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theonottsbxtch · 4 months ago

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SERVE | MV1

an: im finally posting all my flipping requests - im sorry ive taken so long but expect me to be more active in the next month ish. i was working on this novel and ive finally finished my first draft so ill be able to write more on here ehehe

wc: 2.2k

The air inside Rod Laver Arena buzzed with anticipation. The crowd roared as she raised her arms in victory, another match won with the kind of effortless dominance that had long cemented her as the best in the world. Cameras flashed, reporters murmured, but she barely heard any of it. Her eyes scanned the stands, searching—until she found him.

Max stood near the players’ box, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket, his posture casual but his eyes locked onto hers. He always watched her like that. Like she was the only thing in the world.

She barely remembered handing her racquet to the ball kid or shaking hands with her opponent. One minute she was on the baseline, and the next, she was pushing through the crowd, past the security barriers, straight to him.

"Didn’t think you’d make it," she murmured, her voice just loud enough for him to hear over the noise.

Max smirked, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Miss one of your matches? Not a chance.”

Up close, she saw the exhaustion in the lines around his mouth, the tension in his jaw. The media had been relentless again, and she knew how much he hated it—not for himself, but for the way it always seemed to drag her into the mess, too.

"Yeah?" She arched a brow, fingers sliding into the collar of his jacket, tugging him a fraction closer. "Even with half the press calling you a liability?"

His breath hitched for a second. Only she could do that to him. "Thought you liked liabilities."

"I do," she said, lips curling into the smirk that drove interviewers mad. "You’re my favourite one."

Max let out a breath, the tension in his shoulders loosening just enough for her to notice. He tilted his head slightly, the corner of his mouth twitching up. “Didn’t know I was in a ranking system.”

She hummed, fingertips brushing against the fine fabric of his jacket. “You’re the only one in it.”

The crowd was still buzzing around them, the cameras snapping relentlessly, but none of it mattered. Not when she was looking at him like that—sharp eyes softening, the mask she wore for the world slipping just enough for him to see the girl he’d loved since they were fifteen.

She gave his jacket one last tug before stepping back. “Come with me.”

Max followed without hesitation, slipping through the tunnels of the stadium with practiced ease. He’d done this a hundred times before, dodging reporters and staff, but this time, the weight of the last few weeks clung to him like a second skin.

She led him into the players’ lounge, where the air was thick with the scent of sweat and freshly cut fruit. The moment the door shut behind them, she turned to face him.

“What’s going on?” she asked, arms crossing over her chest. She wasn’t just talking about the press. She never had to spell it out for him—she always just knew.

Max exhaled, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “Same old shit.”

She frowned. “Your dad again?”

His silence was answer enough.

She muttered something under her breath, a sharp curse that made him smirk despite himself. “How bad?”

Max leaned against the nearest table, arms bracing on the surface. “Bad enough that I had to turn off my phone for a few days.” He scoffed, shaking his head. “He’s got the press eating out of his hand. Telling them I’ll never be good enough, that I’m holding you back, that you—”

“Stop,” she said firmly, stepping between his legs. Her hands rested on his chest, grounding him. “You know none of that is true.”

He swallowed, the heat of her touch chasing away the cold grip of doubt. “Yeah,” he murmured. “I know.”

She studied him for a moment, then—without warning—took his face in her hands and pressed a kiss to his jaw, right at the spot she knew made his breath hitch.

“Good,” she said against his skin. “Because I’m not wasting my time defending you to a bunch of idiots when I could be kissing you instead.”

Max let out a breathless laugh, arms wrapping around her waist, pulling her in. “Now that,” he murmured, “is the best thing I’ve heard all day.”

She grinned, fingers threading through his hair. “Then shut up and let me keep talking.”

And for the first time in weeks, Max let himself forget everything else—because when he was with her, the rest of the world didn’t matter.

He barely had time to smirk before she pulled him down, her lips pressing against his with the kind of urgency that made his head spin.

It was always like this with them—sharp words and sharper minds for the cameras, but when they were alone, none of that mattered. She kissed him like she needed it, like he was the only thing keeping her grounded, and he clung to that feeling like a lifeline.

His hands slid to her waist, fingers curling into the fabric of her tennis kit as he pulled her closer. She sighed against his mouth, tilting her head to deepen the kiss, and he felt it—the tension in his chest finally breaking, giving way to something softer, something that only existed between them.

Her fingers tangled in his hair, nails scratching lightly against his scalp, and Max groaned low in his throat. “You’re going to kill me,” he murmured against her lips.

She smirked. “That’s the plan.”

She kissed him again, slower this time, like she wanted to take her time undoing him completely—

A sharp knock on the door shattered the moment.

“Hey! Media in five minutes,” a voice called through the wood.

Max exhaled heavily, forehead dropping against hers as she let out a quiet groan. “I hate media,” she muttered.

“I hate media more,” he said, brushing his nose against hers.

She pulled back slightly, giving him a look. “Yeah, well, you don’t have to sit in a room for half an hour pretending to care what they think.”

He smirked, thumb tracing slow circles against her hip. “True. But you could just skip it. Tell them you got caught up with something important.”

She arched a brow. “And what would that be?”

Max grinned. “Me.”

She huffed a laugh, pressing one last kiss to the corner of his mouth before stepping back. “Tempting,” she said, smoothing her hair down. “But if I start skipping media obligations for you, they’ll start calling you a bad influence again.”

“They already do.”

She shot him a knowing look as she grabbed a water bottle from the nearby table. “Yeah, but if I do it, it’ll be true.”

Max shook his head, watching her with something caught between admiration and amusement. Even after all these years, she still had him completely wrapped around her finger.

As she reached for the door handle, she turned back to him, her expression softening just slightly. “You’ll be here when I get back?”

Max leaned back against the table, arms crossing over his chest. “Where else would I be?”

She held his gaze for a second longer before nodding. Then she was gone, the door clicking shut behind her.

And just like that, the noise of the world came rushing back in.

The press room was packed, cameras flashing as she took her seat at the table. The moderator gave the usual spiel about keeping questions respectful—not that anyone ever listened.

She took a sip from her water bottle, already anticipating the first round of questions. It was the same every time—something about her form, something about her rivals, and, inevitably, something about Max.

"Rough start to the match today," one reporter said, leaning forward. "Do you think the outside distractions are finally catching up with you?"

She raised a brow. "What distractions?"

The reporter cleared his throat. "Well, there’s been a lot of talk about Max and the negative press surrounding him. Some would argue that having a partner in the spotlight—especially one facing so much criticism—might be… well, holding you back."

The room went quiet. She felt her jaw tighten, fingers curling around the bottle in her hands.

Slowly, she tilted her head. "And how many titles do you have?"

The reporter blinked, caught off guard. "Uh—what?"

She leaned forward slightly, voice smooth as silk. "How many Grand Slam titles do you have?"

The man stammered. "I—I don’t play tennis."

"Right," she said, nodding. "And how many Formula One World Championships do you have?"

He opened his mouth, then shut it.

She smiled. "That’s what I thought."

A few people in the room stifled laughs, and even the moderator looked like he was holding back a smirk.

"Next question," she said easily, taking another sip of water.

And just like that, the subject was closed.

Max was still in the players’ lounge, leaning back on the worn leather sofa, one arm slung over the back as he scrolled through his phone. The live stream of her press conference was playing on the screen, but he already knew where this was going the second some smug reporter brought him up.

The question was barely out of the guy’s mouth before Max’s jaw clenched.

He knew the narrative well—he was the distraction, the liability, the one holding her back. It didn’t matter that she was literally the best in the world, that she had more Grand Slams to her name than most players could dream of. Somehow, the press always found a way to twist things back to him.

But then she hit the guy with that line.

"And how many titles do you have?"

Max sat up a little straighter, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

The poor bastard stammered.

"How many Formula One World Championships do you have?"

Max barked out a laugh, running a hand over his mouth. The entire room went silent, and then the barely contained amusement from some of the other journalists? Yeah, that was the cherry on top.

The guy had nothing. She knew it. The entire press room knew it.

And Max? He definitely knew it.

His phone started blowing up instantly—his teammate, a few other drivers, even his PR manager, all sending messages ranging from laughing emojis to "I owe her a drink for that one."

Max just shook his head, watching as she casually took a sip of her water, completely unbothered.

"That’s my girl," he muttered under his breath, grinning.

Because if the world wanted to come for him? Fine. He could take it. He always had.

But her? She was untouchable.

And she’d just reminded everyone exactly why.

The door swung open with a little too much force, slamming against the wall as she strode into the room. Max barely had a second to react before she was yanking her kit bag from the chair and stuffing things into it with sharp, irritated movements.

He smirked to himself, pushing off the couch. Oh, she was fuming.

"That good, huh?" he teased, leaning against the doorframe.

She shot him a glare before aggressively zipping up her bag. "They’re so annoying, Max. Every bloody time. Do I look like I need a press room full of middle-aged men questioning my priorities?"

Max bit back a laugh. He’d seen her mad before—at bad calls, at opponents, at losing a set she should’ve won—but this? This was entertaining.

He crossed the room in two strides, slipping behind her just as she reached for her jacket. His arms looped around her waist, pulling her back against his chest, right in front of the floor-length mirror.

"Baby, baby," he murmured, pressing his chin to her shoulder, "calm down."

She huffed, but her hands instinctively came to rest over his on her stomach. "Calm down?" she repeated, tilting her head slightly. "Do you know how much I want to throw a racquet at that guy’s face?"

Max grinned, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to the side of her face. "I’d pay to see that."

She exhaled sharply, the tension in her body loosening just slightly. Max knew her too well—knew exactly how to disarm her with just a touch, a whisper, a perfectly timed kiss.

She caught his gaze in the mirror, and that sharp frustration softened into something playful. A wicked little idea flickered across her face.

"Give me your phone," she said suddenly.

Max raised a brow. "Why?"

She turned in his arms, holding out her hand expectantly. "Just give it."

He sighed dramatically but dug it out of his pocket, placing it in her palm. She unlocked it easily—of course she knew his passcode—and tapped into Instagram.

Max watched as she flipped the camera to the mirror, angling it so both of them were in frame. His arms were still around her, his face pressed into the side of hers, a lazy grin tugging at his lips.

She snapped the picture, typed something quickly, then handed the phone back.

Max glanced at the screen. His feed refreshed. And there it was—his screen now showing her latest post:

"7 titles, 4 WDC & 2 WCC."

His brows lifted before a slow, proud smirk spread across his face.

"You little menace," he murmured, kissing the side of her head again.

She grinned. "Let’s see them try to talk shit now."

Max chuckled, slipping his phone back into his pocket before tightening his arms around her. "This is why I love you," he muttered.

She sighed, leaning into him. "Yeah, yeah. Now take me to dinner before I have to cuss someone out again."

Max just laughed, grabbing her bag and slinging an arm around her as they headed out—because that? That was the easiest request he’d had all day.

the end.

taglist: @alexisquinnlee-bc @carlossainzapologist @oikarma @obxstiles @verstappenf1lecccc @hzstry8 @dying-inside-but-its-classy @anamiad00msday @linnygirl09 @mastermindbaby @iamred-iamyellow @isaadore

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ily-sunghoon · 10 months ago

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The Omen of Sterling | ENHYPEN

Pairing : vampire!enhypen x fem!oc

Genre : vampire, kingdom, reverse harem <3, fluff, angst, smut on some chapters

Summary : The name Sterling hits like thunder for the royal bloodlines. Sterling is the most dangerous vampire family throughout the ages. After they left Krashoviel due to their sweet human daughter, twenty-one years later the same daughter came back for help... or the omen that Cairneyes warned the others about.

WARNINGS : mdni, heavy content, deep world building (i went kinda crazy), blood, murder, manipulation, gaslighting, toxic behavior, curses, religious theme mentioned sometimes, obsessive, (more to add later). DO NOT PROCEED if uncomfortable

Disclaimer : THIS IS PURE FICTION, ALL THE BEHAVIORS OF MY CHARACTERS ARE NOT RELATED TO ENHYPEN REAL MEMBERS AT ALL!

Note : hi, guys. i finally contribute to the enhablr community by publishing this old draft that i wrote years ago. it was inspired by one of my loooong dream that i had on christmas eve night back then in 2020. i decided to stick on the original names that i have for them. all the fem characters doesn't have any face claims, i leave them to your imaginations. some random male idols might appear in the future as relatives/enemy/friends. without further do, meet the characters and i hope you guys enjoy!

CHAPTERS — PROLOGUE CHAPTER I CHAPTER II CHAPTER III CHAPTER IV

Introduction to our vampires:

Jestel Sinflame

/jé-ssel/ 299 years old — The rightful crown prince of Krashoviel. Choosing peace over war right now (living under the same roof as his brother-like best friends rather than in the sucking dry and toxic castle). A little bit classist like his family, Sinflame, except towards Ricardo, who he saw the potential of that kid himself. His parents died during the Red War and now he’s trying his hardest to contact his brother, Holstein, who also got lost in the war.

Sarco Phelanflame

/sár-ko/ 288 years old — Phelanflame has always been the first row at wars. They’re the leader of the soldiers. Very strong since birth with a little sadistic tendency. Their personality is cold, much colder than the other vampires around Krashoviel. If not cold, they’re always a little bit of an oddball. All the elders in his family were deceased during the last war. Now, Phelanflame only has three members, including Sarco and his two other cousins.

Ricardo Nikolai

/ree-kár-do/ 20 years old — Came from an orphanage, Ricardo is a third-class vampire in Krashoviel. He got lucky because Jestel and Sarco saw his potential while visiting his orphanage, they took him home and gave him all the facilities he needed. Ricardo likes to play fight with almost everybody, but his favorite activity to do is disturbing Jusarlie’s peace.

Jasper

/jæs-per/ approximately 23 years old — A new vamp who was found in the woods during their monthly patrolling. No one knows about his background, he lost his memory, so they named him Jasper.

Saine Cairneye

/sāin/ 201 years old — Grandson of the current Queen on the throne. His mother died during the war. The Cairneye bloodline is in charge of magick, witchcraft, astrology, omen, and so on. Their current job is reading people intentions and possible-futures with their crazy personality tests. They are blessed with good physical appearance, and all of them look like elves. They have a silly little hobby, which is accidentally having a vision that scares the royal family a.k.a Sinflame!

Jusarlie Grieffang

/jou-sār-lee/ 297 years old — Grieffang, the fang of Krashoviel. They are the greatest strategists and professors, Grieffang is one of the keys of Krashoviel’s endless winning of wars. They’re still relatives with Sinflame. Jusarlie is Jestel’s distant nephew, though their age gap is not far. Rival kingdoms tried to kidnap and use Grieffangs against Krashoviel during their wars, but it was no use, Grieffangs are loyal and far smarter than them. Plenty of them are still alive after the wars along with Sinflames.

Hiael Von Ruden

/heeæl/ 314 years old — His original nation is Slevado, Hiael was a crown prince. He turned his back after the Red War, and it creates a huge controversy. He is now working under Jestel’s command and is currently busy training Jasper. He’s reserved, calm, to the point where it becomes scary rather than comforting for his surroundings. No one knows what is on his mind, but for Jestel, as long as he has made a blood pact then he’s good.

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kisblle · 2 months ago

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Dark Paradise IV

Pairing: Low Honor Arthur Morgan x female reader

Part One Part Two Part Three

Word Count: 7,396

Summary: You're reminded that happiness doesn't last forever, especially with Arthur Morgan.

Tags: Heavy angst, pnv, toxic relationship, smut, porn with plot, 18+, MDNI

Author's note: Sorry this took longer than usual to get out, I really wanted to perfect this one because I've had this chapter and the next in my drafts since I got on Tumblr, I just decided to merge it into this story line. Also life has just been so draining lately with my new job and all, I make a lot of money, but at what cost? I feel like I have little time for enjoyable things nowadays.

In a steady, unrelenting rhythm, Arthur moves inside you - again and again. His sweat slicked skin sticks to yours with each powerful thrust, droplets rolling down from his forhead not only from the intensity of your bodies merging, but from the thick, humid air that laces the land of Lemoyne.

He looks down at you gorgeous, wild, and undone. Naked as the day you were born, your hair sprawling like a halo across a patch of shaded grass on the bank of Ringneck Creek. Your breasts bare to the breeze, your warmth wrapped around him, pulling him deeper. The green hues of the grass blend beautifully with the glow of your skin, your eyes telling him everything.

Just the two of you, naked and untamed, lost in the wilderness like creatures meant to mate under open skies. Feral. Primal. Right. Wild. Just animals ritualistically fucking in nothing but the bodies they were born in.

With one final thrust, his eyes lock on your lip between your teeth. “I - I love you,” he gasps, voice breaking as he reaches his climax, pulling out to spill across your soft, heavy chest. He collapses beside you moments later, the earth cool beneath his back, breath catching in his throat as he stares up at the blue sky broken up by branches swaying in the soft wind above him.

Had he really just said that?

Your stomach flips for a moment before he exhales slowly, still smiling, before turning on his side to face you. You wanted to say it back, say those three little, enchanting words as he stares at you completely spent. But something had stopped you. The nerves maybe, or the way he had said it almost too casually, like it had slipped out by accident. But soon, you're not even sure why you're arguing with yourself. The moment fades, lost in the way his lips curve into that boyish grin. He doesn’t bring it up again, and either do you. But those three little words still hang at the end of your tongue, waiting for just the right moment to say them back.

“Lucky no one saw us,” he mutters with a chuckle, breaking you out of your daze. Without thought, he lifts up his hand and scratches his day old stubble before resting his hand on your thigh.

You arch a brow with wide eyes, “You said this was some secret spot you found?”

Arthur laughs, running a hand through his messy hair as he glances toward the pond that curls off the creek. He just laughs, “It's actually a real popular fishin' spot Javier showed me some time ago."

“You bastard.” You purse your lips, pressing a hand to your chest to try and protect your non-extistant modesty as you scan the nearby grass for your discarded dress.

But Arthur only grins wider. Catching your hand before gently pulling you back onto his lap, your bare body melting into him. “C’mon,” he groans softly. “Let’s enjoy it a bit longer. Take a swim? Cool down?”

And when you look into those deep pools of blue when he smiles at you with that chipped tooth grin - it’s damn near impossible to say no.

He holds you bridal style in his broad arms, standing up as he walks to the creek bank, wading in slowly before the sting of the cold pond water hits your bottom, and in a second he drops you from his arms. The chill of water making your nipples peak, catching the attention a a certain pair of wandering blue eyes.

It felt like living inside a storybook, a fairytale you never expected to be part of.

It hadn’t been long since Clemen’s Point, maybe a month and a half, but in that short time, Arthur had done his best to keep the promises he'd made to you. He cared for you in every way he said he would. Steadily and real, like he had promised.

When Sean died, he didn’t pull away like you'd feared. He held you close instead, comforted you not just with touch, but with presence and support.

And then, as the gang's luck soured further, Shady Belle became the saving grace that everyone had needed.

For the first time in what felt like forever, life had rhythm. You were still on chore duty most days, same as always, but Jack was home and safe, and the boys were mostly just laying low. A robbery here, a stagecoach there - even a fancy party hosted by some Brönte guy you knew little about. And for once, everything felt right. Right in a way your godforsaken life rarely allowed.

Maybe it had taken Arthur nearly dying to shake something loose, to snap the both of you into reality. At first, you kept yourself guarded, unsure whether to give him all of you. But slowly, in the quietest ways, you began to trust him.

Falling asleep in his bed. Riding along on his little side quests. The way he actually looked at you like he liked you - needed you, even.

It was such a stark contrast from the months before, it almost felt like he’d turned into someone entirely new, but not new, just changed. His rough edges were still there, his sharp tongue and occasional arrogance - but all of it felt familiar now. Manageable. Nothing you hadn’t already endured.

Arthur smiles as he lowers himself into the water, vanishing beneath the surface for just a breath before rising again, water trickling down his chest and stubble. He gives himself a quick, careless rinse - splashing under his arms, through his light facial hair, and even lifting the girth of himself to splash down there too...his version a bath apparently.

You roll your eyes before dipping lower, letting the cool pond water wash his spend from your body. The tips of your long hair dance across the surface before dipping beneath the waterline, the cool sensation absolutely heavenly against the humidity. You fall into the moment, letting the cool water baptize your skin, letting each curve of your body fall to refreshing sensation.

That is until a strong, wet hand seizes your arm and yanks you up with a jolt.

“Arthur!” you snap, voice sharp with surprise.

“Shhh,” he hisses quickly. “Someone’s comin’. Go hide behind that oak, I’ll grab our stuff.”

Without a second thought, you scramble from the water, feet slipping in the grass as you make for the tree. Behind you, Arthur snatches your disgarded dress with one hand and the rest of his belongings in the other. And just as he fumbles behind the large oak, two men mosey down the creek with fishing poles resting on their shoulders.

They’re too far to see anything crude, but Arthur is still smiling like he's gotten away with murder. Which he has....several times. The cowboy lets out a soft chuckle as you rip your dress out of his hands and quickly slip it over your slicked body, the fabric catching on your curved body from the droplets of water still scattered across your frame. The dress is all that hides you - no bloomers, no chemise, just the thin cloth of light blue dress, one that nearly matches the soft glow of Arthur Morgan's delicate eyes.

“That was a close one,” he laughs, pulling his corduroys over his bare hips, reaching down his fly to adjust his member as he smiles at you with a toothy grin.

Your lips purse under a furrowed brow as he buttons his pants, his eyes not leaving you as he reaches for your hips to pull you close. In a swift motion he pins you to the tree, locking his lips to yours as you wrap your legs around his frame. Wild and free.

You swear there’s a part of him that likes being nearly caught. No matter how much he insists it’s embarrassing, there had been too many close calls for it to just be an accident. Too many actual incidents for you to know that he really doesn't care if he gets caught anyway. Sure there was the incident with Ms. Grimshaw, but that incident with Dutch....that had been too far for you. Yet here he is again, with a grin and flushed cheeks. Like he’s chasing the thrill of being seen out in the open with you, doing something utterly vulgar with two sets of unknowing eyes just a few yards away.

Still, he doesn't care.

It's several minutes before his mouth leave yours, your lips sore and red from how he curls around you. He drops you to your feet, all smiles before he places two fingers between his lips, eyes still focused on you; whistling for that damn nag of his

By the time you and Arthur return to Shady Belle, the sun dips low behind the moss covered trees. The air is still thick, but the worst of the heat had passed. Your heart is still heavy and your mind still swollen frome those three little words he had said to you just a few hours ago - but you try and act like you hadn’t even heard them. Arthur dismounts his nag first, then takes you by the waist and lifts you down gently - hand lingering just a second too long as he palms your ass with a firm, deliberate squeeze.

You swat at him, “Oh, stop it,” you scold with a soft laugh, stepping ahead of him with your head turned over your shoulder.

He doesn’t apologize, just watches you walk away with a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth, like he knows exactly who you belong to. Like he enjoys annoying you.

But the tender moment is short lived.

“Arthur,” a familiar voice calls out.

It’s Hosea, standing at the edge of the bridge, tipping his hat as you pass. Then his eyes settle on Arthur. “Mind if we have a chat?”

Arthur’s gaze flickers to you, almost as if he's asking for your permission. You turn over your shoulder with a smile, still not used to the way he's become almost so attached he doesn't want to leave your side. But with a raised brow, you smile. “I’m gonna find Mary-Beth.” Excusing yourself into camp without another word.

Arthur watches you walk away for a few beats too long, dazy smile resting on his face. Utterly hyptonitized by the way your hips swing back and forth, turned on knowing there was nothing beneath that dress of yours.

But Hosea’s already walking, motioning with his head toward the small dock poking out near the Lannahechee River.

The gunslinger follows, completely ignorant to whatever Hosea plans to chat about - his mind still only focused on one thing; you.

“What’s this about?” Arthur asks, half paying attention, half not.

Hosea doesn’t answer right away. Just stares out at the river, at the soft ripples reflecting the light of the dying sun.

“You remember Bessie, Arthur?” Hosea says finally, turning to the outlaw with a wise smile.

The gunslinger is taken aback, but he answers, "How could I forget?"

Hosea chuckles for a moment “Course you do.” His eyes seemingly fogging over like he's trying to recall a distant memory. "I remember when she nearly tossed your entire wardrobe into the Montana, claimed it was too smelly for her to wash."

Arthur lets out a soft humorous exhale, recalling the moment from his boy hood. "Woman knew how to make her point."

Hosea's eyes lose the memory, turning to Arthur with a stiff, serious presence. “I loved her you know." The old man waits a few long seconds before turning his gaze deep into Shady Belle. “And that girl of yours… she make you happy?”

Arthur scratches at his beard, caught off guard by the question. He might have been flaunting you around camp these past two months, sure. But that didn’t mean he wanted to sit around and chat about his relationship with you, especially not with his patriarch.

Still, Arthur follows Hosea’s gaze back toward camp, where your laughter carries from the porch. You’re leaned over with Mary-Beth, face glowing, mouth wide open in pure joy as you hit her arm in amusement.

God, you’re beautiful. You were finally starting to get that glow back you once had before he took it all away from you, all those months ago.

With a soft hum and a smirk he doesn’t even realize he's staring as if he's hyptnotized by your laugh. Shaking himself out of his daze before responding, "she's a fine woman.”

Hosea’s eyes flick back to him in a matter of seconds. “But do you love her?"

Arthur’s caught off guard again, brows furrowing as he tears his gaze from you and focuses back on the older man, his voice sharp and confused. "Now why you askin' me a question like that?"

Hosea just chuckles as he notices his son's discomfort, "Cause she brings out somethin' in you that we'd all thought you lost Arthur."

A line forms between Arthur's brows before Hosea lets out a loud exhale. "You were goin' down a bad path for a while son. We all saw how you treated her back at Horshoe Overlook."

A blush of embarassment creeps onto the cowboys cheeks, knowing Hosea wasn't wrong. But even more, recalling all the unwanted chaos and hurt he'd brought you by his actions, and how embaressed he was that he was even capable of such acts.

"I know," Arthur manages to say, voice low and rough.

"She's a good girl that one. Not like you and me." Hosea goes on, his voice soft but positive. "Reminds me of my Bessie."

The cowboy looks down at the tips of his boots before shaking his head back and forth, only looking back up at Hosea as his lips part. "Now I mean no harm, Hosea," he says, squinting slightly as he hooks his thumbs into the loops of his gunbelt. "But why we talkin' bout this?"

Hosea just shakes his head, turning his gaze back to the setting sun bleeding over the river. "I went to pick up the mail yesterday, Arthur," the older man says, straightening up a bit.

Arthurs lips part, but he doesn't make a sound.

Hosea hesitates, then reaches into his satchel, fingers lingering there a moment longer than necessary. "Now, I know you're a grown man." he says, voice low and rough. "And you don't have to listen to an old fool like me."

Slowly, he pulls out a letter, the edges brushing against his wrinkled fingers. Hosea studies the envelope for a long moment, thumbs gently tracing the smooth paper, as he stares at the handwriting. But finally, his gaze lifts, steady and weighted with meaning. "I'm trustin' you not to hurt that girl again," Hosea says, voice stern with something between caution and warning.

The old man presses the envelope into Arthur’s hands, his touch firm, before throwing him one last hesitant look. And before Arthur could even reply, the patriarch turns and walks away, disseapearing back into the heart of Shady Belle.

Arthur’s eyes drop, shoulders stiff as he stares down at the letter in his hands. That damned pale purple envelope. He doesn’t need to open it to know who it’s from, he’d recognize that messy curl of handwriting anywhere.

Mary Linton.

He sighs, long and tired.

What the hell did she want now?

Part of him wants to rip the thing to shreds and throw it into the river without even opening it. But the other part, the bitter, bruised part of him remembers her voice too well. Remembers that last day in Valentine, the look in her eyes before she stepped onto that train like everything she'd ever gone through was his fault.

And it pisses him off.

But worse.

It makes him curious.

His thumb runs under the wax seal, opening the letter against better judgement. And then he’s reading it, eyes skimming over Mary Linton's wonderfully messy handwriting like she was writing to him like they were twenty two again.

A thanks for helping Jamie.

Blaming him, again, for not being the man she could marry.

And a new request; come see her in Saint Denis.

Of course she’s in Saint Denis.

Out of all the places a woman of her standing could be, she just had to be in the same city Arthur was no more than an hour's ride from.

Of course it had to be like that.

It didn’t matter where she went. Mary Linton could’ve written from the edge of Earth, and she knew Arthur Morgan would find a way to get to her. That was the kind of man she had made him into.

Nothing more than a pathetic dog.

But this time, something felt changed.

He’s read that damn letter four times before he lifts his head up from it, holding it tighter than he should have. And as he walks back into camp, he can't help but to feel completely conflicted.

His heart doesn’t belong to Mary anymore, not all of it at the least, Maybe half. Maybe less. The rest... that part was yours. You’d stolen it so quietly he hadn’t even noticed how far it had slipped out of his control.

Hosea had been right, he had become a miserable bastard. But with you, things felt... less so. You made him better. Or tried to. And he wanted to be that man, for you.

But still.

He felt torn in two. Like a man wrestling with a giant.

He shoves the letter into his coat pocket, muttering a curse under his breath, as he trudges towards the center of camp. The cowboy grabs a bowl of stew from the pot bubbling over the open flame, and then a bottle of warm beer from Pearson’s wagon, doing his best to try and clear his mind, and fill his stomach.

He finds the table at the center of camp, empty besides a couple scattered dishes. It only takes a handful of minutes until his spoon is scraping the bottom of the tin bowl as he takes his final bite, but his mind is still caught in the mess of the past. Confliction and guilt tearing him up inside .

But then theres you - bouncing over, smiling like nothing’s wrong in the whole damn world. You drop into his lap with a laugh, arms winding around his neck, eyes soft and wide.

Still wearing nothing underneath.

Your fingers trace his chest, up to his chin, thumb brushing against the roughness of his jaw with a smile. You hesitate for just a moment before saying the words that have been eating you up inside since the afternoon.

“I love you too.”

Four words. Light and easy. But to a man like Arthur Morgan, it was nothing but bullets raining from your mouth.

The gunslinger stiffens. His brow furrowing, nose scrunching like he’s confused, irritated even.

“Why’s you say that?” he mutters, voice low and almost offended.

Your smile instantly drops, freezing for just a moment in his arms before slipping out of his lap and standing up. Blinking at him like he's pulled out his Cattleman's Revolver and shot you straight in the gut.

“Well... this afternoon...” you swallow uncertainly as a worry line forms between your brows, thumbs tangling together in something between frustration and worry.

And then, in the midst of everything, he remembers what he said when he was inside you just hours ago. Flushed and stupid, in the heat of the moment.

He hadn’t lied.

But he also never planned on saying those words so carelessly. Forgetting that he had even admitted that so recklessly to you. The words had flowed from his mouth like instinct, yet, he hadn't thought you'd take them seriously.

For god sake's he was balls deep inside you - you should have known better.

“Yeah, I remember,” he interupts you, much colder than what he means to be. “Just... don’t wanna talk about it right now.”

Your jaw sets and something tightens behind your ribs.

Don’t wanna talk about it?

Talk about what?

Could he not even say it to you?

You fold your arms, bitter laughter bubbling in your gut before you can stop yourself.

“What? Can only say you love me when you’re eight inches deep?”

Arthur rolls his eyes, sighing as his fingers reach for his temples, “You know that ain’t what I meant.”

But you do. You do know. Because this is Arthur Morgan. And no matter how much you love him, no matter how much he'd swear he's changed. He hadn't. Wouldn't. And more than likely - couldn't change. And tonight, he makes you feel like a fool for trying to believe otherwise.

Without thinking a bitter scowl deepens on your face as you grab his beer and dump what’s left of it on his shirt, dropping the glass bottle rather dramatically on the grass next to him. The stew stained tin clatters as he pushes back from the table, arms jolting as he tries to shake off the warm beer now soaking his chest. His jaw sets like stone as his eyes cling to you with nothing but frustration. But before he can say anything, you turn around and shuffle away with tears in your eyes.

“Stupid whore!” He barks after you, the words cutting much deeper than they would have just months ago, when things weren't so serious.

And it’s not until you’re far enough away to cry without being seen, that it really sinks in.

Arthur Morgan couldn't change.

...

It feels like he’d been punched in the gut.

Arthur drags himself up the splintered, rotting staircase of Shady Belle, the weight of everything on his shoulders making him feel that with any step he could fall through. And against better judgement, halfway up the staircase he yanks the damn letter from his pocket again, eyes scanning the words he already knew by heart.

Mary Linton.

God, he was such a fool.

Why hadn’t he just said it back? Why couldn’t he have been normal for once - just said I love you, kissed you breathless, carried you upstairs and fucked you so good you’d say it again and again until he forgot anyone else ever existed?

But no.

You had to say it then, when Mary was still sitting heavy on his chest like a ghost that refused to let go. Right when his heart was stuck in a tug of war. Unsure if he was ready to let go of the past or ready to start really choosing you.

And now, with you gone and that broken look still burned in his memory, all he had was silence. And no matter what the silence meant, he knew one thing.

That his small bed would feel much bigger without you in it tonight.

Arthur tosses the letter onto the chipped old armoire in the corner his room, rubbing a hand over his tired eyes. He strips off his beer soaked overshirt, finding his way to his bed as his rubs at his temples. Everything from Mary Linton to you, running a marathon through his brain.

And it isn't more than a few seconds later that he leans back, trying to atleast dream to forget the day.

...

Arthur wakes up later than usual, head foggy, and eyes heavy. Light from the cracked window bleeds into dusty room like some open wound. He blinks, the slight haze from his tired eyes clearing just enough that he could sense movement.

His body stiffens.

You were there.

Standing near the armoire, you're wearing nothing but a thin, pale chemise that catches the light just right. Your nipples peak through the silky fabric in such a way that Arthur almost forgets yesterday as a whole. You look like an angel, something so pure, so opposite of the man he was.

But your eyes... your eyes were wide and wet, lip trembling as he watches you gulp in horror.

And in your hand.

That letter.

He sits up fast, breath catching in his throat. A surge of heat burning in his chest. Guilt, rage and shame. Twisting together into something dangerous.

Your eyes catch him, looking down at him as if he's shot you like some dirty O'driscoll.

“Came up here to apologize,” you gulp, voice cracking like you might break in two. “Don’t even know why" you nearly laugh as you roll your eyes to the ceiling. "Apologizin?...... Apoligizin' for tellin’ you I love you…”

You wipe several tears away with the back of your hand, trying to hide the emotion now lacing your voice. “Well now I know why.”

Arthur’s jaw ticks.

Doesn't speak.

After a nearly restless night, Arthur had decided Mary wasn’t even worth the trouble in the end. But if you were so damn hell bent on painting him as the bad guy then fine. He’d play the damn part.

He's always been good at it anyway.

He sneers as he gets up from the bed, angry that you were already throwing baseless accusations at him at the crack of dawn. But as heat stirs in his chest, he ruffles through his wardrobe anyway. Searching for some nice overshirt that he'd know Mary would at least appreciate, and maybe one that could teach you lesson.

For snooping. For touching things that weren’t yours.

It didn't take a scholar to figure out that he was pissed.

Not just at you for going through his things but at himself, for leaving the damn letter out in the first place. For getting close enough to you that stupid shit like this even mattered. It was Mary for god sake, it's not like she'd even ever want him back.

Just a game of back and forth that they'd always play, and he'd entertain.

You step toward him as he finishes buttoning his shirt. “Don’t ignore me,” you snap, voice cracking under the weight of every emotion you've ever had for him.

He turns to you slowly, something hard and venomous behind his eyes and the look he gives you is poisonous.

“You had no right to go through my things,” he growls, nose flaring like a wild dog. “Ain’t your business what I do. Think just ‘cause I fuck you that means you get to own me?”

The words were sharp, cruel, meant to slice deep. And as much as every flick of his tongue stabbed you, you couldn't help but to feel that he was lying.

You had seen it for a while now, last night even, when had asked you with his eyes for permission to talk to Hosea. Deep down you knew he was just projecting.

But you still flinch, lip trembling again, eyes wide with something between disbelief and heartbreak. Mary's letter still fresh on your mind, his words still bleeding you dry.

And without another word, he brushes past you, out his bedroom door, down the creaking staircase.

You don't hesitate to chase after him. Mary’s letter still crushed in your fist, your feet pounding down the stairs after him. You loved him for god sake, you refused to believe any of his fighting words. Refused to believe that he would choose some ghost of a woman over you.

He storms through the front doors like he was being chased by something a hell of a lot worse than the woman barely stumbling behind him. But your mouth still spits hell fire. "You goin’ to see her?" you accuse him.

He doesn’t answer.

Doesn't even look at you.

You follow him into the heart of camp, the morning air cool and damp against your bare feet. Your voice raising, louder now. Angry, so that anyone could hear.

“So all of this... nothin’ to you?!” Your eyes widen in worry as you march after him like a bat out of hell. "Jus' some waste of my time?"

People turn and watch, but Arthur doesn't stop. Face laced with an etched scowl, eyes locked on his Turkoman and nothing else.

"You bastard!" you shout, grabbing at his shoulder, trying to pull him back to you. Stop him from leaving. "Least look at me! Say it to my face! Tell me I wasn’t enough! Tell me you don’t want me.”

He turns so fast you take a step backward on instinct. His glare vicious, jaw clenched, nostrils flared. An entirely different man than you'd come to know...come to love.

“You weren’t,” he snaps, voice low and mean, like he wantsto hurt you. “And you’ll ain’t ever be her.”

Your mouth drops open, wind knocking from you like a punch to the ribs.

Sure, you’d never be Mary. But you swore that what you and Arthur had shared was more real than the dress sitting on your damn body, then the mud stained to his boots.

You had seen it. Saw it. Nursed it back from the fucking dead.

Just to lose him to some woman that'd never let him go.

In one last act, you grab at his shoulder, letting him hear your final plea as he starts to mount his horse. You heart nearly breaking in two.

"If you ride off to see her, I'm done, Arthur," you spit, voice shaking with a mix of fury and sadness. "I’m leavin'.... won't be here when you come ridin' back."

Arthur’s hand freezes on the reins.

Then, slowly, he looks down at you.

Sneering.

With a jerk of his arm, he violently pulls his arm out of your grip - hard enough to send you stumbling. You trip on a raised root, falling straight onto your behind in the overgrown grass. Legs cocked open pathetically, palms weighing heavy on the ground. Gulping like he'd shoved you down with the force of a million words.

He leans forward in the saddle, adjusting himself as his cold eyes stare at your sad excuse of a body.

“And where you gonna even go?” he asks, voice sharp and cruel, almost as a laugh because in reality he knew you had no one. He gives you one hard stare before digging his spurs into his nag. Leaving you with nothing but the echo of his departure, and the last pieces of your dignity.

For moments you sit there, on the knotting grass. Horses shuffling all around you as tears stream hot down your flushed cheeks, fists clenched in the grass, chest heaving with the reality of your situation.

Caught up in a mess of Arthur Morgan once again.

And the worst part?

He was right.

You had nowhere to go. And he knew it. Knew that you couldn’t go if you tried, no money, no family, just the familiarity of the Van Der Linde gang that was starting to eat each other from the inside.

But in a mess of feelings and tears, you feel the rush of a set of arms engulfing you into a warm hug. It’s Abigail Roberts, her frame slight but her hold firm. She sits with you, stroking your hair, whispering soft comforts even as her voice shakes with something that sounds like fury. “That no good son of a bitch,” she mutters, pulling back just enough to wipe away your tears with her thumbs.

Your eyes meet hers, they're icy and firm, telling a million stories but also a million warnings. “I love him,” you croak, barely able to get the words out.

Abigail had known that kind of heart splintering pain. She’d felt it more times than she could count with John. But you? Still young, still unshackled, no child clinging to your hip, no ring on your finger. The black haired beauty was smarter than what she gave off, she knew what had to happen.

“You gotta get out of here, darlin’,” she says, rising to her feet and offering a hand to help you up.

You sob.

That was your last promise to Arthur anyway, wasn’t it?

“He's right. Got no money. Nowhere to go,” you cry, shaking your head, voice breaking as all you wanted truly was to be gone. Forget him. Forget everything. Respect yourself enough to stop playing outlaw.

Abigail’s mouth tightens, leading you beneath the shade of her tent, easing you down on her cot. She rifles through her wardrobe as broken sobs escape your mouth. But in the midst of it all, she pulls out a thick, lumpy sock, and turns back toward you. “Was gonna use this for myself, once upon a time,” she says, tugging out a fistful of cash, slapping it on her hand a few times. “But it’s too late for me. Not for you.”

Your eyes are wide, still glistening, staring at the chunk of bills resting in her hand. Your lips parting as she attempts to slip the wad into your hand.

“I - I can’t...” you whisper, cheeks wet with tears and hesitation.

“No, you are,” she cuts in, firmer than you’ve ever heard from her. Something maternal in her tone, something resolute. “Trust me, a girl like you’s got a future. A bright one. Brighter than whatever all this is.” She pauses, her voice softer now. “And Arthur....better leave now before you wake up a few days late with a swollen stomach."

Your gaze locks with hers, wide and wordless.

Her words hit you harder than you thought they would.

And suddenly you understood.

It was time to go.

...

Twenty minutes later, you’re back in the room you’ve shared with Arthur for the past month. His clothes are still scattered around, his beer stained overshirt from last night crumpled at the foot of his bed. You wonder who’ll wash it now, it wouldn't be you this time.

You gulp and reach beneath the bed, pulling out the old suitcase you brought with you to Milwaukee all those years ago, chasing something better. It had belonged to your mother before Typhoid took her.

You pop it open. Inside: a few forgotten pieces of a past life. A locket with your parents’ faces inside. A shirt you never wore but couldn’t throw away. And a small black and white portrait from Blackwater, the one you took just hours before Arthur took your innocence.

You stare at the photo. Less than a year had passed, but you hardly recognize the girl in it. Smiling, light still untouched. So different from who you are now. Used and broken.

And before you pack the last of your things, you set the portrait on the table beside Arthur’s bed.

You wanted to forget him, forget the hurt.

But part of you, wanted him to remember.

Wanted him haunted.

...

Outside the rotting mansion, Hosea stands waiting. Pulling you into a soft, fatherly hug, his voice low with sorrow. “I’m sorry, girl,” he murmurs.

He’d seen it all. Last night’s heartbreak, this morning’s silence. He watched Arthur ride off, watched Abigail hand you that money with trembling hands and a tight jaw. Heard her beg you to go. Guilt weighing on his shoulders as he knew the cowboy would still be here if he hadn't handed him the letter.

But Arthur was a god damn adult. And Hosea had agreed with Abigail, better to leave now before other circumstances could tie you to him.

And as much as it hurt Hosea to see you go, he couldn't help to feel relieved. To at least know someone was getting out, someone good.

You swallow hard. Tears gone, but grief remains.

You weren’t just leaving Arthur.

You were leaving the only family you’d known for years. The people that had taken you in when you had nothing to show, and no one to care for you. Family more than friends at this point.

“Say your goodbyes,” Hosea says gently, rubbing your arm with his thumb. “I’ll take you to Rhodes. Buy you a train ticket to wherever you need to go.”

...

The streets of Saint Denis buzz with life, hooves clicking on cobblestone as the sun shines high in the midst of the Lemoyne sky. Mary Linton’s delicate arm loops through Arthur’s as they step out of the Rauler Theatre, both of them smiling.

Arthur could admit it, he’d had a good time. How could he not? Mary had once been his world. Maybe part of him would always feel something for her. But as they strolled toward the trolley stop, shoulder to shoulder through the heavy air of the city, something felt utterly different.

Hollow.

There was no fire in his chest. No ache. No heat behind his eyes.

It felt less like love and more like memory, a good time with an old friend. Sonething he could cheerish, but didn't need to survive.

And that’s when he remembered you.

The way you made his pulse jump with just your smile. The way your voice sounded like angel's singing, even if you were just telling him off. He remembers the way you smiled even when he didn’t deserve it. And then, above everything, he remembers the way you looked at him the last time. Eyes full of hurt, mouth trembling as he shoved you away.

While Arthur just didn't want to feel controlled, you felt betrayed.

And now all he felt was sick.

His boots slow on the busy sidewalk. Coming to a full stop without truly realizing where he was or who he was with.

“Arthur?” Mary’s voice breaks through his deep haze.

He blinks, realizing he hadn’t heard a word she had said since they left the old threatre. “Sorry,” he mutters.

She watches him for a beat, her chocolate eyes unreadable. “I said... is it too late for us?” Her voice cracking slightly, more a plea than a question as she holds his hands tighter.

Arthur inhales through his nose, heavy and ragged. He knew the answer. Had known it for a long time.

“I can’t lie, Mary. I... I got a woman back home” he says quietly, almost embaressed. Gently slipping her arm from his.

Mary’s expression falters for a brief moment, her face clearing from any found emotion. But in a few short seconds she grins with a sense of meloncholy.

“And I ain’t even really sure why I’m here,” Arthur adds, voice breaking with sudden clarity, the weight of his betrayal sinking in. “I shouldn’t’ve come. I’m sorry.”

Mary nods, her composure surprisingly steady despite the slight shimmer in her eyes. “Treat her better than me,” she says simply.

And in a second, Arthur turns and leaves, heart pounding, stomach in knots.

He’d fucked up.

But more than anything did he want to fix it.

Not with words. Not with excuses. But with a promise.

By the time he reached the jeweler, his hand was already on the wad of cash. He didn’t want something stolen. Didn’t want some rag tag ring from a fence.

No, this had to be real. Something with weight. With meaning.

Something that said: I’m yours. For good.

Something with a promise.

...

Back at the train station, the sky had started to turn grey. Rain slightly drizzling over the covered platform as Hosea tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch gentle as always.

“Don’t cry,” he murmurs, a small tear falling down your cheek.

“I’m scared,” you admit, glancing down at the train ticket in your hand. You hadn’t told him where you were going. You figured it was safer that way, for everyone involved. Hosea hadn’t asked either. Maybe he didn’t want to know. Maybe he just didn’t want Arthur beating it out of him in the long run.

It didn't take much for you to imagine the storm of Arthur riding back into camp. Throwing tongue every which way when he realized his bed whore had gone missing.

The twisted thought slightly comforted you. You knew Arthur well enough to atleast know he would be mad at your departure, no matter what he had told you before he left

“You can always write,” he says, voice full of hope “Don’t know how long we’ll be at Shady Belle, though. You know Dutch.”

You manage a watery laugh." Oh, I know." You falter for a few moments as you gaze into the wisdom laced eyes of Hosea, his soft look sending you into a spin of tears. “I’m just scared of being…”'

"Alone," he finishes your sentence.

He chuckles. “We can’t be such a great bunch that you think there’s no one better out there.”

You give him a humorous look, tears still staining your cheeks. A happy goodbye. “You know that ain’t what I mean.”

The train’s whistle shrieks in the distance. Passengers begining to stir from their seats, grabbing bags, shuffling to the edge of the platform.

Hosea turns to face the tracks, then glances back to you. “Promise me one thing,” he says, his voice low and firm.

You look up, eyes wide like a doe.

“Don’t come back lookin' for us. Save yourself."

...

Arthur’s horse thunders down the muddy path toward Shady Belle, his coat soaked and his wallet a few hundred dollars lighter. The gold ring in his pocket - a golden band with a pearl in the center - feeling like it weighed a thousand pounds.

He imagined you wearing it. Naked on the banks of Ringneck Creek, riding him, the ring catching sunlight as your hand brushes over his hair.

Utterly his.

The camp is quiet as he gallops in. He doesn't even bother to untack his horse, too charged with excitement. He leaps off and storms through like a mad man, eyes scanning the outlaw camp for a sillouette of you.

You weren’t there.

But your strange dissapearence doesn't even register until two small fists beat into his back.

“You no good son of a...”

He spins, catching Abigail Roberts wrists mid swing. She thrashes against his grip, wild with rage.

“What the hell?” Arthur stammers, confused and surprised it wasn't you beating on him. He would understand if it was you, warranted in fact.

But Abigail?

“She’s gone, you bastard!” the black haired beauty snarls, driving her boot into his groin as hard she can.

Arthur collapses, wheezing as he drops her arms from his grip.

From across camp, John jogs over, pulling his wife's arms behind her back in anyway to control her outburst.

Arthur's painful wheezes dissapear in a moment's time, turning to an almost panic.

“What...what she mean? She's gone?” he coughs as he looks up at John for clarification, moving back to his feet.

John grimaces. “She’s gone, Arthur. She left."

Arthur froze.

Gone?

No.

You didn't know how to ride, wouldn't dare try to find your way in swamps like these. And above everything - you had said you loved him, just last night.

You wouldn't leave.

And he was ready now. Finally ready to love you back the way you deserved.

His stomach twisting, panic shifting to fury, anger.

He turned to John, eyes flashing. “Where did you take her? Couldn’t stand that I was happy for one good time in my life.”

John face drops, angry at just the accusation. "I ain't take nowhere," John sneers, continueing to hold Abigail back from trying to rip Arthur to pieces. "But I don't blame her for leavin' you either."

If John hadn't been using Abigail as if she was a human sheild, Arthur would have torn his brooding equal to shreds at that very moment. But before he could push the black haired woman away, a gentle voice cuts through the shouting.

Arthur turns, all eyes finding the small frame of Hosea Matthews. The old man sits at the dominoes table, calm as ever. Standing up and pushing his chair in without his eyes leaving the game.

"I took her to the train station in Rhodes," he speaks

Arthur’s anger breaks, replaced by something broken and raw. Lips parting.

“I told you not to hurt her,” Hosea says, eyes finally meeting the cowboys. More dissapointed than ever.

Arthur couldn’t keep his gaze. His eyes dipping to the tips of his boots. Shame rolling over him like a wave. If it had been anyone else -John, Bill, even Dutch, he’d have thrown fists.

But it was Hosea.

The one who warned him.

The only who told him to do better.

Arthur’s voice cracks as he breaks the silence, barely above a whisper. “Where is she?”

Hosea shakes his head.

“Gone, she's gone Arthur."

#red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan fanfiction #red dead redemption two #red dead smut #smut #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan #arthur morgan smut

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badslittlemuffin · 2 months ago

Note

I see you wanted requests 8)

A bakugo x reader where reader was his friend in elementary/middle school but didn’t go to UA but after the whole war he sees her for the first time when he’s in the hospital and she like, gently scolds him for getting hurt and the other 1A students are just like :0

Anyways I hope you have a great day and enjoy this request!

THANK YOU FOR THE REQUEST!!<333

ive been trying to speed through my requests just to get to this one bc I LOVE ITT I love you anon<333 also once again I don't have full knowledge on what happens in the manga past chapter 398, and everything I know comes from spoilers so if this is inaccurate I'm rlly srry!! ENJOY!!

postwar!katsuki x reader, childhood friends, mutual pining, katsuki is WHIPPED, little angst, mention of death

wc: 557

Katsuki had been lying in his hospital bed—y'know, as you do when you've just been revived—when the door to his room suddenly slammed open.

His eyes snapped up from where Kirishima sat at his bedside to see the frantic figure standing in the doorway. His eyes widened as he recognized the girl who walked in, concern dripping from her face. "Katsuki! Oh my god—what the hell?" She speaks, her voice scratchy with worry. She steps beside him, completely ignoring the wide-eyed teens behind her. Her hands move immediately to him, as she looks him over.

"You're without me for one year, and this is what happens?" You say, voice exasperated. He snorts, a small smirk crawling onto his face. "Y/N, I'm fine–" you cut him off, hitting his arm lightly, to which he winces. "No, you aren't! You literally died!" Your voice turns from scolding to something a bit more tentative. "I thought I lost you."

His expression softens, his hand holding yours gently. He shoves himself to sit up, wincing at the pain in his chest, but ignores it, pulling you into a hug. You held him tight, your head resting in the crook of his neck.

Behind you, however, was a completely different story. Kirishima, Kaminari, Sero, and Ashido had all come to visit with Bakugo, chatting about whatever, when suddenly, a random girl they had never seen, nor heard about, bursts in, and starts scolding Bakugo, all while he sits with a stupid grin on his face. Did he also get a concussion, or was this just a side effect of him dying and being revived?

They sat dumbfounded as he brought her into a hug. Okay, maybe they were seeing things! Yeah, no, this was happening.

You pull back from the hug, your eyes flickering over his body in a silent examination. Once you deemed he had passed, you sighed. "Don't do stupid shit like that again or I swear I will–" He laughs, nodding. "Yeah, yeah, I get it, I get it... I've already heard this lecture around 50 times from the old hag." "Well, as she should!" You say, crossing your arms to feign annoyance.

He chuckles, leaning back on his pillow. His gaze moves back to where his friends sit, open-mouthed. He shoots them a glare, mouthing 'out'. His vermilion gaze turns back to you, a small smile tugging at his lips.

Kirishima stands quickly, grinning like he has just found new blackmail material. He grabs the rest of the group and tugs them out. You look back at them, face reading slightly in embarrassment. Katsuki weakly grabs your hand, his grip loose, a lazy grin on his lips as he mumbles, "Missed ya'..."

Your smile is hesitant. Squeezing his hand lightly, you whisper back, like it's a secret, "I missed you, too..."

Maybe it's the morphine, or maybe it's just your presence, but he finds the words, "You'll never lose me... you're stuck with me," slipping past his lips. That pulls a quiet laugh from your throat, the first one you had let come naturally since you sat staring at your TV in horror as the news played.

You sat with him for hours after, talking with him. Maybe it was more to reassure yourself that he was alive than anything—but you weren't going to tell him that.

im sorry anon that this was so short😭 this has lowkey been sitting in my drafts for a few days cuz I didn't know how to really continue it💔 but I hope you liked it!!!

#cas's asks♡#bakugou katsuki #bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugou #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugo katsuki #mha x reader #mha #my hero academia #bnha #boku no hero academia

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douqhnxtss · 4 months ago

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˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ EFFORTLESSLY EASY ⊹ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚✧˖°.

𝓱𝘶𝘩 𝔂𝘶𝘯𝘫𝘪𝘯 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗌𝗆𝖺𝗋𝗍, 𝗄𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗇𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝗂𝗇 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒𝗈𝗇𝖾'𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴. 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗁𝖺𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗁𝖾𝗋, 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗇𝗍𝗅𝗒 𝖿𝗅𝗂𝗋𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗒𝗈𝗎, 𝖿𝗅𝖺𝗎𝗇𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗀𝗋𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝖾. 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗐𝗁𝗒 𝖽𝗂𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗀𝗋𝖾𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗀𝗈 𝗍𝗈 𝖺 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍𝗒 𝗁𝗈𝗌𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝖻𝗒 𝗁𝖾𝗋? 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝗍𝖾 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝗀𝗎𝗂𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦?

✧ academic rivals to lovers, fluff, angst (?) if you squint, one-sided pining, one-sided rivalry (by reader), reader in denial, reader hates but loves yunjin, flirty!yunjin, nonidol!au, university!au, death (of a bad person), partying, mentions of getting drunk and kissing, lots of love talk, downbad!yunjin, proofread — topstudent!yunjin x fem!reader ⋆ wc! 3.4k °° whooo!! longest one yet!! I love this sm, sorry for the lack of content, finals r coming up, updates will be delayed and I'm out of ideas tbh, so send some asks!! honestly can't believe I wrote this in like 2 days and it's this long like I have a jeongyeon draft that ive been writing since JANUARY. And it's still only 50% done... likes n reblogs are appreciated <3

────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────

HUH YUNJIN WAS EFFORTLESSLY SMART. that's what you though by the way she managed to party all semester and still score first in the finals every single time ever since university.

even before uni, she still scored top in middle and high school while all she did was play with her four bestfriends. she was cocky about it too; always flaunted how she isn't even in her books all day and she's the top student.

you found her so annoying. it didn't help that she stuck by you everywhere you went either— the professors paired you two together, being the smartest in the class, her seat being beside yours in every lecture you two share, which is every single one.

yunjin was charismatic, and very flirty, too. she didn't even try to hide her liking for you. she chased after you every chance she'd get. you were soo her type: pretty, smart, wicked, introverted, you were her better half in her eyes.

you ignored her advances, each of them, in the most non-hostile way you could. however, doing so became harder every other time you had to do it. it wasn't that you didn't like her— well, you didn't like her, yeah, you totally didn't like her one bit, she was a little annoying, but you didn't hate her guts either.

someone you did hate with, forget your guts, every single fiber and cell in your body, was you mom. she was the devil incarnate in your eyes, your father passed away when you were around one and a half years old.

your mom was a big businesswoman, she was the ceo of her own company of cosmetics, one of the most viral brands of them around the globe. she had a golden reputation.

she couldn't let her reputation be ruined all because she made the mistake of falling in love and giving birth to a girl who couldn't even repay all the favors she'd done for her by studying.

"all you have to do is study."

"you better not go on the wrong track."

"love is useless, it only drags you down in life."

"ungrateful brat, you need to do one thing and one thing alone, study."

"paint? it's gonna get you nowhere. study? you'll get all that you desire."

she treated you like her puppet, she wanted you to be her shadow, be just like her. she raised you the way she was raised. under pressure, expectations and insults.

she'd cut all contact and fell in love back in her time and she'd had you, she was content. yet, after your dad passed, she'd forgotten who she was. she became the one she promised herself she'd never be, a toxic mom.

somewhere along the way, the lines between caring and controlling blurred for her, resulting in who she was now. she could've broken the cycle of toxicity, but she became a victim due to the circumstances pushed on her.

she forbid you of painting, something you loved with a lot of passion. she never let you go to a party, they were all just distractions in her words. you had better things to worry about, like your grades.

the thing that made you hate her most though, was how she had to pit you against yunjin like it was her lifeline. she couldn't be stopped, every meeting with her, once or rarely twice in a month, was filled to the brim with her complaining.

heck, you knew that the only reason you said you didn't like yunjin was because of your mom's nagging. there wasn't necessarily anything that ticked you off about yunjin.

it was all due to your mom and her constant nagging at you for always being second and never first. you tried, you really did try your hardest for every single test, whether it be a little quiz or your finals, you'd given it you all.

you did everything how she wanted you to, you didn't even remember the last time you'd graced your fingers over a paintbrush or when you'd picked up a pencil to draw a quick sketch or a cute doodle.

knowingly or unknowingly, you'd lost yourself, you rarely smiled, became more and more quiet than you already were, always stayed in the library, and it worried four people the most: yunjin, yena, wonyoung and chaeyeon. your academic rival and your three bestfriends.

it was ought to be another regular day like it'd been for the last few weeks— study, have a snack, study, maybe eat if you feel like it, sleep and repeat. to say your girlies were worried was an understatement.

as you were, for the umpteenth time, reassuring your bestfriends that you were okay; your phone rung. you looked at the bright screen to see the contact saved as mom.

you sighed before pulling the phone to your ear, picking up her call, "hello? is this y/n l/n?" a polite voice asked, your brows furrowed in confusion, why was a random lady talking to you from your mom's phone?

"yes, who is this?" you responded, a strange gut feeling that something was going to happen soon settling in your stomach. the woman from the other side took a deep breath before she began,

"i'm speaking from seraphinity hospital to inform you, with our condolences, that your mom, m/n l/n has passed away in a plane crash in her flight from kyoto, japan to seoul, korea. we're extremely sorry to inform such news to you, we'll send the few belongings that were found of her."

the line disconnected at that. you didn't know what to feel, the phone slipped out of your hands, falling on the desk on top of your book that you were reading prior.

unbeknownst to you, tears streamed down your face, uncontrollably. you didn't love, hell you didn't even like her, but at the end of the day, she was your mom, she brought you into the world.

your relationship was always limited to numbers and accomplishments, although the sharp realization that you wouldn't see her again stung really bad.

"she.. she's gone, yena, she's not here.." you needed to go back to your house right now. you grabbed your phone, running to the entrance of the library where a certain ginger tugged at your wrist.

"woah, what happened, sweets?" yunjin asked, she always called you sweets, you let her call you sweets, you did roll your eyes sometimes and lightly scoff though.

then another realization struck, how were you going to get to your house? you halted in your tracks, your butler came to drop you everytime and calling him here would take too long.

"earth to sweets?" she snapped her fingers near your face breaking you out of your trance to see her worried face, a deep frown etched on her features.

"you have a motorcycle, right?" in any other circumstance, you knew your mother would catch you dead in a motorcycle, but she wasn't here now and you needed to go.

her eyes shined and a little smile pulled up at the corners of her lips, "you wanna ride on my motorcycle, with just me?" there was a whole zoo having a field day in her stomach at the thought.

"yes, now come quick, i'll show you my address!" you pulled her hand in yours, dragging her to the parking lot. yunjin was glad you didn't even bother to look back as if you did, you would've saw her mouth hung open and ears colored pink.

she coughed, taking her keys and getting on the motorcycle, motioning you to get on while you stood there confused. "what? never rode a motorcycle before?" she asked sarcastically with a chuckle.

her face dropped in shock when you nodded.

"what have you even done, sweets?" she reached her hand out for you to take, you complied reluctantly, "swing your leg over and rest your foot on the foot rest."

you somehow sat behind her, scared if you'd survive the ride. she turned her head back to see you, your eyes glossy, cheeks puffed and tear stained— it made her heart clench at the sight. she didn't like to see you cry.

"hold me tight, sweets, you're house isn't super close and you need to be there as soon as possible." you slowly wrapped your arms around yunjin's waist, your face squished against her back, your face was red, which you chalked up to being so due to the crying not because of the ginger, duh.

──────── ✧✦

three months had passed since the incident, you were better now. after the initial grief, you had to admit, your health was better. with all the expectations off your shoulders, you were happy.

you weren't happy your mom wasn't here anymore, but you weren't sad wither. you were just happy with your life, it was still the same routine but you spend more time with your girlies now too.

which leads to now, you were with the three in a cute café close to your home, "oh my god, yunjin's hosting a party tonight!" chaeyeon exclaimed, "we should go!" wonyoung followed after.

"yes, i've been meaning to, you know, have a blast!" yena said dramatically before laying her head on the table. "you all can go." you said taking a sip of your matcha latte.

their eyes collectively narrowed, "no, you will come." yena whined shaking your shoulders making you giggle. "c'mon guys, i'm not into parties, i've never even been to a party!"

"yeah, we should change that, don't you think?" wonyoung looked at you with puppy eyes and held your hand. "it'll be fun, we promise!" chaeyeon gave you a bright smile.

"maybe some other time, okay? i won't bail!" you promised the three and they all sadly agreed, they wanted you to be more social, have some fun outside of your books, but books were your comfort, they knew that.

on your way back from the café to your home, it wasn't that far, so you decided to walk. this wouldn't have happened with your mom, she had a reputation, her daughter couldn't be seen walking the streets; she was a multi-millionare.

you hummed an incoherent tune as you walked in your big mansion, storing your shoes where they should be, hanging your purse and skipping to the living room to see yunjin with a wide grin and a gorgeous, tight, short black dress.

your jaw dropped, "what are you doing here?" she stood up, the dress in her hand, "you're coming to my party, go get ready, sweets." your jaw dropped impossibly more. the butler probably let her in as he knew who she was from their last encounter three months ago.

she giggled, shutting your mouth, "i know you love your silence and books, however, can't you just have one night of fun?" you thought hesitantly, the three were going too, it would be a fun surprise for them as well.

"and why would i agree to go to your party?" you persisted, you didn't even like her, for god's sake! then why did your stern eyes soften when her grin faltered for a second, eyes losing a little shine? you didn't know.

seeing yunjin like this made you second guess, you were agreeing for your girlies, not for yunjin, "don't look at me like that." you let out a sigh, making up your mind.

you faintly nodded and she lit up, "you don't own any makeup, but don't worry, i bought you lots of it!" she handed you a bag full of makeup that probably cost more than it should in your opinion.

"i picked shades i think would suit you, now come on, we need to start quick!" yunjin giggled all the way up the stairs with you trailing behind her. you only agreed for the surprise and not because of her, right?

you didn't even know why your heart was probably going a mile a minute, you were so confused. and it only happened when you were around yunjin; not when you were with anyone else.

she plopped herself on your bed and swayed her feet as she waited for you to change. you had a pinterest-perfect room, cute flower pots, paintings, crafts, it reflected you in a way.

she always wondered why you didn't participate in anything art or craft related, she knew you loved it, it was your passion and where you shined most without even having to try.

your skill and love for art will never not surpass your love for reading and being stuck in your books, as much as you tried to deny, saying i love reading most.

there was a certain sparkle in your eye as soon as anything related to art was brought up, she loved seeing that spark in your eyes, she loved your eyes. yunjin loved your smile, your laugh, your personality, your painting, she loved yo—

she stopped, a hand coming to where her heart rested, "do i? do i love this cute little.. this pretty and witty shorty?" she laughed and talked to herself, feelings were so complicated.

you knocked on the restroom door as you came out, face red in embarrassment, you'd never wore anything shorter than knee-level, yet this dress came till mid-thigh.

yunjin gasped, audibly gasped as she saw you. after the initial shock, she eyed you up and down, pulling her bottom lip in between her teeth, shamelessly staring at you, making you even redder.

you really needed to wear more form-fitted and short clothes, but only infront of her, for her only, no one else. "you look absolutely breathtaking, sweets, i gotta give you that!"

yunjin stood up, walking closer to you, while you stood there uncertain on what to do. she tucked a strand of loose hair around your ear, "now time for step two, makeup!"

let's just say, your first party night was eventful, to say the least, the girls were overjoyed seeing you, multiple men tried to hit on you and yunjin somehow dragged you away from each of them by an excuse, you got very drunk, however, not drunk enough to spew dumb shit, fortunately.

you were drunk enough to end up not noticing how yunjin's eyes followed you everywhere, she wasn't stalking you, she just couldn't get her eyes off you. the way the dress clung to each of your curves in the most perfect way, the makeup enhanced your features, making you look even more snatched than before.

she was so down bad and she didn't even mind.

──────── ✧✦

"how about we study together?" yunjin rushed up to you, doe eyes shiny and enthusiastic, smile bright enough to make your heart rate accelerate more than you'd admit.

"i'm studying with chae—" you started, ready to politely decline yet another of her advances to get closer to you, when chaeyeon, who was beside you, intervened,

"actually, y/nie, i have a quick errand to run, you two should just go, i'll be back in a bit, bye girlie!" she ran in the other direction, leaving you confused, didn't she just ask you to study ten minutes ago?

"well..?" yunjin leaned on the locker next to her, staring intently at you with a little smile, she was mentally thanking chaeyeon for the umpteenth time as she waited for your response.

"fine, i guess, why not?" you thought out loud and she giggled, quickly taking your hand in hers and leading you to the library. she pulled a chair out for you to sit on of a table placed in the far corner of the library.

you sat down, muttering a thanks as she nodded and sat infront of you, she pulled out her pencil case, her binder, paper and a few stationery items while you did the same.

"so, to practice this essay, the topic we have to write for is our romantic interest," she began and you looked at her wide eyed, tilting your head.

"what type of a topic is that?" you asked perplexed, you weren't too into romance novels, movies and related, you didn't know who your interest was. "i don't have a romantic interest either." you explained further.

"oh, you gotta have someone in mind. a romantic interest is someone who you feel safe, loved, happy with; someone who makes your heart do things that don't seem possible, as if it's doing backflips or yoga or something."

she laughed and you pondered, a revalation coming into mind, "in short, they make you mad by how much they make you feel at the same time— confusion, anger, sadness, like, love, whatever it may be, it's different for everyone."

"and this topic is fun, i don't want to write about boring topics, we're here to practice writing and illustrating emotions through text, not philosophy." you nodded along, not paying much thought to the topic but to what she said about romance.

heart being wacky, frustration, hating and loving the same person, this is how you felt about yunjin, was it not? you were so shocked to even realize that she'd already began, "hey, what are you waiting for?"

you mouthed a nothing before you began writing, you voiced your thought about her, what you felt all these years due to your mom or due to your academic rivalry, in one way or another you were falling, or maybe you'd already fallen.

the close proximity, the party, the nickname, if anyone else had tried to do the same, it wouldn't have mattered as much as it did, it clicked in your mind.

yunjin was special to you, you never realized it but you always treated her differently too, just like she did. you let yourself be flirted to by her, you remembered how you'd roasted a bully so hard he left crying because he kept hitting on you even after you said no multiple times and you were done.

maybe the hate you thought you harbored was all love? maybe you loved her all along? maybe she was living in your heart rent free since forever?

after a while and a shocking life crisis later, you two were done writing and switched papers to grade each other's essays and what you saw only made your mind go haywire.

it wasn't far from a love letter, she'd stated everything she loved about you, which was two paragraphs and it was written this wasn't even all of the things she loved,

she'd written how she felt, how she hated seeing you be sad due to your grades and how she saw you pushing away your art for your studies.

she's always tried to encourage you to paint more, she's always made sure you'd eaten and drank water properly, she always made sure you were happy.

yunjin was so in love and she admitted it and after you read the whole thing and looked up, you saw her with the most shocked and happy face mixed ever.

you both were practically tomatoes, having read and understood that the feelings were mutual, though you weren't sure whether you liked or loved her, you certainly didn't think of her as just a friend.

you didn't feel how you did with her with chaeyeon or yena or wonyoung, she made you feel special. she made you feel loved, she made you feel so many things it was hard to wrap your head around the cyclone of emotions in you.

"i never thought i'd see you so red, sweets, that too because of me." she shakily said with the most lovesick grin on her face and you nodded, "same here, you're redded than a tomato."

"should we kiss?" she asked leaning closer to you, making you lean back more, "not here, we're in public!" you hushed her, looking around to make sure no one saw her say it.

she tilted her head, biting her bottom lip, admiring you, "what now?" you asked. "let's go to my dorm, it's a five minute walk from here." she stood up, haphazardly stuffing her things in her bag and making you rush to pack your bag as well.

you two rushed back giggling like you were both crazy. you'd have to say your first kiss and first date, which was watching movies and cuddling, was perfect.

it wasn't planned, it wasn't for show-off, it was for you. it was spontaneous, fun, nice, it was so effortlessly easy. for yunjin, it was effortlessly easy to love you; for you, it was effortlessly easy to be loved by yunjin.

love was effortlessly easy with yunjin.

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡.𖥔 ݁ ˖⊹ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚✧˖°.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ᯓ✦ 𝓊𝗻𝚒𝘷𝐞𝗋𝓢𝙚 !

𐙚 taglist! @woniefication

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