now?!” you ask, shouting to the camera. “gosh.”
toji sits with beer in hand, flabbergasted, face pink and hair askew. he smiles, nodding happily and looking around raising his eyebrows, making sure everybody saw what just transpired and sits back in his seat, waiting for the game to start again.
a/n: 🥸
#actor!toji#actress!reader#toji x reader#toji x you#toji x y/n#toji x self insert#toji fluff#toji fushiguro x reader#toji fushiguro x you#toji fushiguro x y/n#toji fushiguro fluff#toji zenin x reader#toji zenin x you#🌕.toji drabble
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