oceanabyssal

[oceanabyssal]

conflicted spaces

Arthur Morgan x fem!reader

a/n: He doesn’t get TB in this. Why? Because this is fanfiction and I’m god and fuck canon (I just finished the game, I’m emotionally distraught and needed this)

Warnings: brief attempted SA

Summary: Your father is a gambling man and you’re always the collateral. He refuses to pay the wrong man and now you’re being dragged across country roads to a man you’ve never met. Arthur Morgan, an outlaw down to the bone, is in charge of making sure you get there in one piece. Except, he doesn’t feel right selling a woman off like she’s property.

You’re done being a doormat and letting the men in your life tell you what you’re worth. You’ve got three days to escape him, but you’re not prepared for the reality of the real world.

“Put your hands where I can see ‘em, cowboy.” Arthur’s shoulders tense and he curses under his breath. His hand darts to the revolver on his hip, but the second his fingers twitch towards it he hears a hammer being pulled back. The cool barrel of a gun digs into his neck and he raises his hand in surrender. 

The man behind him lets out a familiar laugh and tugs him around. Arthur rolls his eyes and glares at Dutch. “The hell are you doing?”

Dutch clears his throat, still laughing slightly. “Relax, Arthur, but if I had been an O’Driscoll you’d be dead right now.” Arthur doesn’t point out that the only thing they have to worry about out here are the Lemonye raiders. He’s more focused on why Dutch is even out here. Rarely does he leave Shady Belle to traverse the streets of St. Denis. 

None of them are particularly fond of the place. If he wanted to step in horse shit every other step he’d go to a stable. At least those smell better. Dutch slings an arm around Arthur’s shoulder, tugging him away from the saloon he was heading towards. 

“You’re gonna have to save the cheating for later, Arthur, I need you for something.”

“You know I don’t cheat,” Arthur jokes and Dutch grins at him and it’s nice. This is familiar to him. This feels right. Dutch has been odd lately, the jobs he’s been taking, the risks he’s been imposing, none of them feels like the man he knows. 

Now, Arthur would follow Dutch straight into hell without being asked. But he can’t abide by how he’s putting their people in harm's way. He’s felt like a stranger more often than not and he’s been doubting the people he shouldn’t. Right now, though, he can see the man he knows in the teasing curl of his lips. 

“What’dya need?”

Dutch pauses in front of a tailor and pats Arthur’s chest. “I need you to look prim and proper for a party we’ve got tonight.”

Arthur’s brows furrow cynically and he scoffs. “Someone invited us to a party?”

Dutch hesitates, a stiff smile on his face. “Well, let’s just say someone is interested in our work.” Arthur wants to question him further, he’s hiding something from him. But Dutch is pushing him towards the door of the shop before he can argue. “And get a haircut, we need to look presentable not like a bunch of mountain men.”

Arthur watches as Dutch leaves, something heavy weighing down on him. Dutch doesn’t usually tell people about his plans beforehand. At least not every step of them. But this is odd, he’s definitely hiding something and Arthur isn’t sure he wants to know what. 

With a resigned huff, he heads into the tailor. He has to mentally prepare himself for being stuffed into a starched collar and a stiff suit for the rest of the night. He hates these damn parties, hates having to pretend like he knows what the hell is being said. 

Most of the people that attend are educated or pretend to be. And when he lets it slip that he’s more likely to shoot a gun than read a book they turn on him like jackals. You can’t let them see that you’re different than them or you’ll never get a word in edgewise. 

The only part he enjoys is the booze and robbing them of their money. It’s not like they earned any of it. Most of it was made by breaking the backs of the people they mock for being too poor to afford a fancy suit. 

Arthur takes a deep breath and looks for the cheapest suit he can find in the overpriced shop. 

“Now,” Mr. Crane’s hand tightens around your bicep and he jerks you closer to him. You keep your face impassive, not letting him see just how much he’s hurting you. But you can feel your skin being stretched to its limits by his clammy fingers. “You’re going to behave tonight. I’ve got a few gentlemen I’d like you to meet.”

He looks at you expectantly but you keep your mouth firmly shut. His eyes narrow and he jerks you around roughly. “Understood,” you force the word out through gritted teeth. You’re trying to breathe as little as possible, not wanting to smell his cigar-laced breath any longer. 

Finally, after a tortuously long moment, he releases you. You take ten steps back, smoothing out nonexistent wrinkles from the silk skirt he’d forced you in. You glance out the window of his office, watching as the workers scramble to set up the tables for tonight. You can hear cooks in the kitchen, shouting out orders for the food for tonight. 

Everything must be perfect. Mr. Crane never fails to deliver on his extravagantly indulgent parties. The man himself is the very embodiment of greed. You glance over with a disgusted sneer as he sinks himself into his leather chair and pulls out a wad of cash. 

He catches your eye and sends you a sickly sweet smile. “This,” he waves the money at you and you track the movement boredly. “Is how much you’re worth, sweetheart.” Your brows raise in amusement and you scoff. More than you thought he would put up for you. 

You wonder who he’s going to have transport you. He’ll need you out of the city soon, your father is starting to catch onto what’s happening. It took him long enough. You’ve been missing a month, you’d think he would have put two and two together faster. Then again, he’d never been very interested in you beyond what you were worth to others. 

“When will I be able to meet these gentlemen?” You ask, taking a step towards him. Your eyes dart towards the letter opener on his desk and for a brief moment you picture yourself strabbing it into his fattened jugular. 

But he flicks his wrist and like magic the door opens, his men coming inside and standing resolutely by your side. “Not anytime soon, my dear.” He looks to the men surrounding you and you take in a sharp breath, wishing you’d just taken the chance when you had it. “My associate is feeling quite tired, take her back to her room, please.”

They grab you by the elbows, even though it's entirely unnecessary. You wouldn’t run, and even if you did you wouldn’t get far with the chains he has hidden under your dress. A punishment for the first time you snuck from his home. You’ve been well behaved since then but he doesn’t trust you. 

You’re whisked away without another word. The trek of the stairs is a slow one. They’re forced to help you navigate by lifting your skirts and not tripping on the chains. It no longer brings you any satisfaction to cause a hindrance in any of their days. 

Before, you would think of being an annoyance as a small victory. But it’s not, it never was. It was just a way for them to keep you complacent by allowing you to think you’d done something for yourself. You believe your father used to do the same thing. 

It’s just another way of keeping you quiet. 

When you make it to your rooms, they shove you inside. Like clockwork, you hear the jingle of the keys and then the lock clicks. You sigh and take a step towards your vanity, working on touching up your hair. 

You think the worst part of this must be how well you’re treated. You have meals made by a private chef. Your quarters are decorated more lavishly than they ever were at your father’s house. Yet, you hear the suffocating tick of the clock as it counts down your doom. 

You’re not entirely sure what their plan is with you. You know your father had made a promise to Mr. Crane involving some land. Or perhaps it had been a wager. But as always, you were collateral when your father refused to pay up. 

You know Mr. Crane wants you out of town so that he has more time to negotiate with your father, to call in the interest he owes him. You also know the only reason your father is interested in finding you is because you’re meant to marry the son of a business partner in two months. The money he’ll get from that will be enough to finally pay off his debts. 

Except, now, Mr. Crane tells you that should your father refuse to pay you’ll be married to one of his associates. And the deal he’ll make from that will be enough to cover what your father has refused to pay. 

No matter what, you’re going to be married off to some man you’ve never met and yet again be a quiet trophy on a shelf. It’s a very convoluted situation, one which makes you think leaping from a window might be a better fate. 

None of the men your father or Mr. Crane is in business with are particularly kind. They’ve got more skeletons in the closet than there are in the graveyard. You doubt you’ll live a very happy life with whoever they pick for you. 

You slump forward onto the vanity, trying to fight off the burning feeling in the back of your eyes. You’ve known this would happen for years. Even before Mr. Crane had you kidnapped, you knew that this would be your destiny. You would never get to be one of the free-spirited women who fought for the right to choose. You would always be forced into this role. 

Yet, being so close to it coming to fruition makes you feel choked and suffocated. You can feel the noose around your neck tightening, the hangman’s fingers twitching as he waits to see you drop. 

You dig your nails into your palm, taking in a deep breath and fighting back the wave of despair. Where there is doom, you also see a sliver of hope. Your next journey will be a long one. He’s hiring someone to have you transported to an area further up the map. 

If you play your cards right you might be able to escape while you’re traveling. If you’re incredibly smart about this, thinking with your head and not your heart, you might have a shot at freedom. 

You take in a deep breath, reapplying your makeup and resolving yourself to another night of mindless entertainment. But you hold onto that fleeting feeling of hope. You have a shot, you just have to take it. 

Arthur’s heard of these parties before. Some Mr. Crane fella that likes to blow all his money on food and booze. He indulges his guests and when they’re weakest, gets their secrets from them. He’s a snake and everyone knows it. Yet, missing his party is social suicide. They have no choice but to go and indulge in him. 

Arthur had never had any interest in meeting him or doing any business with him. But Dutch had informed him that’s exactly what’s happening tonight. They’ll mingle for a little while, maybe scout some other jobs, and then Mr. Crane will invite them up to his office for a private discussion. 

Dutch still hasn’t told him what exactly their business with him is. He brought Hosea along tonight so he has to assume it’s not going to be anything violent. But he can’t think of anything else they could be good for. 

“Alright, gentlemen,” Dutch places his hands on Hosea’s and Arthur’s shoulders, a scheming smile on his face. “Try not to embarrass me.” He slips behind them, heading up the stairs of the home. Hosea and Arthur share a brief look before they split up, blending into the background of the garden. 

Arthur lurks near the bar, he knows he should be talking to these assholes, possibly learning something useful. But he can’t be bothered. He orders a whiskey, gaze surveying the partygoers. They’re all loud with painted faces and fake smiles. Not a goddamn person here seems to be genuinely interested in anything they’re doing. 

“First time?” The soft voice beside him catches him off guard. He glances to the side and is surprised to see that you’ve slipped past him. He hadn’t even noticed you slide up next to him. You laugh at the look on his face and it’s the first thing here that seems real. “Sorry, it’s just that look on your face, I recognize the disappointment. You’ve never been to one of Crane’s parties before?”

“No,” he clears his throat, still recovering from the surprise. “Uh, I can’t say I have.”

You suck on your teeth, narrowing your eyes at the people passing by. “They’re not worth the effort. Everyone who leaves here leaves carrying his debt on their back.”

Arthur chuckles a little, lips twitching up into a small smile. He’s surprised by your frankness, most people like to hide behind passive-aggressive digs. He appreciates the straightforward attitude. “Then why are you here?”

You shrug and Arthur finds himself enchanted. He shouldn’t be, he’s never been one for romance. He finds women pretty and he’s been in love before, but he’s never bought into the idea of love at first sight. Or any of that mushy stuff that Mary Beth devours in those books of hers. 

But you are absolutely gorgeous, dressed in a silk dress that’s so expensive he’s sure he could buy two new horses with it. Your fingers and neck are decorated in dainty jewels that you fidget with as you stare down at your drink. When you set your eyes on him again he thinks he might have been struck by Cupid’s arrow. 

“I don’t have a choice,” you finally answer, sending him a stiff smile. “What about you? Why are you here?”

Arthur suddenly remembers himself, remembers why he’s here and what he’s supposed to be doing. The fog in his head dissipates and he’s disappointed in himself. Pretty women have never done anything except get him in trouble. 

“Business,” he answers vaguely. Your eyes narrow and your brows twitch in discontent. Something like realization dawns on your face and you back away from him. The easy attitude you’d carried yourself with is gone, replaced by a vague look of distrust. 

“Right, should’ve known.” You let out a rough sigh and Arthur can’t help but feel like he’s said the wrong thing. “I suppose I’ll be seeing you again soon.” You slip past him before he can ask you what you mean. He hears the faint sound of metal clinking as you walk back up the stairs. 

Something silver flashes under your skirts but he can’t get a good glimpse of it. He feels unsettled as he turns back to the bar. The whole interaction was odd. From how stricken he was with you to how cold you turned. 

He doesn’t know what you saw in him but it was probably for the best that you left when you did. Neither of you needed the trouble the other would bring. He shakes his head, downing his whiskey and muttering nonsense to himself about not thinking with the wrong head. 

It’s not that much later that Dutch is appearing on the balcony and silently motions him forward. Arthur leaves the bar behind and slips up the same stairs you’d disappeared on. Dutch says nothing as he leads Hosea and Arthur through the house. 

The mansion is a maze more than anything. Arthur loses track of all the turns they take and the winding staircases they descend. Finally, Dutch stops them all in front of two large oak doors. He raps once on the door and then lets himself in. 

A large, balding man with a shiny head is perched on top of a leather chair. He looms behind his desk, fingers steepled as he greets them all with a false smile. “Ah, gentlemen, so nice to finally meet you.”

Dutch grins and motions to Arthur, “This is the man who will be doing the transporting, Arthur.” Arthur’s eyes narrow in confusion but he says nothing as Dutch moves to Hosea, “And this is my associate, Hosea. He’s a lot better with money than I am, Mr. Crane. You understand.”

Mr. Crane lets out a boisterous laugh that makes Arthur’s ears hurt and nods his head, his cheeks jiggling with the movement. “That I do! Well,” he waves them forward when they linger in the doorway too long, “come in, come in.”

Arthur closes the doors behind them as Mr. Crane lifts himself from his desk. There are two couches positioned in front of an unlit fire. He takes one of them and Dutch and Hosea take the other. Arthur perches himself on the armrest of their couch, eyes surveying the office like it might reveal the truth of their visit. 

“I trust Mr. Van der Linde has kept this all quiet?” 

“He has,” Arthur grouses. 

At the same time, Dutch says, “Of course, Mr. Crane. I promised confidentiality and Dutch Van der Linde is nothing if not a man who keeps to his promises.” Crane nods, looking satisfied and  Arthur holds back a laugh at how easily he seems to trust Dutch.

“Good, good.” He dips his hand inside his jacket and Arthur’s palm instinctively drops to where his gun should be. Of course, they’d had to give up their weapons before they came into the party, if he does has a gun Arthur can’t do a damn thing. 

But he doesn’t, instead, he pulls out the thickest stack of cash that Arthur has ever laid his eyes on. A loud thud resounds through the room as he slams the bills on top of the table between them. Arthur’s eyes widen and Hosea’s jaw nearly drops at the sight of it all. 

This would be enough to get them out of St. Denis tonight. Shock sours quickly into suspicion. What the hell has Dutch signed up for? “Now, this is the first half. This is simply for accepting the job and,” he gives them all severe looks, “for your silence.”

Arthur shifts uncomfortably on his perch and waits for Mr. Crane to finish. “The other half will be given once the package has been safely delivered.” There’s a certain lilt to his words when he says package that has Arthur’s hackles raising. Whatever is getting delivered is not going to be good. 

Crane turns towards the bookshelves on the wall and calls out, “Darling, won’t you join us?” Arthur figures the man must have lost his mind, they should just take the money and leave. But there’s a loud creak and something like metal gears grinding together. One of the shelves pops open and the panel swings forward. 

You pop your head out, glancing towards Crane and then taking a step forward. Arthur, without even thinking about it, finds himself sitting up, and brushing some of the dirt off his pants from the ride over. 

At first, he’s so confused by seeing you again that he doesn’t realize why exactly he’s seeing you again. Then you glance towards him, a knowing look on your face and it clicks. You’re the package. You’re what he’s meant to be transporting. 

He glares over at Dutch, when exactly did they get into the business of trading women?

Hosea voices his doubts in a much calmer manner. “If I may, sir, why does she need to be delivered so discreetly?”

Mr. Crane laughs and your face twitches unpleasantly. You grimace, glaring at the back of the man’s head with something like murder in your eyes. He doesn’t know what he’s done to cause such a visceral look of hate and he doesn’t want to think about it. This whole situation is bothering him. You’re not here willingly, which means you’re not going to be transported willingly either. 

None of this makes sense. Dutch would never have taken a job like this before, even when they needed the money. And there’s no way in hell a rich man like this one would want to pay a couple of grungy outlaws so much money. There’s got to be some sort of trick in all of this. 

Cran clears his throat, “She’s a daughter of a, well,” he frowns and struggles for the words. “Let’s just say we’re in a hostile competition for a lot of land. This land, boys, could be very beneficial in expanding my business. He’s not interested in selling and, well, desperate times, desperate measures.”

You scoff, laughing slightly at him and rounding the couch. Dutch ignores you, Hosea looks uncomfortable, and Crane continues prattling on without missing a beat. “Should her father not pay me, she will be married to the associate you’re bringing her to. He’s promised me enough land and money to cover what I lost to her father. And if he does pay, she’ll be returned in time for her wedding here.”

Arthur’s eyes dart towards you and you send him a bitter smile. It makes him shift where he sits, hating the way your eyes bore into him. “I just need someone who's not afraid of getting their hands a little dirty to make sure she behaves while she’s delivered to my friend,” Crane glances over at Arthur. He asses him, the bulge of his arms in the suit and the scars on his face, whatever he finds must be satisfactory because he smiles over at Dutch. 

Arthur stands, ready for Dutch to tell Mr. Crane that they’re not in the business of selling women off. But Dutch doesn’t, he smiles at Mr. Crane and reaches for the money, passing it off to Hosea to count. “Well, I do believe my friend Arthur is just the man for the job.” 

“I think you’re right, Dutch.” He stands up now, pot belly nearly bursting the buttons of his shirt, and reaches for Dutch’s hand. “Pleasure doing business with you.”

Dutch smiles and takes his sweaty palm, “You as well, sir.” Dutch walks towards you and holds his arm out. “This way, my dear.” You glance between him and his elbow before rolling your eyes and reluctantly placing your hand on his arm. You follow him silently and obediently, no fight is left in you. Hosea follows after you both, a concerned look on his face. 

Arthur remains in the office, standing dumbfounded and staring at the doorway you’d disappeared through. He’s struggling to process what just happened. Arthur has helped people get home safely before and provided protection. But he’s never been one to traffic a hostage. 

Crane glances up, finally noticing him still standing there. He walks past him, patting his shoulder as he does and giving him an approving smile. “Don’t be afraid to take care of her should she get out of hand.” He’s nearly out the door but he looks back and adds, “Just don’t bruise her too much.”

Arthur’s fingers twitch for his revolver once more and he’s never wanted to shoot a man more. But he knows Dutch is waiting for him and he’d never make it out of here alive if he started a fight right now. Reluctantly, he makes his way out of the manor and towards where you’re all waiting for him. 

He’s fuming by the time he stops in front of Dutch. He’s trying to help you onto his horse and Arthur finally realizes what the metal sound he heard earlier is. There are chains around your ankles and you can’t maneuver yourself on the saddle. 

His eyes narrow and he glares at Dutch, “What the hell are you doing? We’re selling women now?”

Dutch glowers at the tone of Arthur’s voice. You watch them both passively, fiddling with the rings on your fingers and looking unbothered by the entire situation. “Watch yourself, Arthur,” there’s a clear warning in his tone but Arthur’s too upset to care. 

They’ve done a lot of bad things. They weren’t good men. But this was just going too far. “We need this, Arthur. You want to get out of here, you want to keep our people safe?” Arthur let out a deep exhale, gritting his teeth together and nodding reluctantly. Dutch huffs, “That’s what I thought. We’re not selling anyone, Arthur. It’s a simple delivery.”

His jaw clenches as he watches Dutch struggle to help you again. “It’s not going to work,” you inform Dutch. You lift your skirts, flashing him the chains he hadn’t seemed to notice yet. Neither of you gets a chance to say anything as Arthur pulls out his gun and shoots the lock off. 

He feels a little guilty at how startled you look. Your eyes widen until they look like they might bulge out. Your hands fly up to cover your ears as the sound rocks through you. It breaks violently through the silence of the night. 

Dutch turns and gives him a stern look, “Have you forgotten the meaning of subtlety?” Arthur can tell he’s trying not to shout and drag any more attention towards you all. 

Arthur glares at Dutch, something wicked brewing in his stomach. “The lady wouldn’t be able to ride a horse like that.” He mounts his horse and rides off without a look back. He can’t stand to be near you or Dutch any longer. 

The reality of what they’ve turned into hits him like a bag of rocks and it makes him irate. They’ve never been these people. Never traded a person off like they were an object. He’s sure plenty of people in camp would have a problem with this. But he doubts Dutch will let them know the truth until the job is done. 

And by then, everyone will be too happy with the money to complain. Dutch is nothing if not good at saving his ass. He’s hitching his horse as the rest of you ride into camp. He lingers by Diablo, resting a hand on the thick neck of the shire while Dutch helps you off the saddle. 

His eyes narrow in on the way Dutch’s fingers glide along your waist as you jump down. You take a step back the second your legs are steady sending Dutch a dirty look that almost makes Arthur laugh. 

He starts towards Dutch, ready to try and reason with him again. But he holds his hand up and walks away, not even giving him a chance to speak. Arthur lets out a rough sigh as Hosea comes up behind him. 

He pats his shoulder comfortingly, “You should get some sleep, Arthur. You’ll ride with her to Strawberry tomorrow morning.” He almost walks off but he whispers a quiet, “I’m sorry,” before he goes. 

Arthur glances towards you but you’re looking around the camp, eyes lingering on Javier as he sings by the fire. He swears he almost sees you smile but it's gone as quickly as it came. He takes his hat off, running his hand through his hair and letting out a tired sigh. 

“Alright, come with me,” he starts towards the house. It takes a minute to realize you’re not directly behind him. When he looks over your shoulder he sees you with your skirts lifted, tiptoeing through the mud and trying not to get your pretty skirts dirty. 

He rolls his eyes, storming back towards you. Your eyes widen at the look on his face and you stumble back a few steps. Undeterred, he bends over, throwing you over his shoulder and walking towards the house. 

Your hands claw at his back, desperately grasping onto his shirt so you keep your balance. He storms up the stairs, ignoring the alarmed looks he gets from others in camp. He can already hear them whispering, wondering who you are and why he’s dragging you into his room. 

They can make up whatever the hell they want. Arthur’s too pissed off to give a shit about rumors tonight. He drops you unceremoniously onto his bed and storms back out. He heads downstairs, rooting around in one of the chests for some extra clothes. 

You won’t be able to ride to Strawberry in those ridiculous clothes. You’ll need some pants if you’re going to sit on the horse properly. He tucks the outfit under his arm and makes his way back to you. 

When he opens the door your hand immediately darts away from his shaving kit and shoves itself under your butt. His brows furrow as he catches a flash of silver in your hand. He places the clothes down on the end of the bed, eyes drifting towards his shaving kit. Sure enough, his razor seems to be missing. 

He lets out a sigh and you tense up, hand clenching around your prize. He briefly debates taking it from you. But he figures you should be allowed a modicum of comfort. Even if you did try and use it against him it’s dull, he hasn’t sharpened it in a while and you wouldn’t be able to do much damage anyway. 

He lets you keep it, leaving you on your own without another word. He can hear the exhale of relief you let out when he walks away and it makes him feel just a little better about this. At least you’re not completely terrified. 

You change into the clothes Arthur gave you. They’re a little big, but you appreciate the pants. It’s much better than the ridiculous dresses Crane had you in. You collect your dress and toss it out the window of Arthur’s room, watching it sink into the mud pit below. It brings you some satisfaction to see Crane’s pretty silk getting ruined. 

You take off the jewelry you’d been given and stuff it into your boots. If you did manage to escape while you were traveling with Arthur then you were going to need some cash. You could sell off the jewels and hopefully, it would be enough to keep you comfortable. 

It feels nice, to wear real clothes. Not being dressed up like a doll for once. You envy some of the women here, who can wear what they want. There is an appeal to the outlaw life. As long as you’re on the right side of it, which, currently, you’re not. 

You slip out of the house before anyone has a chance to retrieve you. The whole night you were curled up around a dull razor with your eyes wide open. Spending a night surrounded by outlaws isn’t exactly restful. 

You figure you might as well try and walk around before you’re on the back of a horse for the rest of the day. There are more people up than you’d expected. Luckily, you don’t see Dutch around anywhere. You don’t feel like having to deal with any more of his false charm or empty apologies. 

The same man you’d seen strumming his guitar the night before is asleep next to the dying fire. A blonde woman catches your eye, she’s walking past some other women in dresses. They’re still asleep but she looks like she’s been up for hours. 

There’s a bit of blood on her pants and you briefly wonder what she’d been doing. “Who are you?” She asks, surveying you from head to toe with suspicion in her eyes. 

“A package,” you tell her bluntly, walking past her towards the only lit fire of camp. She follows you, a wry grin on her face as she watches you pour yourself some coffee. 

“You’ve got a real attitude, I like it.” 

You huff out a laugh, taking a sip of the burnt coffee and giving her a brief smile. “I’m sure my future husband won’t.” 

She rolls her eyes and scoffs, waving you off. “Husbands, good for nothing. I loved mine but he was useless as a sack o’ flour. You’re better off without them.”

Your smile turns strained and you look down at your feet, at the boots that aren’t your own. You’ll never get to dress like this again. Or speak like this to a woman who isn’t afraid to voice what's on her mind. 

“Yes, well,” you shrug and meet her eyes again, “I don’t seem to have much of a choice.”

Her eyes narrow and she frowns, “What’s that supposed to-”

“Mrs. Adler!” Dutch’s voice booms from across the camp and forces the others awake. Most of them grumble, but they’re quick to get started on morning chores. “I see you’ve met our guest,” he says your name with a flourish that almost makes you laugh. 

He’s a good actor. He’s especially good at covering up his mistakes. “Yeah, what’s going on, Dutch? Who is she? Why don’t you guys ever let me in on this stuff?” She fires off questions rapidly, you almost don’t catch them all. There are clearly underlying issues here other than your unexpected presence. 

“In due time,” he assures her, laying the charm on thick. But even you can tell he’s full of it. He’s not planning on letting her in on anything unless it benefits him. “And this is our guest, her fiancee has paid us handsomely to provide her safe passage back to him.” 

He walks towards you, laying a hand over your arm and squeezing slightly. You give Sadie a stiff smile and let him lead you away. “I do believe it’s best that you just wait for Arthur, dear.” He gives you a look that lets you know it’s an order, not a suggestion. 

Still, you play along, “I think you might be right, Mr. Van der Linde, thank you for the hospitality.” You run a tired hand over your face, sitting down on the stoop of the house and finishing off the rest of your coffee. Dutch watches you for a while, never straying too far from where you are and intercepting anyone who asks about you. 

He spins quite the romantic tale of your lost love and how he desperately wants you back. You wish it were true, that you were living out some wonderful fairytale and were about to be reunited with the love of your life. Instead, it feels like one long walk to the gallows. 

The wood creaks behind you and you don’t need to turn to see who it is. “Ready?” Arthur asks and you figure he means, ready to leave freedom and happiness and the will to live behind? 

No, “Sure,” you toss the rest of the coffee into the grass and leave the mug on the stairs. You get to your feet and let him lead you towards the horses. He shares a brief look with Dutch as you pass by him but it doesn’t look entirely pleasant. 

He makes his way toward a towering black shire and your eyes widen in horror. “What’s this?”

He works on saddling the horse up, not paying much attention to you. “This is Diablo.” You take a step closer and the horse starts huffing, swinging his neck towards you with his lips pulled back. You jump back a step back, eyeing him warily. 

Arthur glances over and lets out a low chuckle, “He won’t bite. He’s just curious.”

“Mhm,” you give him a disbelieving look. “You’ll have to excuse me for being wary, I’ve not met a lot of horses.”

Arthur looks a bit shocked by your admission. “Really?” He questions, sounding doubtful. 

You give him a brief smile and nod. “Hard to believe, I know, but I’ve lived a very sheltered life, Mr. Morgan. Haven’t had many opportunities for exploring on my own.” 

He opens his mouth, looking like he wants to say something. At the last second, he stops himself, instead taking a step closer to you. You flinch away from him when he reaches for you and he lets out a sigh. “You can’t spend the next three days terrified of him, come on.”

He coaxes you forward and you reluctantly step closer to the beast. He chuckles at the scared look on your face. You don’t appreciate how much amusement he’s gaining from this. “Come on,” he mutters, taking your wrist and leading you closer to Diablo. 

The damn thing is named Devil, how could you not be terrified of it? 

“He won’t bite, I promise.” You don’t trust him but he doesn’t give you much of a choice. He presses your open palm to Diablo’s nose and you wince, bracing for him to lash out at you. 

But he doesn’t, he lets out a soft knicker and it seems like he doesn’t even care that you’re there. You let out a relieved laugh, running your hand tentatively over his muzzle. It’s shockingly soft and oddly squishy. 

He doesn’t seem to mind as you awe over him. You smile and glance over at Arthur but it drops when you see the odd look on his face. He seems perplexed by your reaction and you can’t fathom why. “You really never have ridden a horse before, have you?”

You shake your head, “No. I told you.”

He purses his lips and nods. You don’t know what it is about this that’s bothering him and you don’t care to ask. If he doesn’t believe just how strict your upbringing has been then fine. “Alright, come on, we need to get a move on.” 

He leads you around to the saddle and helps you up on the back of the horse. It’s beyond odd, sitting on something in pants. Getting to spread your legs freely is something you are going to greatly enjoy during this journey. 

Arthur takes off without much warning and you yelp, throwing your arms around his waist to steady yourself. He glances over his shoulder at you but says nothing. You turn your head, watching as the camp gets smaller and smaller. 

The people mill about, greet each other, and break bread together. It hits you suddenly, this will be the last time you get to see people being free. If you don’t get out, if you can’t escape, your life will be filled with starched collars and powdered faces. You’ll never have a genuine conversation with someone again. You’ll be turned into pretty jewelry hanging off the arm of a man you never met. 

The ride to Strawberry is three days at least. You have three days to get your plan together and to escape. You almost feel sorry for Arthur and the repercussions he’ll have to face losing you. But not sorry enough that you’re not gonna try. 

Arthur’s speed evens out and you let your arms relax, easing away from him slightly. Your wrist jolts against the gun on his hip and you eye it curiously. If you had a gun there would be no doubt you could escape. You see Arthur’s fingers twitch on the reigns of the horse and you move your arms higher up his torso. 

You doubt you’ll be a quicker draw than he is. He is an outlaw after all. You don’t think he’d have many qualms about delivering you to your fiancee with a few extra holes in your gut. Your mind drifts to the razor in your pocket and you consider it for a moment. 

You’re sure you’d be quick enough to just whip it out and slit his throat. You sigh and dismiss the thought. You were a lot of things but you were not a murderer. There are lines you can’t bring yourself to cross. Besides, as wicked as what he’s doing to you is, you know he’s a good man. 

It was an instinctual feeling. Mr. Crane and your father were both horrible, evil men. They knew nothing but greed and would never be satisfied by all the riches they reaped. They were the type of men you looked at and knew deep down that there was nothing left to save. 

Arthur has undoubtedly bad things. You don’t become an outlaw without spilling some blood. He was weathered and rough from a hard life, but that didn’t mean there was nothing good left in him. You won’t have his blood on your hands, no matter how much you might want to get away from him. 

As grateful as Arthur is for the silence, it is odd. He’s helped a few ladies find their way back home before and for some reason, they seem to think he’s the best listener in the world. It seems everyone who rides with him wants to tell him their life stories. 

You’re completely silent, though. He has to keep looking back just to make sure you haven’t fallen off the back of the horse. You’re pretty complacent, following along with whatever Dutch said and coming along quietly. You seem beaten down, the fight dragged out of you. 

He wonders what Mr. Crane had done to you. A few times, he’s seen just a glimpse of the spark that used to be there. But it was snuffed out before he got a chance to know it. He almost wishes you would talk. It would distract him from what he was doing right now.

It didn’t feel right, bringing you along to marry a man you’ve never even met. He has to keep reminding himself that it would have happened no matter what. Ladies like you are always sold off into a profitable marriage. The only thing he’s doing is switching up who the fiancee might be. 

None of that makes him feel better, though. He should be helping you, not dragging you away to your worst nightmare. But, his people come first. The amount of money Dutch’ll get from this will be enough to get them all out of here. This could finally be the last score. 

You gasp behind him and he whips his head around, immediately expecting someone to be following along beside you both. Maybe your father’s men or just some raiders. But he doesn’t see anything except a herd of deer running through the trees. 

His brows furrow in confusion and he glances back at you. You’re watching them like they’re something spectacular. Arthur’s always been a fan of the quiet beauty of nature. He appreciates them in ways most folks don’t understand. But you’re looking at ‘em like you just found God. 

“Never seen deer before?” He teases, chuckling a little at your reaction. 

You startle, not realizing he had been watching. You clear your throat and look away from them sheepishly. He almost feels bad for ruining the moment for you. “No. No, I haven’t.” 

He knows it's possible, but it’s astounding to him that someone truly lived their whole life in the city. It just doesn’t seem right. Cities are full of shit, smog, and bad people. Not even having a moment out of that your whole life seems like torture. 

“I’ll just enjoy it while it lasts,” you mutter, eyes darting back to the tree line. But the deer are gone and you don’t look very interested anymore. 

“Right,” he shifts forward, the air between you awkward. He’d only meant it in jest. He didn’t mean to remind you of what was about to happen to you. He doesn’t like the silence, not this time, it feels wrong. It makes him stew in his shame and that’s a nasty feeling. 

Selfishly, he prods you for more. “A few days on the road, you’ll be eager for the city again.”

You laugh but there’s no humor to it. “I very much doubt that Mr. Morgan.”

“Arthur,” he corrects, “just call me Arthur.”

“Right,” your tone remains cold, “well if you don’t mind Arthur, I’d like to ride there in silence.”

He's got no other choice but to comply. If you don’t want to talk he won’t make you. He just wishes he could make this a little easier for you both. 

Camping is something. You don’t have a word for it. It’s nice to be out in nature and embrace it for the first time in your life. But you really would not mind the comfort of your bed right now. 

Rocks digging into your spine and head do not make for a good night’s sleep. You’ve been lying in front of the fire for hours, flipping around uselessly. It doesn’t matter how much you shift, the rock stays digging painfully into you. 

You let out a loud huff, flopping onto your back and glaring up at the starry sky in defeat. At least the view is nice. In the city, you can’t see the stars. The smoke’s too thick and you never get a good look at them.

Out here, they almost feel fake. They’re so bright and beautiful, you thought the paintings in the museum had always been exaggerating just how breathtaking a night sky can be. But you were wrong. And you hate that there’s a potential future where you’ll never get to see this again. 

“Would you quit squirming so damn much?”

You shoot up, resting on your elbows and glaring over at Arthur. He’s got his hat over his eyes, arms crossed, and looking like he’s been asleep for the past few hours. You hadn’t realized you’d been keeping him up. 

“Some of us aren’t used to sleeping outside,” you hiss, throwing yourself back down to the ground. He doesn’t say anything for a while and you figure that’s the end of it. You clench your eyes shut, counting sheep in your mind and trying to force yourself asleep. 

You hear boots crunching across leaves and your eyes fly open. Arthur’s standing over you, hands propped on his hips as he glares down at you. “Can I help you?” You snap when you get tired of the staring. 

He scoffs and shakes his head, kneeling to be eye level with you. You’re startled by the proximity, an odd heat creeping up your neck. “Come on, I’m gonna tire you out. Maybe then you’ll get some sleep.”

You gasp, astonished at the audacity of his suggestion. “Excuse me?” You demand, tone incredulous. 

His brows furrow before he shakes his head and rolls his eyes. “Not like that,” he grouses. “Get up,” he doesn’t give you much of a choice. He places his hand under your back, shoving you onto your feet. You stand with a slight stumble, glaring at him as you brush dirt off your shirt and pants. 

You can’t help the snotty tone of your voice as you ask, “What are we doing?” 

“Huntin,’” He answers gruffly, going over to the horse and taking the bow out of his saddle. 

Your brows furrow as you recall the few stories your father told you of hunting bison. “Aren’t you supposed to use a rifle?”

He shakes his head and nods towards the treeline. You glance back at the fire before reluctantly following him into the dark forest. The moon is full enough that it provides just enough light for you not to be terrified of what’s lurking in the underbrush. 

“Got a friend,” he tells you, kneeling and glancing at some tracks on the ground. “Taught me how to hunt properly. Bows are quieter, less disruptive, and they provide quicker, cleaner kills.” He looks back at you and motions towards the arrows, “Less pain for the animal.”

Your face slacks with something like astonishment. All you’d heard from your father was the thrill of the hunt, the satisfaction of the kill. He never mentioned keeping anything from the animal, using it for meat, or about how long it took for them to die. You’d never thought there was anybody who actually cared for the creature’s comfort as it died. 

You suppose there’s going to be a lot about Arthur that’s different from the men you know. 

“Arthur,” a twig snaps behind you, and your eyes widen. You drop your voice to a whisper, not wanting to draw too much attention towards you both. “I don’t want to kill anything,” you hiss.

“Ha!” He barks out a laugh and you purse your lips in irritation. He stands and looks at you, chuckling again before shaking his head. “I wouldn’t be so confident in your huntin’ skill, kid.”

You click your tongue and glare at him, “Don’t call me that,” you snap. It’s the same patronizing nickname your father loved to use on you and you detest it. He raises his hands in surrender and you roll your eyes at the smirk on his face. “Then what’s the point of this?”

He shrugs and heads further into the trees, you have no choice but to follow along behind him. “Figure you should be taught a few skills before I get rid of ya.”

You want to argue with him that there’s no point. If you are given to Crane’s associate, you’ll never set foot in the woods again. However, if you do manage to escape him, learning a few survival skills wouldn’t be a bad idea. 

So, you keep your mouth shut and let him lead you through the forest. “How do you know where to go?” You ask, trying to figure out what it is he keeps looking at in the mud. He waves you forward, moving you so you’re standing directly in front of him. 

“You see that?” You have to squint, relying solely on the light from the moon, to make out what he’s pointing at. There are some tracks in the mud that look vaguely like hooves. “It’s buck tracks, you can tell by the size.” He kneels and when you don’t follow he tugs you down by the sleeve. “You can’t rely on just the tracks, though. You have to look for other signs of ‘em.”

You glance around, noticing some crushed twigs and grass a few feet ahead. “Like that?” You point towards it and he huffs in amusement. 

“Caught on quicker than I thought.”

You feel vaguely offended by that but don’t bother voicing it, just glare at his back as he gets up. You walk silently through the forest, letting Arthur show you which tracks to follow and which to avoid. You’re not comforted by how many cougar prints you find. You stare up into the branches always expecting something to already be looking down at you. 

Miraculously, no wild cat chooses you for dinner as you track the buck down. You find him near a small stream, antlers dipping into the water as he takes a drink. He’s got to be one of the most gorgeous creatures you’ve ever seen. 

You’ve lived your whole life in St. Denis. The most you’ve seen are overworked carriage horses and mangy dogs. No life slips through the cracks of that place. There’s just smoke and misery. This is nature, real beauty. It’s breathtaking, the way the leaves ripple in the wind and the starlight reflects in the water. 

You can’t imagine seeing this and wanting to tear it down to put up an oily machine that contributes nothing to the earth but death. It just makes you hate your father more. It also makes you more resolved to not be forced back into that life. You can’t do it. You can’t have this one taste of freedom and then let it go without a fight. 

Arthur pulls the bow out and nocks an arrow. You glance between him and the buck and rapidly shake your head. “No,” you hiss, “I don’t wanna kill it.”

He rolls his eyes and moves you in front of him. You don’t have much choice as he places your hands on the string and guides you into the right position. “Relax,” he murmurs in your ear as you fight against his grip. “You ain’t gonna kill it.” 

It doesn’t bring you much comfort, but if you’re going to make it on your own, sometimes you’ll have to do something you don’t like. “Now,” his hand drifts down your bicep and you suck in a sharp breath. “Don’t hold it too long, you’ll get tired.” 

It’s dawning on you just how close you both are. You’re kneeling on the ground with him behind you, essentially cradling your body to him. You’ve never been this familiar with a man before, it’s making your brain short-circuit. You can hardly pay attention to what he’s telling you. 

He lifts your elbow slightly and points you towards the left. “You need to keep your arm steady even after you let go or your aim will be off. Take in a deep breath and release on the exhale.” You give him an apprehensive look, still not wanting to hurt the buck. He just nods and there’s something in his gaze that lets you relax slightly. 

You release the string and the arrow flies over the buck’s head, burying itself into the tree behind it. Its head shoots up and it turns towards you both before dashing off. You let out an astonished laugh, glancing down the bow and then back at Arthur. 

“My god, I’ve never shot anything before.”

“Congratulations, you’ve killed your first tree,” he remarks dryly, but you see the glint of humor in his eye. 

He gets to his feet and offers you a hand up. You smile up at him, undeterred by his attitude. “Thank you for this,” you tell him earnestly. He gives you an odd look but nods anyway. He doesn’t understand just how important this is to you. Knowing how to do something like this is the difference between life and death when you’re on your own. Of course, he doesn’t realize you’ll be making an escape attempt soon. 

He retrieves the arrow from the tree and you run your hand over the curve of the bow. You wonder just how much he’d miss this if you took it from him. 

Arthur’s tearing down the camp and you’re standing by Diablo, feeding him some apples. You stroke absentmindedly over the horse's muzzle, watching Arthur intently. He’s too busy pulling the tent apart to be paying attention to you. 

You got better sleep last night than you did at Crane’s. He was right, hunting had tired you out. You were eager enough to sleep that you didn’t even feel the rough ground underneath you. He seems to be a little more lax about his watch over you. 

Something about last night must have eased him into a sense of comfort that you’re not going to run. That’s his own fault, though. You glance over the curve of the hill, noticing a carriage that will be passing by soon enough. 

You look back at Arthur and ease slightly away from Diablo. Arthur is still collecting the blankets and rolling them up. He turns towards the dying fire and tosses the rest of the coffee out. You take another step back and he keeps his back to you. 

Slowly, you release Diablo’s reigns, giving him one last apple before you turn on your heel and run down the hill. Your foot slips out from under you and you let out a loud yelp as you go flying headfirst down the grass. 

You land on your back with enough impact to make the breath rush out of you. But your descent is still going and you’re flipping over headfirst into the road. You slide forward, the dirt scraping up your chin as you cough and try and catch your breath. 

“Look out!” You roll out of the way just before the carriage rolls over you. Someone shouts your name from the top of the hill and you see Arthur glaring down at you. He starts towards you and you scramble to your feet. 

“Stop!” You scream, waving your arms wildly and chasing after the carriage. The man gives you a bewildered look as you throw yourself at him. “Please, sir, I’ve been kidnapped, you must help me get back to my husband.”

The man looks behind you, sees a very angry Arthur bellowing out your name, and moves to the side. “Hurry up,” he urges, giving you a hand on the bench beside him. You let out a relieved breath, taking his hand and throwing yourself the rest of the way up. 

He whips the horses, hurrying them along all the while Arthur is yelling after you. It’s not hard to believe that he would kidnap you. He looks half-crazed as he follows along behind you. You turn over your shoulder, giving him a brief wave and a smile. “Thanks for the help,” you tell the man beside you. You offer your hand and name. 

He glances down at it but doesn’t take it, instead looking forward and ignoring you entirely. Something uneasy settles in your stomach but you push it aside. You blame the feeling on the adrenaline still pumping through you. 

“Where are you headed?” You ask, glancing into the back of the carriage. You notice some moonshine and a crate full of guns but decide not to question it. 

“Said yer husband’s waitin’ for ya?” He demands, completely ignoring your question. You stare at the side of his face but his expression isn’t giving anything away. He comes to an intersection. You see a sign pointing towards a town and figure he’s going to take it, but instead, he pulls onto a smaller trail leading to the woods. 

“Um,” you clear your throat uncertainly, glancing back at the sign. “Yes,” your voice cracks and you know you sound like you’re full of shit. 

He laughs and the sound sends chills down your spine. You rip your eyes off of him, looking down at the horses and suddenly realizing just what you’d gotten yourself into. “You sure about that, little lady?”

Something cold digs into your side and you gasp quietly, looking down to see a gun pressed against your ribs. “You scream, run, or do anythin’ to piss me off and I’ll put a fourth hole in ya.” When you don’t say anything he digs it harder into you. “Understand?” He growls and you can do nothing but nod your head. 

You want to move, want to shove him off the side of the carriage and make a run for it. But you can’t, you’re frozen solid. You’re so petrified with fear you can’t even blink. You think you’re holding your breath, as if taking in air is going to set the gun off. 

He grins, a blackened curl of lips over rotted teeth, at your obedience and comes to a stop in the trees. “What are you doing?” You whisper, staring at the secluded area with a newfound sense of horror. 

“Shut up,” he snaps, his voice echoing through the quiet of the woods. You hear no birds or animals and you feel so alone it makes you want to cry. He gets off the carriage and turns towards you. “Down,” he demands. Your eyes dart towards the reigns of the horses and he pulls the hammer of the gun back. “Don’t even think about it.”

You lift your hands in the air, slowly slipping down the seat. He doesn’t appreciate you taking your time He grabs the front of your shirt, jerking you further into the trees and tossing you to the ground. 

You let out a rough groan at the impact, blood staining your shirt as your elbow slips across a jagged rock. It’s like something is snapped loose in your mind. He comes stomping towards you, kneeling between your spread legs and it finally clicks. 

You lunge forward with a shout and he rears back in surprise. You wonder how often someone’s actually fought against him or just let it happen. You don’t want to die, you don’t want to get shot by this scum, but there are a lot of things worse than dying. 

You grab the arm holding the gun, jerking it around, and knocking it out of his hand. “You bitch!” He hisses, bringing his open palm down across your cheek. The smack rings through the trees and ricochets through the air. Your head whips to the side so hard you think you might have snapped your neck. 

Blood dribbles out from your lips, your teeth having bitten into the fat of your cheeks. You spot the gun nearby, the silver of the barrel glinting from under the leaves. Just as you reach for it, he’s wrapping his hands around your ankles and dragging you back towards him. 

You feel like screaming as your hands desperately grasp at the dirt underneath you. But there’s not enough air to scream. You dig your nails into the mud, feel them split against the rocks, and kick at his chest hard enough to make him lose his breath. 

His grip on you loosens and you throw yourself at the pile of leaves. Hands groping for something solid. Just as he flips you over you wrap your hand around the handle of the gun. You pull the trigger and the bang is deafening. 

Your ears ring and your hands are trembling from the recoil. His jaw goes slack and he tumbles on top of you. You let out a grunt, breath pushed out of you by his weight. You scramble against his chest, something warm making your hands slip as you struggle to roll him off of you. 

You glance over, waiting for him to spring back up. But there’s something dark pooling around him and sinking into the dirt below. There’s a hole in his chest and his eyes are already flattening. You fall back against the earth, staring up at the trees above you. 

The sounds rush back to you all at once. The birds singing, deers prancing somewhere in the distance. You hear a stream rushing nearby and let out a stunned laugh. There’s a smile on your face but there’s nothing to be happy about. 

You think you might be in shock. Mind still trying to catch up to what just happened. You glance down at the gun in your hand and toss it to the side, not wanting it near you anymore. Only a second later do you reach for it again. 

You struggle onto your hands and knees, checking over yourself for any injuries that you might be numb to right now. The only blood on you is from the dead man on the ground. You keel over, hands on your knees, and suck in a deep gasping breath. 

You stumble back, limping towards the carriage. You dig around in the back of the wagon, tugging out a giant hunting knife and walking towards the horses. You cut them loose, keeping the rope on one of them and tugging yourself onto her back. You tuck the knife in your belt and nudge her side, leading her forward gently. 

You don't even have time to process the fact that you’re riding a horse on your own. Your body is moving on autopilot. You can only think about getting ahead, getting away. What just happened will hit you later. You slump against the neck of the horse, adrenaline leaking out of you and exhaustion catching up. 

He’s going to find you and he’s going to kill you. Leaving while he had his back turned. Getting on some carriage with a man you’ve never met before. How dumb do you have to be? You can’t trust people out here. Not when there are gangs, raiders, hell, he’s encountered a few cannibals. 

For all he knows, you’re already dead and he’ll be delivering a body to the train station. The thought makes him curse and urge Diablo forward. It’s not hard to follow the tracks of the carriage, what concerns him is when they lead into the forest instead of the town. 

“Goddammit,” he mutters, “the hell have you done woman?” He leaps off Diablo, figuring it will be easier to track you on foot. He follows the paths of the wheels, finding the wagon abandoned and the horses cut loose. 

His brows furrow in confusion as he wanders around the side and spots a lump in the leaves. All he can see is the bottom of a boot and blood splattered across the orange of the fallen leaves. 

His stomach plummets and he races towards it. But it’s not you buried under the foliage, it’s the man who offered you a ride. “What the hell?” He kneels, brushing the leaves off his chest and frowning when he sees the blood splattered all along his chest. 

He doesn’t need to look long to figure out what killed him. He’s sure the bullet buried in his heart did the job. Arthur curses and stalks away from the man. There are prints where the horses were but there are too many to tell which one you might have taken. 

He’ll have to rely on instinct to find you. You’re becoming a real pain in the ass for what was supposed to be a simple job. Still, he can’t help but be a little relieved that it was a stranger and not you lying dead on the ground. 

He turns back onto the road, taking the turn into town. Someone on horseback rides past him, they look disgusted by something up ahead and it makes alarms go off in his head. He urges Diablo forward, running the rest of the way into town. 

An unsaddled mare lazily eats some grass as the sound of a rushing river meets his ears. Diablo’s hooves sound off against the wood of the bridge. He finally sees what disturbed the other rider so much. 

You’re sitting on the railing of the bridge, legs dangling dangerously over the edge as you stare down into the crashing waters below you. Arthur gets off his horse, approaching you slowly. He doesn’t want to startle you and have you go tumbling over the edge. 

He calls out your name and you glance briefly over at him. Blood is splattered across your neck and the front of your shirt is soaked with it. He knows it isn’t yours but it still puts him on edge. “What’re you doin’ kid?” 

You don’t answer him, “Did you follow me?” He eases up beside you, straddling the railing so he can catch you if you slip. He nods and you let out a rough sigh. “Is he dead?”

He scoffs, “Sure as shit hope so, don’t know how someone would survive that.”

A manic laugh bursts through your lips and you double over your head falling into your hands. Arthur surges forward, steadying you before you dive headfirst into the river. “Alright, let’s go,” he quietly urges you around. You don’t put up a fight, letting him maneuver you how he likes.

He gets you on your feet and leads you back to Diablo. You latch onto the horse's reigns immediately, stroking your hand over his mane. Your silence is concerning. Arthur doesn’t know what your regular behavior is, the most he’s seen of you, you have been quiet. This is different, though. He’s seen this sort of quiet in women before and it never ends pretty. 

“You’re alright, come on,” he tries to keep his voice low so he doesn’t set you off. He keeps his hands light as they land around your waist, giving you help onto Diablo’s saddle. Your gaze is distant and you move like someone else is controlling your body. 

He collects the mare you’d brought along with you and leads both horses into town. He’ll have to get a saddle for her, she already seems attached to you. And maybe taking a horse with you into the city will let you escape a little. 

The town, at least, is on the way to Strawberry so he doesn’t have to worry about being too far off schedule. Though, that’s the least of his concerns right now. His eyes keep darting up to you. Waiting for you to try and bolt again or finally break down. It doesn’t look like anything is going on in your head, you seem completely distanced from the situation. 

It’s a good thing for him. He can’t handle a distraught woman. He’s not a kind enough man for it. 

He hitches the horses in front of the hotel. You turn in the saddle, staring down at him and waiting for a hand down. You slide easily through his hands, landing in the mud with a dull thud and heading up the stairs of the hotel without prompt. 

He huffs and follows after you. He doesn’t know how to explain the blood on your clothes away and hopes he won’t have to. The man running the place, thankfully, doesn’t have many questions. He looks disturbed but keeps his qualms to himself when Arthur slips him a little extra cash. 

Arthur guides you up the stairs with a light hand on your back, opening the door of the bath for you. “Alright, here’s your room key. I’ll be out for a while so, just,” he sighs, taking in the blank look on your face and shaking his head. “Try not to cause any more trouble.” You nod and close the door behind him. 

There’s no worries that you’re going to make a run for it again. He’s sure whatever happened in those woods was scarring enough to make you want to go back to the city and never see country folk again. He wouldn’t blame you, there are some nasty people out here. Himself included, but he could never imagine hurting a woman like that. It just ain’t right. 

He heads to the shop across the street, buying some new clothes for you that actually fight properly. The horses are brought to the stables and he goes ahead and gets a paper for your mare under your name. Diablo will be faster tomorrow if he doesn’t have to carry the weight of two people. You might make it to your handler in time. 

Arthur still doesn’t feel right about this whole thing. Leaving you with a man you’ve never met feels even worse knowing what happened to you today. He doesn’t think you being so calm about it all is a good thing. Shouldn’t women react?

Dutch likes to tell him women are a more sensitive breed. He’s seen some tough ones in his life, but this seems like the time to be in hysterics if there ever was one. He heads back to the hotel, planning on just leaving the change of clothes in your room. 

He passes by the bath and hears an odd sound seeping through the cracks. Frowning, he presses his ear up against the door. A man passes by him, giving him a disgusted look as he goes into his room. Arthur sighs but he stays where he is. 

It’s clearer now, you’re crying and it’s hard to listen to. It's the type that makes it hard to breathe. That sort of crying makes your ribs ache and bruise. It’s wrong to keep listening to such a vulnerable moment. So, he does what he planned, drops the clothes in your room, and then heads to bed himself. 

Sleep comes easier than he thought it would. It’s not as restful as he’d been hoping but it draws over him faster than it normally does. He’s always been a light sleeper, though. It comes from years of having to be on guard in case some O’Driscoll is gonna try and slit his throat while he’s asleep. 

When he hears the door creak his hand is already on the trigger of his revolver as he shoots up in bed. The glow of the lamps outside illuminates what’s clearly a woman’s form. But he can’t see your face until you take a step further into the room and the moonlight provides some light. 

“Arthur?” You whisper his name, peering into his room. “Are you awake?”

“I am now,” he grumbles. With a sigh, he shoves the gun back under his pillow and runs a rough hand over his face. “What'd ya want?”

You let out a low breath and rock back on your heels. “I’m sorry,” you mutter. “I just, I can’t sleep. I keep thinking he’s gonna creep out of my closet or bust through the door, I-”

You cut yourself off but he can hear the emotion thickening your voice. He clenches his eyes shut in irritation, arguing with himself over what he’s about to say. “You wanna sleep in here?” He mumbles reluctantly. 

You close the door immediately, practically running towards his bed. “You don’t mind?”

You’re not really giving him a choice, but he’s not going to say that to you. “No.” He grabs a pillow and blanket off the bed and rounds the end of the mattress. You frown as you watch him toss everything to the ground. 

“Well, what’re you doing?”

“What’s it look like?” He snaps, angrily gesturing towards the floor. “I’m givin’ you the bed.” 

You bite your lip and he feels horrible instantly because you look like you’re about to cry. He’s not trying to be rude but you woke him up in the dead of night. What’d you expect him to say?

“I was sort of hoping we could share the bed.”

His eyes widen and he glares at you in disbelief. “You mean-”

“No!” You cut him off with an aggrieved sigh. “You fool, that’s not what I mean at all. I just don’t want to be alone, alright?” 

“Look,” he scoffs and shakes his head. “I don’t think I’m the man you want to bunk with for company, alright. I’m not that kind of guy.” You glare at him and snatch his pillow and blanket off the floor. 

“Don’t be so damn stubborn.” You aggressively fluff the pillows, throwing the covers back and gesturing towards them, your brow set in anger. 

“Right,” he huffs, “I’m stubborn.” He reluctantly crawls into bed and you follow behind him. It’s not that he minds sharing a bed with a pretty lady. He’s just not the sort of guy you should be coming to for comfort. 

He doesn’t think he can provide whatever it is you need at this moment. But you seem to think otherwise as you inch towards him slowly. He lays on his back, arms under his head as he watches you out of the side of his eye. You think you’re being subtle, slowly moving into his side until you’re flush against him. 

He doesn’t say anything to object and you don’t bring up the proximity. He doesn’t want to admit it but it is nice having someone else beside him. He’s so used to camping out on his own. He hasn’t had anyone beside him in a long while. He lost interest in women of leisure a long while ago. And ever since Mary, he’s given up on any sort of intimacy. 

He hates to admit it, but he finds himself easing towards the warmth you provide. The second you feel him reciprocating you’re inching a tentative hand around his waist, cuddling closer to him. He recognizes it for what it is. 

He’s always been looked at as someone who can protect, at least by the gang. He’s their muscle. To most others, he incites nothing but fear. It should be the same for you. But after what happened today, you just see someone who can keep the monsters in the dark away. 

He doesn’t mind being used like this. He wraps an arm around your shoulders and waits until he feels you settle to ease into sleep again. 

Arthur figures you should both get breakfast in town while you’re here. He reasons you should enjoy a hot meal before you’re on the road again. You don’t point out that you know he’s just trying to ease you into the day. 

You appreciate it, honestly, but yesterday wasn’t your first run-in with men like that. It’s become incomprehensibly normal in day-to-day life, even for a city girl like yourself. You’d cried everything out in the bath once you’d scrubbed your skin raw. 

You don’t think Arthur will ever understand just how much his presence helped you last night. If you’d been on your own, jumping every time you heard the wood creaking outside, you’d have driven yourself over the edge. He protected you, even if there was nothing to be protected from. 

You don’t think he gives himself enough credit. Ignoring the situation you’re both in and what he’s taking you to do, he’s a good man. While the caliber of the men you’ve met is questionable at best, he’s one of the best ones you’ve ever known. At the end of the day, he disagrees with the whole situation, but he’s doing this for his family. That’s admirable in its own way. 

But, god, does he have poor conversational skills. “So, yesterday.” You glance up from your toast, brows raised in question. He clears his throat, eyes darting between you and his food like he can’t choose what to focus on. “That man, did he…”

He trails off and you feel your hackles rise. “Don’t worry,” you hiss, a bite to your words, “I’m still pure for my husband. Your pay won’t be docked, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

His hand clenches around his fork and his eyes bore into yours, “That’s not what I meant,” he growls. “I wasn’t worried about that,” he snaps, “I was worried ‘bout you, woman.”

You take in a deep breath, actively biting your tongue from saying something spiteful. He wasn’t being rude, that’s just what you’re used to. “I’m sorry,” you concede lowly. “Nothing happened,” you repeat without the attitude. 

“Well,” he huffs and goes back to his breakfast, “good,” he settles on dully. 

“Good,” you agree quietly, pushing the rest of your food around. You find your appetite dulled and you push the plate away. You lean back in the booth and stare out the window. The horses seem to be getting on well enough. “Did you name her?”

Arthur gives you an odd look and you nod towards the mare hitched next to Diablo. He swallows the food he’d been chewing and takes a swig of his coffee. “No, figured you’d want to do it.”

Your brows furrow and your lips quirk in confusion. “Why?”

“She’s yours, ain’t she?” He grouses. 

You shake your head, “Nope,” you tell him, popping the p. “I just took her so I’d have something to get me to town.”

“Yeah, well,” he sounds less sure of himself and he’s looking like he made a mistake. “I thought she’d be nice for you to have with you in the city. A way for you to get around without relyin’ on someone else.”

You can’t help but smile, something in your chest easing away at the kind gesture. “I appreciate it,” he lights up a little at your approval, but you crush it in an instant. “But I can’t keep her, I won’t be allowed to. I’ve tried to have my own horse before, hard to control something that can get away from you,” you tell him blankly. There’s no emotion in your voice because it’s something you’re used to. 

He looks slightly horrified at how blunt you are. He can’t comprehend not having that freedom but he fails to recognize that he’s got a leash of his own. You doubt a man like Dutch would ever let his main asset just run off to wherever he wants to. 

A few people walk into the saloon, the women giving you odd looks when they see the pants on your legs. You smile cheekily at them, reveling in what you know will be a short-lived experience. You’ve never been on the receiving end of a judgmental look like that. 

You’ve always blended in. Been the perfect wallflower for the men in your life. You were never something to gawk at or cause trouble. It’s a relief to stick out for once, to break the mould for the first time in your life. 

Arthur clocks the interaction and chuckles. “Missin’ the skirts yet?”

“Not one damn bit,” you tell him, smiling as you take a sip of your coffee. “I’m going to miss being able to run around without having to lug an extra four pounds of fabric behind me.” 

“Ya know, you could just wear some pants, you’ve got a choice.”

You grin patronizingly at him, propping your head on your chin and watching him finish the rest of his breakfast. “You don’t know city men very well, do you?”

“Glad for it,” he grumbles, distaste clear in his tone.

A laugh breaks through your chest, the first real one in a while. “I’m going to be marrying one, Arthur. I won’t have a choice in much of anything anymore.” You can tell he wants to object, tell you there’s always a choice. 

He’ll never truly understand what’s going to happen to you, though. You’re no longer human once you’re married. You’re cattle and property, meant to be bred and shown off. You accepted your fate a long while ago. And after you’re failed escape attempt, you’ve realized this is what you were always meant to be. There’s no point in fighting fate. 

“Don’t apologize or argue,” you tell him, no spite or bitterness in your tone, just the honest truth. “I don’t mind anymore, really. What place is there for me in this world, anyway? I can’t exactly take care of myself.”

“You did a damn good job yesterday,” he snaps back quickly. He doesn’t seem too keen on the way you’re talking about yourself. But you’re not lying. Yesterday was a wake-up call. If you let yourself get screwed over by a hillbilly that quickly then how were you ever going to make it on your own? In your defense, you were raised to be dependent, you never had a chance. 

“Sure, but that was a one-off incident. I’m not going to run again, Arthur. There’s no point. And there’s no point in fighting against the way things are, they’re never going to change for me.” You take in a deep breath, the easy mood ruined by your sincerity. 

“I’m just gonna wait by the horses.”

You slide out of the booth, leaving Arthur to stare pensively at his plate. You’ve nearly slipped through the door when Arthur calls out, “You should name her.” You pause at the doorway, glancing back at him. He’s settling the bill at the front and you walk back out to the horses. 

The mare picks her head up as you walk towards her, ears perked and tail flicking. “Hey, girl,” you run a hand over her muzzle, admiring the sleek silver of her coat. “I guess I should name you.”

You run a hand over her mane and swing yourself onto the saddle. “How ‘bout Bullet, it’s how I got you, anyway.” A dark joke, but it eases the macabre feeling hanging around you. 

Arthur walks out of the saloon, tucking his money away into his bag. He lifts himself onto Diablo, glancing over at you with a knowing glint. 

“Name her?”

You resent how smug he sounds. “Bullet,” you answer reluctantly. 

“Bullet?” He questions, tone incredulous. 

You grin at him, “It’s how I got her.” There’s a slightly stunned expression on his face before it slacks away into something more amused. 

He shakes his head and nudges Diablo forward, Bullet follows alongside him eagerly. “Clever,” he mutters.

“Not really,” you snort, running a hand over her neck lovingly. “But I think it works for her.”

“Your husband’s gonna have his hands full with you,” you know he means it in jest. The lightness of the conversation turns into something heavier. Realization sinks over both of you and the smiles slowly drop away. “I-”

“How much further to Strawberry, anyway?” You effectively cut off whatever train of thought he was going to follow, distracting you both from the truth. 

“Half a day,” he tells you, frowning when you refuse to meet his eye again. Half a day. That’s all you’ve got to enjoy the last bits of freedom you have. You’re gonna take your damn time getting there, that’s for sure. 

You slow down from the steady trot Arthur had led the horses into, easing Bullet into a slow walk. You’re slowly getting the hang of riding a horse. It’s easy when she’s so intuitive. By god, though, your ass is sore. 

Arthur shoots you a questioning glance at the slow pace and you shrug. “Might as well take the time I’ve got left.”

“You’re actin’ like you’re on death row,” he chuckles. 

“Aren’t I?” He falls silent and you don’t know what’s bothering him but you don’t have the energy to inquire. 

He’s slowing you down on purpose, he knows it and you know it. Neither of you says a damn thing about it but it’s bugging him. He shouldn’t be this bothered by a job. He knows how to separate himself from what he does. He just can’t this time. 

There’s something about you that glows. You’re sitting beside him on the peak of a hill, overlooking the roads below you, and laughing as you make up stories for the people that pass by. It’s a far cry from the beaten-down woman he’d seen at Crane’s house. 

Even after what happened yesterday, you somehow manage to seem happier. There’s nothing about it that makes him happy. This feels like the last goodbye of someone who knows they’re going soon. The last bout of happiness before they just give in. 

You’re not gaining your spark back, you’re just giving in to what you think is inevitable. But it doesn’t have to be inevitable. You could fight back you just refuse to. He’s sure growing up the way you have, you don’t think it's possible to stand up for yourself. 

But you don’t have to give in like this. You don’t have to roll over and let someone else dictate your life. Which is rich, coming from him. He’s practically Dutch’s lap dog now. Even when he disagrees he still follows along behind him. 

He shouldn’t even be thinking like this. He can’t criticize you for not standing up for yourself when he’s the one thing standing between you and freedom. “Not hungry?” You nod towards the uneaten meat on his knife. 

He shakes his head, plucking it off the blade and passing it to you. You give him an odd look before popping it in your mouth. “Ya know,” you mutter around a full mouth. You take a moment to swallow it down before smiling over at him. “I’ve grown up with private chefs my whole life, but there’s is something infinitely more satisfying about this.”

He takes his hat off, running a hand through his hair. He snorts at your comment, “I find that hard to believe.”

“No,” you shake your head, insistent, “I mean it. Being out here, hunting the game myself, I don’t know, it’s nice.” You shrug and lean back on your hands, gazing across the way at the trees and river. 

“You can always get a bow and go hunting.” He speaks to you like it's a cut-and-dry truth that you’re just not accepting. Your face screws up and you give him an annoyed glare. 

“No. I can’t,” you tell him again. Where your words were patient before, he can tell you’re growing irritated at how much he’s pushing this.

“Yes, you can,” he snaps. “You don’t have to keep yourself boxed up in some manor in the city. Get out, woman, do something with your life!” His voice echoes through the air and you flinch back from it, lips pulling down into a sneer. 

“You know, that’s really easy for you to say, Arthur. You have a goddamn choice. Sure, I grew up with a silver spoon in my mouth, little miss rich girl crying about being pampered.”

He lets out a rough sigh, “That’s not what I meant-”

You cut him off, getting to your feet and glaring down at him. “You got to grow up with a choice. What to do with your body, your life, your career. You get to have an education if you want it. Every goddamn door is open to you. You don’t get hated for not wanting to have a family. You get to choose. And as much as you insist I can too, you will never understand the position I am in.”

You kick dirt over the fire and head back towards Bullet. “It’s a double-edged sword, Arthur. Sure, my life might be comfortable, but it’s never really gonna be my life.” He stays there on the ground, too stunned to get up. 

You glare down at him, impatiently waiting for him to get a move on. This isn’t how he wants things to end. He doesn’t want you to go off thinking he’s just some ignorant fool. But he is, much as he denies it, he’s always been a fool. 

He should never have thought he could make a difference in your life. Not when he’s the one backing you into this corner. He could have helped you escape the very first night he saw you. But he was too selfish to let you go, now you’re both paying for it. 

He mounts Diablo and you both head back to the roads silently. You’re moving faster now, leaving him behind if he lingers in one area for too long. You’re too pissed off to enjoy the rest of your day and he hates that he ruined it for you. You, at the very least, deserved a slower journey towards your future. 

You’re in Strawberry before he’s ready, he’s sure you aren’t. “Hey, we could-”

“I think that’s him.” You cut him off before he says something stupid like spend another night in town before you go. He’ll miss you, he thinks. Odd, he’s known you such a short time but it’s been so different having someone beside him as he rides. It was nice, what he wished he and Mary could have had. 

Arthur follows your gaze and lets out a tired sigh. Sure enough, some prim and proper ass is standing in front of the ticket station, foot tapping impatiently. He’s got a large bag beside him, gaze wandering around expectantly. He doesn’t doubt the man who looks like he’s got a five-foot stick up his ass is Mr. Crane’s associate. He’s got the same slimy glint.

You slide off Bullet and Arthur follows suit, taking the reigns of both horses and leading them towards the platform. The man’s eyes narrow in on you before lighting up. He calls out your name and it’s like a mask being dropped over your face. 

The spark is gone once more, a subdued and demure smile resting on your face as you wave at him. “I apologize for my dress,” you tell him as you walk up the steps. “Pants were more conducive to such a long ride.”

He takes your hand, pressing a lingering kiss to your knuckles that makes Arthur roll his eyes. “No apologies necessary, I brought you a change of clothes. I figured you would be less than put together after such a journey. I’m only sorry I couldn’t accompany you.”

You scoff and nod along, “Okay,” you mutter, not believing a word of his bullshit. You take the bag from him and move towards the saloon to find a room to change in. They both watch you leave, though the other man with a much more devious glint in his eye. 

Arthur’s hands tighten on the reigns of the horses, anything to keep him from reaching for his revolver. He’s already getting a bad feeling about this. There’s nothing trustworthy about the man in front of him. 

“Mr. Finch,” he holds out his hand and Arthur gives it a distrusting look before reluctantly shaking. Finch attempts to squeeze the life out of his hand but Arthur can barely feel it. He tightens his own grip and revels in the way Finch’s face blanches. 

“Arthur Morgan.”

Mr. Finch looks him up and down in the same way Crane had. He sees a commodity, not a person. “I trust,” he drawls, “nothing unsavory happened.”

Arthur feels rage bubbling in his gut. The only damn thing he cares about is whether or not you’re “pure.” Not if you were okay or injured during the journey. If he told him that he’d punched you out for talking back Finch would just ask if you were bruised. 

“She’s fine,” Arthur grits out. 

“Oh, good, good. Glad everything went smoothly.” Finch has a way of talking he’s found most self-important men do. He draws everything he says out, and forces you to listen to him speak. Makes you pay attention so he can pretend he has power for a moment. 

His gaze darts behind Arthur and he turns just in time to see you slipping out of the saloon. The dress Finch has provided you is ridiculously large. It poofs out at the waist in a way that makes Arthur wonder how you’re going to fit into your seat. 

You look beyond uncomfortable. Grimacing as you join them again. You try and plaster a smile on but it’s a struggle. You look to Arthur, a finality on your face that makes him want to throw you over his shoulder and run. He’s doing this for the others, he reminds himself. They’ll be on a boat to Tahiti in a week. 

“Thank you, Mr. Morgan, for everything.” The smile you leave him with is real, if just barely. Something lurks under your words that Mr. Finch will never understand and Arthur knows it will drive him crazy. 

“Let’s go,” Finch grabs your hand, looping it through his arm and tugging you towards the doors of the station. 

“Wait!” Arthur calls out, feeling foolish when you both look back at him with perplexed expressions. “You’ll be wanting Bullet, won’t you?”

Mr. Finch answers for you with a condescending tone, “She won’t be needing a horse, thank you.” You give him a knowing smile, turning away and slipping through the doors of the station and onto the train. 

Arthur stays rooted where he is, something crawling up in his chest and rooting around restlessly. The whistle blows and the wheels start cranking slowly forward. Arthur just barely catches a glimpse of you through a window as the train chugs past. 

“Shit!” He hisses. He tugs himself up onto Diablo’s saddle and urges him after the train. He was born a fool, he’s always going to be a damn fool. But he’d have to be a complete moron to just let you go. 

Mr. Finch keeps a painfully tight grip on your elbow, jerking you through the passenger cars and practically throwing you into your seat. You land with a thud, your arm bouncing against the window painfully. You keep a stoic expression, trying not to let him break you so soon. 

He takes a seat beside you, straightening out his jacket and tugging on his tie. Something white flashes in his jacket pocket and you lean forward, perplexed when you realize what it is. “What is that?” You question, not quite believing your eyes. Finch glances down at the thick wad of cash in his jacket and grins. 

“Oh, this? Mr. Morgan must have forgotten to collect the rest of his payment.” He sends you a condescending smile and you flinch away in disgust. “He was too enamored with my fiancee to pay much attention, I’m afraid.”

“That’s his money,” you snap, the volume of your voice catching the attention of a few other passengers. Finch sends them apologetic smiles, making you seem like a mad woman. “He earned that!” You object, eyeing the money warily. 

His hand snakes out, gripping you tightly around the arm and dragging you towards him until your noses are nearly touching. You nearly gag at the smell of his cigar-infused breath. It’s not like when Arthur would smoke one, you didn’t mind that. But this was making you sick to your stomach. 

“Let's get a few things clear, I will not be dealing with an obstinate wife. You can either get yourself in order or I’ll do it for you.”

Your lips pull back in disgust and you jerk yourself out of his grip. He’s not as strong as he pretends to be and you’re not going to be scared into submission again. “I’m not your wife yet. My father still has time to pay.”

He laughs at you, spittle flying from your lips and sprinkling across your cheeks. “He has time to pay, but that doesn’t mean he’ll be getting you back, sweetheart.” Your eyes widen with the realization and you want to throw yourself off the side of the train. 

You never had any chance to get out of this situation. Mr. Crane was always in control of it all. To even think of having a hope of getting back home was foolish. To believe for a second that you were going to escape this had been utter idiocy. 

He sees the crestfallen expression and sinks into his seat with a satisfactory look on his face. He thinks you to be subdued. But now you’re nothing more than a cornered animal with no other choice of escape. You’ve got nothing left for you, nothing to hold onto. 

As much as you’d thought you’d bonded with Arthur, you were still nothing more than a job to him. You were nothing more than a commodity to be traded between men. You would never have a say over your life. 

You have nothing, you doubt you ever actually had anything left for you. You glance over at the man beside you and feel a cool dread blanket itself over you. Nothing left to lose. 

There’s a solid weight tucked into the bodice of your dress. Its cool metal has been warmed by your skin. Its handle curves around your ribs and it only has one bullet left. You reach down the front of your dress, fingers curling around the revolver you’d stolen from a dead man. 

Finch glowers at your inappropriate behavior “What are-” You pull the gun out, turning it on him. He jumps back in shock and throws his hands in the air on instinct. “Please-” you revel in his pathetic pleading only for a moment. Pulling the trigger a second time is surprisingly easy. The screams that ring out through the train car are less enjoyable. “Shit!” He cusses, hands coming up to try and staunch the flow of blood pouring from his stomach. 

You slip your hand into his blazer, stealing the money before he can object. You run out of the passenger car, leaping to the flat car with all the cargo. It will take a few minutes for them to catch onto what happened and figure out where you went. 

You don’t know what you’re going to do now. You’re stuck on a moving train, there’s nowhere for you to hide. You hadn’t thought when you’d shot him, you just wanted that smug look on his face to disappear. 

“Where is she?” You hear the guards shouting out your name, flipping over crates to find you. They’re still at the front of the train, but you don’t have long until they start moving back here. 

God, what have you done?

You just know, if you made it to that train station, you were never going to make it out. His men would be waiting there to transport you. You’d be watched every second of your life, you can’t do it again. You can’t be locked in a gilded cage, that’s not a life worth living. 

There’s no escape for you. Nowhere left to run, nowhere to hide. You glance over the left side of the train. There’s a slight dip into a deep ravine. The crashing water looks almost peaceful from up here. 

You don’t know if it would be a quick death but you know it would be merciful compared to what’s waiting for you at your last stop. You keep your eyes on the water, see yourself taking control of your life for the first time, and take a step up on the rail. 

Someone shouts your name from the right side of the train and you gasp, arms circling wildly as you almost go toppling over the edge. They shout your name again, panic laced in the tone. This doesn’t sound like Finch or any of the other guards. You whip around and find Arthur riding his horse beside the train. 

“What the hell are you doing, woman?” 

Your brows furrow in confusion and your eyes dart between him and the ravine. “Jumping! What the hell are you doing?”

His gaze narrows and he shouts to be heard over the rumble of the train tracks. “Stopping you from being a goddamn fool. Get over here!” You hear the guards getting closer as they storm down the rest of the train. 

You don’t have long to make a decision, you can already see his horse struggling to keep up with the speed of the train. There’s a bridge coming up in a moment, he won’t be able to go any further and they won’t be able to come after you. 

It’s a split-second decision, one that has you pushing off the railing of the car and rushing towards him. You don’t have time to doubt yourself or plan this out further, you take a running leap off the train, towards his outstretched arms. 

He barely catches you in time, jerking on the reigns of the horse and bringing him to a sudden stop before all three of you go tumbling into the water. Shots fire off on the train, but they’re gone before they can do any real damage. 

Your chest heaves as you dangle from his arms, fingers digging into his shirt desperately. Your heart is pounding so hard against your chest that you almost can’t hear what he’s saying, but you get the gist of it. 

“The hell were you thinking? Trying to jump off the damn train! You’re a fool, woman.” He tugs you onto the saddle the rest of the way. As much as he tries to sound angry you can feel his relief in the way he squeezes you close to him. 

“Thank you,” you whisper, head sinking into his neck and breathing in the familiar scent. 

He sighs, struggling between yelling at you more and just enjoying the fact that he got to you before you did something neither of you could recover from. “You’re welcome, just,” he pauses, holding you a little closer, “don’t be so damn stupid again.”

You laugh and it’s a little wet as tears start to pool in your eyes. “I’m not planning on it.” You sit up, easing away from him and glancing over your shoulder. You watch as the train grows smaller until you can only see a plume of smoke and nothing more. “What the hell are we going to do?”

He sighs and turns the horse around. You maneuver yourself around, facing forward and pushing back against him.  “I don’t know. Dutch ain’t gonna be happy about you comin’ back with me.” 

You bite your lip, a hundred different possibilities swirling through your head. You’ve never been able to make a choice before, faced with it, you’re overwhelmed with options. You can’t pick one so you blurt out the first coherent thought you have. 

“What if we don’t go back?”

Arthur stills behind you, “What?” His tone is low and filled with something you know means he’s ready to say no. 

“Just for a little while,” you rush the words out quickly, trying to fight for a chance to get him to listen. “We can send this to the camp,” you tug out the wad of cash you’d stolen from Finch and Arthur barks out a laugh. You feel his chest tremble behind you and it makes you grin. 

“Did you steal his money?”

“Your money, technically,” you correct, grinning over your shoulder at him. “Besides, he doesn’t need it anymore.” He gives you a concerned look but you just wave him off. “We can send the camp some money and go off on our own for a while.”

“I don’t know, kid.”

“Don’t call me that,” you interrupt, glaring at him. “It’ll only be for a little while, Arthur. Come on, I’m free for the first time in my life, enjoy it with me.”

He looks uncertain and you know it’s an odd notion to him, putting himself first instead of the camp or Dutch. You’re sure he’s never done it before. Breaking away from them instead of going about like the loyal soldier he is. 

“Just a little while?”

You nod, turning just enough to tuck the money in his pocket. “Just a little while,” you swear.

“John Marston!” You frown, turning away from the oven and glancing out the window. Arthur’s grinning by the gates of the horse pen, leaping over the wood, and walking out to greet someone. You abandon the stew, heading towards the door of your home. 

Outside are two horses, one with a woman and her son, and an abandoned one. The owner is currently bringing Arthur into a brief embrace, John, you presume. Arthur’s told you about him a bit. They weren’t always close but it was getting better before Arthur went away. 

Sometimes you feel bad, having dragged him away from everything he was familiar with. You meant it when you said you only wanted to be gone for a little while. You knew if you went back immediately there would be hell to pay with Dutch and you’d both be put to work. 

You’d be going from one owner to another. All you’d wanted was a few weeks on the road on your own. But a few weeks turned into six months and then a year, and it was Arthur telling you he couldn’t go back. He couldn’t stand what the gang was turning into. What Dutch was turning into. All you’d given him was an excuse to finally get out before it all blew up.

You walk down the steps of the home Arthur built, wiping your hands off on your apron. You give a brief wave to the woman you assume is Abigail. She waves back, slipping off the horse and helping Jack down. 

Arthur pulls away from John, turning towards you and motioning you forward. John gives you an apprehensive look. “Do I know you?”

Arthur gives him your name, throwing an arm over your shoulder and pulling you in closer. “That job Dutch got from Crane.” John’s face lights up with recognition and he smirks. 

“I see,” he shakes his head and gives Arthur a knowing look. “It’s always a woman with you, isn’t it?” You snort at how aggrieved Arthur looks. “Well,” John turns towards you and smiles, “nice to finally meet the woman that got him under control.”

“Nice to meet you too,” you smile lightly at him, pulling away from Arthur. “Are you going to be joining us for dinner?”

“No, he’s not,” Arthur answers at the same time John says, “I would love to.”

Arthur and John share a look you can’t understand. You glance past John and wave Abigail forward, “Come in, please. I’d enjoy the company.”

“Forgive my obstinate husband, he tends to linger where he ain’t wanted.” She brushes past him and you lead her inside your home. Leaving Arthur and John to bicker outside. Jack stays outside, smiling up at Arthur. You know he’s missed the boy, you’re sure he’s okay entertaining them for one night. 

Abigail helps you set the table while Arthur and John catch up over a bottle of whiskey. Arthur tried to pull out a cigar but you’d shut that down quick. He’d had a cough a little while ago and the doctor advised cutting down on tobacco if he wanted it to go away. You know it’s hard but you’re cracking down on how much he smokes. 

“We got the money you sent,” John’s telling Arthur as they come over to join you all at the table. Jack eagerly hops into the seat beside Arthur before you can snag it and you grin. “Dutch blew it all and wouldn’t tell us on what. He kept saying we still needed another score.”

John shakes his head and the distant look in his eyes makes your stomach churn. “You’re a lucky bastard you got out when you did, Arthur, truly.”

“Hosea?” Arthur questions and you grimace at the look on John’s face. You can see Arthur deflate as John shakes his head. 

“There was a bank robbery, Molly told the Pinkertons we were going to be there, he didn’t make it.”

Arthur’s hand clenches around the fork and you wish you could say something that would make him realize it’s not his fault. “I should have been there,” he mutters. 

“Wouldn’t have done anything, man. Hosea had given up in the end. We all had. It was so damn divided, the family was gone.”

“Still.” Arthur insists, glaring down at his plate like it had offended him. 

“No,” to your surprise it’s Abigail that snaps. “Dutch was gone and that bastard Micah just kept pushing him over the edge. The only thing you would have done is get yourself killed. You’re damn lucky Arthur Morgan.”

You’re sure he’ll still blame himself later. Reason a hundred times over that had he been there something would have been different. Even if it was him on the other end of the gun he’d be happier knowing someone else hadn’t died when it could have been him. You couldn’t stand that these self-sacrificing ideals Dutch had drilled into him were still present. 

But you know Abigail and John help ease the guilt slightly. It’s on Arthur to let it go entirely, though you doubt that will happen anytime soon. John picks up on the change in mood, he’s reluctant to let the night sour so soon. 

He turns towards you with a look that makes you feel like you need to prepare for trouble. “So you did all that to escape getting married. And then you marry this moron?” He motions towards Arthur and you can’t help but laugh. 

“John!” Abigail snaps but he only smiles at her. You can see the way she fights the twitch of her lips and it makes you smile in turn. 

You correct him, “We’re not technically married-”

“Might as well be,” Arthur argues, glaring at John. You reach across the table, taking his hand in yours and gently squeezing. You can’t help but laugh at him. 

“Yeah, we might as well be,” you agree. “But it was never about not wanting to be a wife. I just wanted to have a damn choice. That’s what I got out here. I can hunt or cook. Sew or go out and make some money. And it’s a lot nicer being a wife out in the country than it is in the city, I’ll tell you that much.”

“Here’s hoping,” Abigail mutters. She glances towards Arthur, “That’s why we’re out here. We got word from a few people that you might be lurking around here. John’s thinking of getting a house, really settling down.”

Arthur sighs, leaning back in his chair and glaring at John. “That’s why you’re here? You want a handout,” he accuses. 

“No!” John snaps. “Dammit, Arthur, why you always gotta assume the worst of me?”

“Because it’s usually true,” Arthur mutters. “If that’s not what you want then what is it?”

John purses his lips and lets out a spluttering breath. “A loan,” he lands on, struggling to find the right word. 

Arthur barks out a laugh, slapping his hand on the table and poking a knowing finger into John’s chest. “I knew it!”

John swats his hand away and glares. “Look, Morgan, I only need a little. Just to buy some animals, get started on the house.”

“What’d ya want Marston, my whole damn house?”

Abigail lands a gentle hand on your arm and nods to the porch. “They’ll be at it for a while.” You nod and leave the table, following her to the swing out back. She settles down on it with a sigh, gazing out at the trees that line your home. 

“You’ve got a nice life out here.”

You smile fondly, “I like to think so. We’re thinking about getting a few cows, maybe starting a proper ranch.”

Her face lights up at the idea and she laughs. “That’s what John wants. It’s unbelievable how similar they are, they’re too thick-headed to see it.”

You can still vaguely hear them bickering inside the house. You peer inside and see Jack sitting at the table, watching them both with an entranced expression. You can’t help but grin at the look on Arthur’s face. He’s laying into John but he looks happier than you’ve seen him in a while. 

You know he’s missing everybody, has been for a long time. Maybe if Abigail and John are close by he’ll have that sense of familiarity again. “The others,” you start, turning back to Abigail. “Charles and Sadie, what happened to everyone else?”

“A few of them are living good lives, some of them aren’t. Most of them are drifting, not ready to give up the outlaw life just yet.”

“It’s hard to watch the world change while you’re still stuck in the same spot.” You brush some hair out of your eyes and smile at Abigail. “Me and Arthur are gonna help you and John. But I’d like it if you were both close by. It would be nice to have someone familiar near us, we’re pretty lonely up here.”

She gives you a brief smile back, “I think that would be nice.”

John’s voice picks up from inside and you jump, “Oh that’s a load of bull-”

Abigail’s smile drops and she leans over your shoulder to shout, “Watch it!” at John. You laugh when you see the perturbed look on his face. She motions towards his son and Arthur gives John a smug look. 

“You gonna help him?” You ask Arthur as you settle into bed later. He opens his arms, pulling you into his embrace once you’re settled under the covers. 

“John?” You nod, brushing a strand of hair out of his eyes. “Yeah, ‘course I’m gonna help him. But there’s nothing wrong with jerking him around a little bit first.”

You roll your eyes and shake your head, tucking yourself under his chin. You almost think he’s asleep but then he’s speaking up again. “We should really do it.”

You pull back, brows furrowed in confusion. “Do what?”

There’s a certain look in his eyes that causes something to swirl in your stomach. It’s not an unpleasant feeling, just an excited one, “Get married.”

You give him a bewildered look, shaking your head in disbelief. Nearly five years you’ve both been living out here and he’s never once mentioned getting married. You never thought you two actually needed it. You always knew what you were to each other, how much you meant to one another. 

You were each other’s salvation. There’s no telling what graves you would be laying in were it not for Dutch bringing you both together. You hadn’t thought he wanted to be married, he always told you he’d given those dreams up. “You really mean that?”

He shrugs like it’s the easiest decision in the world. “Might as well, right?” 

You shake your head, but there’s no fighting the way your lips curl up. “You’re a fool, Arthur Morgan.”

He nods, dipping his head down to press a gentle kiss on your temple. He treats you so gently, it makes you want to cry. But then he goes and says something ridiculous like, “Yeah, a fool for you,” and he makes you laugh. 

You tug him down, lips nearly touching his. “Yes,” you whisper, “I’ll marry you.” You were always scared of living a life like this. Being tied to one man for the rest of your time on earth. But he’s not some city man looking to make you into a pet. He lets you live, breathe, and be free. He’s a partner not a warden and that’s all you’ve ever wanted. 

end. — I do not own the characters or the game Red Dead Redemption 1/2, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[oceanabyssal]

Help a Family in Need💔

I am reaching out on behalf of my dear friend, Mohamad S., who is facing one of the most challenging times of his life. Mohamad is 37 years old and left his homeland in 2015 in search of a safer and better future. He’s a kind, hardworking man, and his small family has always been his greatest priority.

Living abroad, Mohamad has recently endured unimaginable loss and financial strain. Amidst the ongoing conflict in his homeland, his mother passed away, leaving behind his sister and her five young children—the last remaining members of his immediate family.

As the situation worsened, Mohamad managed to help his sister and her children escape to safety in Egypt, covering their immediate needs and securing a temporary refuge for them. Since then, he has been fully responsible for providing everything they need to survive during this transition.

In his efforts to support his family and cope with this devastating loss, Mohamad has found himself deeply in debt. To make matters even more difficult, he recently underwent knee surgery, which limits his ability to return to work for the foreseeable future. This has made it even harder for him to manage his financial responsibilities and the pressing need to provide his family with a stable future.

Mohamad is now working to bring his sister and her five children to join him in Belgium, where he hopes they can find stability and opportunity after all they’ve endured. This transition, however, requires significant resources that he is currently unable to meet alone.

For privacy reasons, we are not sharing Mohamad’s full name, as he has chosen to keep his identity discreet. While he initially refused the idea of asking for help, I couldn’t stand by and watch him struggle alone. I insisted on doing this for him because he deserves a chance to overcome these challenges.

Your contribution will help Mohamad repay the debt incurred during this difficult time, cover ongoing living expenses for his family, and assist with the costs involved in bringing them safely to Belgium.

Mohamad has been a good friend of mine for years, and I’ve always admired his resilience and generosity. Any support, no matter the size, will make an incredible difference in helping Mohamad and his family rebuild their lives after these painful experiences.

Thank you for reading his story and considering helping a man who has always done everything he can for his loved ones.

Adam

Please donate & share: Donation Link

[oceanabyssal]

Eu meio que ódio o tumbrl agora, porque eu acabei de escrever um dos melhores imagines da minha vida sobre o Paul Aron(requisitado) e quando eu fui postar a plataforma simplesmente disse que a minha internet estava instável e eu perdi TODA A PUBLICAÇÃO

E a pior parte é a que já aconteceu outras vezes, e somente com as minhas publicações maiores😭 se você me fez um pedido, eu sinto muito, mas não poderei lançá-lo se esse problema não se resolver.

[oceanabyssal]

does anyone else get, like, jealous when a fictional character dates or has a crush on another character?

... no? just me?

[oceanabyssal]

ELE QUE...

paul aron x fem!leitora

Tema :: só obscenidade sem contexto.

Avisos :: AMBOS SÃO MAIORES DE IDADE, sexo consensual, palavras explícitas/descritivas, dedilhado, oral(f recebendo), sexo bêbados(?), sexo semi-público e Paul tem meio que um fetiche em dar prazer à leitora e fazer sexo vestido.

Paul Aron que te faz apoiar as mãos nos azulejos da parede de um banheiro em uma balada aleatória que ele ou seus amigos tenham escolhido naquela noite enquanto enfia seus dedos grossos dentro da sua buceta fodida e necessitada, por que ele está te provocando a noite toda.

Pau Aron que gosta de sentir suas paredes molhadas apertarem os dedos dele sempre que você está prestes a gozar, apenas para diminuir a velocidade das estocadas e circular o seu clitóris - que há essa altura já está vermelho e inchado - com o polegar enquanto deixa beijos lentos pelos seus ombros nus e sussurra coisas doces para você.

Paul Aron que sempre te compra vestidos sem alças ou com aquelas que ele consegue abaixar com muita facilidade, por que ele adora te inclinar para a parede e empinar sua bunda para ele enquanto puxa a parte de cima do seu vestido, deixando seus seios livres para serem abusados pelas mãos e boca dele.

Pau Aron que aperta, morde, esmaga e puxa seus mamilos entre os dedos/dentes até vê-los inchados e quentes, e deixa beijos molhados de desculpas nos bicos quando você começa a choramingar ou pedir para ele parar.

Paul Aron que passa horas chupando e lambendo seus seios na cama, com seus braços musculosos firmemente envolvendo sua cintura e te mantendo perto, sem nenhuma brecha para que você possa escapar.

Paul Aron que beija a sua calcinha por debaixo dos lençóis antes de puxá-la para o lado e te abrir com a língua dele. Sugando seu clitóris e o sacudindo entre os lábios enquanto provoca a sua entrada com a ponta dos dedos, e segura seus quadris com o braço livre.

Paul Aron que faz a maior bagunça toda vez que ele te chupa. A ponta de seu nariz esmagando o seu clitóris enquanto sua língua e dedos se enfiam no seu núcleo, acariciando suas paredes macias e molhadas, sem se importar com a saliva escorrendo por seu queixo e pelas suas coxas, muito menos se importando se os lençóis estão encharcados ou amarrotados embaixo de você.

Pau Aron que brinca com as amarrações da parte de baixo do seu biquíni sempre que vocês estão na praia, vez ou outra fingindo estar arrependido quando ele acaba desamarrando a peça "acidentalmente."

Pau Aron que enfiaria as mãos entre as suas pernas quando vocês estivessem deitados em espreguiçadeiras aproveitando um pouco do Sol. Seus dedos esmagando o seu clitóris antes de correrem para sua entrada, apenas para serem parados por suas mãos se envolvendo ao redor do pulso dele quando você a dar uma bronca sobre o cão arriscado era.

Pau Aron que retruca com um sorriso infantil dizendo que ele tinha escolhido uma praia tão vazia por um único motivo, enterrando seus dedos profundamente dentro da sua buceta e começando a te masturbar ali mesmo.

Pau Aron que ama te ver com as pernas abertas em uma espreguiçadeira sob o Sol, vestindo nada menos do que um biquíni muito pequeno e apertando enquanto ele fode com força a sua buceta apertada e pulsante. Seus olhos fechados com força enquanto você tampa a boca com uma mão e a outra ainda agarra o pulso dele.

Paul Aron que percebe que você vai gozar quando começa a ver os contornos perfeitos dos seus mamilos sob o tecido do biquíni e começa a ver a mancha da sua essência na calça, mas, em vez de continuar, ele retira os dedos de dentro de você e deixa um beijo rápido na sua bochecha antes de começar a correr de volta para a água - não sem antes lamber o seu mel impregnado em seus dedos.

Pau Aron que belisca a sua bunda e sorri como uma criança travessa sempre que está prestes à sair para fazer algo que você não aprova totalmente, mas também não disse que ele não poderia ir.

Paul Aron que ri e cutuca seus seios quando vocês estão em casa e os seus mamilos estão marcados por conta do frio. Ele simplesmente acha adorável e atraente, deixe o homem ser feliz.

Pau Aron que não se importa em ir à praia/piscina sem camisa e exibir as marcas da sua noite anterior, mas sempre te defendendo caso alguém comente algo além dos limites do respeito.

Pau Aron que gosta de se deitar sobre você na cama e descansar a cabeça no seu peito depois de uma foda, para ouvir o seu coração e sentir a sua respiração ofegante, embora ele não dure muito nessa posição já que ele tende a te fazer perder o fôlego(literalmente).

Paul Aron que te mantém por perto com dois dedos dentro do cós da sua calça, acariciando a curvatura das suas costas com o polegar enquanto deixa beijos rápidos na sua têmpora e balança o seu corpo em um ritmo calmo e hiperativo.

Paul Aron que adora gloss com sabor de frutas, sexo ao por do Sol na praia, roupas fáceis de tirar e não se importa em bagunçar ou chamar a atenção, mas, que acima de tudo, ama você.

_________________________________________

• Um presente para um anônimo que me fez um pedido para Paul e que eu simplesmente demorei quase três semanas até ver😭😭 Eu já estou escrevendo o seu pedido, apenas fiz esse capítulo não deixar vocês famintos até eu postar o próximo.

• Mil desculpas pelo atraso e um feliz natal, feliz ano novo e feliz 2025 atrasados!🤍

[oceanabyssal]

Could you maybe reblog this post if you think respecting trans peoples' names and identities is a basic right and not a political opinion?

No pressure. Just seeking some validation of my sentiment. Due to some. people

[oceanabyssal]

Hello 👋,

I hope this message finds you well. My name is Aziz, and I’m reaching out with a heartfelt plea to help my family find safety and reunite with our mother. 😞

The ongoing war in Gaza has torn my family apart. My mother and newborn sister are stranded in Egypt, while I, along with the rest of my sex family members, am trapped in the midst of the genocide in Gaza. We have not only been separated but have also lost our home and are enduring unimaginable hardships. 💔

Your support can make a difference. Whether by reading our story, donating, or sharing our campaign with others, you can help us reunite, find safety, and start anew. 🙏🕊

Thank you, from the depths of my heart, for your kindness, compassion, and solidarity during this difficult time. ❤🍉

https://gofund.me/58268669 🔗

❗❗❗❗

[oceanabyssal]

Pushed Down and Down - Grid x Driver! Reader

Plot: Suffering with mental health issues as a driver isn’t easy - but when people actively don’t help it can only get worse.

Based on that one tiktok edit sound.

A/N: as someone who struggles with her own mental health this was a true comfort for me to write and reread. Drivers who talk about their mental health and how they do struggle literally have my whole heart (Lando, Lewis etc)

Warnings: Talk of mental health, depression, anxiety, etc, all drivers are a little mean to Y/N

From a very young age you were told you wouldn’t be able to do karting, and you wouldn’t get very far as it was strictly a man’s sport.

Your mum tried to sway your opinion as you were clearly the athletic type and get you into gymnastics or dancing. But the smell of the petrol and the adrenaline you got from going round the tracks was like nothing else.

Your dad on the other hand fully supported you, he was a mechanic so he did struggle to afford decent gear for you but you made do with what you had.

This however never stopped you, and as a child going into a teenager and young adult it didn’t affect you too much. You took your wins as and when they came and you worked hard for them and you took your losses as opportunity to learn from.

Oh how you wish you could go back to those days.

You proceeded to be asked in 2016 if you wanted to compete in British F4, you had your License and it seemed like you were this up and coming British talent.

You came 1st in the British F4 championship in 2017 right after Lando Norris and Max Fewtrell won the years before you. The two behind you being Oscar Piastri and Logan Sargeant. You didn’t win a race for the whole season, just pure consistency.

You then came third in the UAE F4 Championship in the same year. Oscar and Logan were also in that series with you. Logan being right on your toes coming in second place. This season you were close to taking your first win, but Logan had crashed you out taking the win for himself and leaving you down in P8.

Both Oscar and Logan of course moved up to bigger and better things in 2018. Both of them moving up to doing Eurocup Formula Renault whereas you weren’t offered anything.

In 2018 you competed in Formula 4 United States and came second place again. Your team let your American team-mate pass you on the last race of the season through team orders even though you were on equal points.

You took the loss and moved on because that just the kind of race driver you WERE.

In 2019 you were promoted to F3 and got to drive with Max Fewtrell, Logan Sargeant, Yuki Tsunoda and Liam Lawson. You came second and you actually were insanely close to Robert, but it never felt like a win. You were with Prema, and you fought tooth and nail.

In 2020, Oscar and Logan rejoined you in the feeder series and were in the same team as you as you remained with Prema.

Prema, unfortunately for you and Logan prioritised Oscar and with an insanely dominant year for Prema Oscar won the championship through the help of team orders. There were many chances for you to take wins but you knew you couldn’t get promoted to F2 just get, even though you spend to years in Prema and come second both times.

This was when Red Bull noticed you and backed you paying for the rest of your career which was lucky really considering your dad wouldn’t have been able to afford another season for you in F3 with all the debt he was already in.

2021 came around and Red Bull helped you further your career getting lots of sponsor shops along the way and finally securing you an F2 seat for the 2022 season.

In 2021 you finally won a championship, but you didn’t feel like it was a win. Everyone had something to say about this achievement, that you’d only won thanks to the team, and that it wasn’t driver capability. As a young 21 year old these comments really affected you going into the F2 season.

Once you got into F2 in 2022, you were head to head with Felipe Drugovich. Red Bull also came forward asking for you to become a reserve driver for Red Bull alongside your F2 driver Liam Lawson. You were back in the standings with Logan too, Oscar having won back to back championships and now becoming the golden goose on his route to F1 with Alpine.

This year halfway though the season you had to experience the unfortunate passing of your dad, the only true supporter you ever had. It was utterly dismal for the few races that came afterwards.

The season was closing out and there were only 3 points between you and Felipe with Theo and Liam not far behind. With a dramatic qually in Abu Dabi that had most of you at the back of the pack when starting the race, you prevailed winning the race and taking the championship.

You got out of that car celebrating only to see your team not there for you. You awkwardly celebrated with the team of the drivers from 2nd and 3rd place but you couldn’t understand why they weren’t there for you.

But he was there for you…

Christian Horner in his Red Bull team gear, white envelope in his hand that he presented you in the quiet room.

He was the first person to truly believe in you and see see potential apart from your dad and it was refreshing getting the contract that was going to sign you on as a rookie along with Oscar and Logan in the 2023 season.

F1

Liked by y/user, f1mia and others

f1: BREAKING: RedBull announce Y/N Y/L/N to drive for them in 2023 meaning all seats for the season have now been filled.

#f1 #redbull #womeninthepaddock

View all comments

user1: oh Lord I’ve followed her since F3, so proud of her!

y/user: this is a dream come true! I can finally tell my mum I made it!

lewishamilton: so proud of everything you’ve done to get women this far in the sport @y/user

user2: god they just keep on ruining this sport

redbullracing: So excited to have Y/N join us on the team!

-> y/user: I’m so thankful to you guys to be given the opportunity!

user2: oh this year is gonna slap.

maxverstappen1: welcome to the RedBull Family!

First was the Bahrain Grand Prix, it was your 3rd time in and F1 car and you were obviously very nervous. It was your first race weekend and you didn’t know where to place yourself.

The whole weekend didn’t really feel like your debut it just felt glazed over with Sergio Perez leaving and no longer being in F1. A lot of the team had hushed whispers around the situation, and Max tried his best to make you feel welcome but his awkwardness made that hard.

“So like what do you do, you drink beer?” Max awkwardly asks as you’d both been sat in the hospitality together waiting for Christian or one of the engineers to come grab you.

“Oh erm, no I don’t drink at all actually” you smile with a little furrow in your brows.

“Oh … right” Max sighs and thankfully that conversation was cut short when Christian came round the corner to collect you both.

You both were racing and for a rookie you had incredible tyre management making the agreed one stop strategy seemingly start to work despite the temperature on track. You were very quick, maybe even more quick than Max.

However coming out the pits, your tires are already starting to complain and tyre marbles are going left right and center.

Y/N Radio: What happened guys, my tyres are degrading so quickly I thought we agreed on hards?

Static was all that was received back.

Y/N Radio: Guys did you put me on softs?

Race Engineer: Sorry Y/N mess up at the pits, pit in 5 laps.

And once word got out to the other teams that they’d fucked up your race strategy and that you were basically free game your race was pretty much over.

P4 wasn’t bad considering the mistakes made, but you knew you’d could have gotten a podium on your first race.

“Y/N amazing first race in F1 you really know how to make an entrance to the sport huh?” The interviewer says cheerfully happy that you’ve done as well as you did.

“Yeah” you say with a smile.

“Not happy with the result it seems?” She pushes and you sigh.

“I’m of course so happy, getting P4 was amazing and I know my team are happy and I’ve made eveyone at home really proud. Thank you dad and I hope you’re watching! But it’s always a little … disappointing? I don’t really know if that’s the right word for how I’m feeling right now, when the outlook of something is going so well and external forces out or your control tamper with that it’s not a nice feeling. I’m really proud of the team today and of course Max had a great win today so we collected a lot of points for the team and remain top in the constructors” you explain and she nods slightly shocked with how open and honest you had been.

Eventually you were taken away by your PR manager who was starting to worry about what you were saying, a little scolding that you weren’t sure what for afterwards.

People spoke too, Lando and Oscar shocked you most.

“Y/N was kinda dangerous on track today, can’t believe she was that ballsy as a rookie man” Oscar said having know you the best driving with you for as long as he had.

“She’s talented for sure but I can’t help but feel like she’s gonna wash out” Lando admits with a sigh.

Was he right, would you have one good season and then that was it?

Things went the same in Saudi this time you managed to place your car in pole position, leading the race while Max had an unfortunate start from P15.

However after team orders came in to let Max take over once he got to a close enough gap behind you made you obey the team, not wanting to get on their nerves and make them regret choosing you. After that a botched pit stop and Oscar driving like a lunatic and bumping into your side left you down from P2 to P6

“Y/N what an incredible drive despite all that happened and you’ve hauled some good points for the team! How are you feeling?” The interviewer asks pushing the mic closer to you.

“Hot, I’m so hot right now” you joke trying to lighten the mood, wiping the sweat away from your forehead.

“Yeah I can’t imagine with this heat and the fact that the car is incredibly warm here” she smiles back and you take a breath before answering the second question.

“Yeah I mean today didnt go as planned. I got pole, I was on track to win, I did everything right but I just don’t think it was meant to be today and you know I’m going to fight really hard in Australia and see where we can get us hopefully something better than what I’m doing now” you say with a polite tight lipped smile and nod before going to the call down room.

You sat against the cold plastic door of the room head against it as you held in your tears. You always told yourself to never cry over a loss as you can’t expect to win them all. But this was supposed to be your race and you can’t help but feel like if you had Max behind you defending the incidents with the pits stop wouldn’t have occurred as you wouldn’t have done that second pit stop that cost you time.

In debrief you couldn’t believe what you were hearing.

“Are you kidding?” You laugh looking towards Max and then back at Christian.

“You didn’t move out the way from Max quick enough and you should have caught up quicker! What were you even thinking out there colliding with Piastri like that!” Horner announces making your cheeks flush a little red from embarrassment.

You didn’t think the collision with Oscar was your fault, but maybe it was.

Then you’d heard Daniel talking to Carlos, and your thoughts continued to spiral.

“She’s a tricky one mate, can’t see her having that seat for long” Daniel admitted to Carlos at the restaurant they were at with some of the other drivers.

Y/N was sad when she didn’t get an invite seeing as many of them were there but she didn’t take it to heart having fun eating alone while people watching.

“Yeah, I wonder how many times they have to tell her team orders” Carlos had added.

The next race was Australia.

You had the faster car, better starts and you beat Max going into turn one. It was a ballsy move on your part but it was clean racing, no damage done.

Race Engineer: Y/N give back position now

Y/N Radio: But I have the faster car Zayn, I got fresher tyres and my deg is fine. I have the stats don’t tell me I’m wrong when I’m the one in the car

Race Engineer: Y/N Max is fighting for the championship, team orders slow down and give position back

And so you did, you gave Max his position back and trailed behind him creating a DRS train behind you, Hamilton and Alonso not being able to pass you to potentially overtake Max.

After this race you started to keep a mental health diary and your coach thought it would be a good idea to see a therapist to help with your quick thinking and decision making on track, of course not for your mental health and you start to struggle with coming to the terms that Max needs a second driver and that’s what Red Bull hired you for.

So you became his second driver.

Constantly being criticised by the team and Horner, constantly having Max tell you that you need to be a second driver for the season and that’s it. Nothing else. Having interviewers wondering why you keep having these near misses.

When your home Grand Prix the British Grand Prix came around you’d just about had enough of being called a second driver. You took matters into your own hands. You spend hours in the sim working out the best angle for the corners of Silverstone and seeing how much you could push the provisional car down the straights.

When it came to qualifying you smashed everyone out the park in all three sectors. The media were buzzing at your stone face for the duration of the weekend.

“Y/N what an amazing qualifying for you, you were really flying out there. And your starting on pole tomorrow with Max behind you, is there going to be team orders to let him through?” The interviewer asks smiling at you.

“I mean there have been the whole season no?” You laugh with less sparkle and glimmer in your eyes than the start of the season.

“Yes, so you’re saying Max will be let ahead tomorrow!” She asks and cock your head to one side.

“He’ll be asked yes” you nod before you leave.

Race day came and you did not listen to team orders.

Race Engineer: Y/N let Max through, then we’ll pit you first to defend the lead while Max pits.

Y/N: what about, no? Come on guys, I’ve done everything for the team you’ve wanted me for. Just let me race him.

Race Engineer: Max will race you too hard, you risk loosing both the cars Y/N let him through.

Y/N: im sorry, but i have to do this for me, to prove I’m as good a driver as i try to be.

Race Engineer: Y/N don’t do this.

And with that you celebrated your first race win. Max had ended up DNFing when he got a little caught behind and skidded onto the gravel trap trying to make up too much time to catch you.

It was a full Brit Podium, you Lando and Lewis. You were thankful you had both of them there to celebrate with you as your team didn’t show up again. Probably all consoling Max on his first DNF of the year. He wasn’t happy at all and you could tell.

“Are you okay?” Lewis had asked you as you guys had stepped away from the podium. The man wasn’t blind and could see the disappointment on your face when no one was there to congratulate you on your first win and celebrate with you.

“M’fine” you say shortly before leaving and going straight to your drivers room, tears following. You spend hours writing away in your self help book. But you couldn’t wallow it was time to take on the words of Taylor Swift in her Reputation Era.

You never thought something you loved so dearly could kill of your spirit so quickly and easily. But Max go tougher as the season went on. Only allowing you one more win in spa where you once again ignored team orders. Max was incredibly unhappy with you up there on the podium and you just knew the media would have something to say about the awful tension between you and Max. He didn’t celebrate with you in Spa only the third place podium which happened to be Charles.

The Red Bull team member immediately celebrated with Max and Charles, as much as you tried to join in however you weren’t able to get close enough. You were royally fucked off.

Singapore felt like a breath of fresh air for you when it happened, it was a new feeling that had your toes curling as you pressed on the brakes knowing that Carlos and Lando were leading with you hot on their tales and Max being nowhere in sight.

Celebrating with them felt different, but everyone could tell that the happy bubbly girl who they’d started the season with was no longer apparent.

The season closed, and honestly your team, Max and Christian all seemed like 2024 wasn’t worth sticking around for … as a great driver you owed it yourself to find your worth in F1 and that wasn’t with Red Bull

Taglist:

@littlebitchsposts @hockey-racing-fubol @laura-naruto-fan1998 @22yuki @simxican @sinofwriting @lewisroscoelove @cmleitora @daemyratwst @lauralarsen @the-untamed-soul @thewulf @itsjustkhaos @purplephantomwolf @chasing-liberosis @summissss @gulphulp @starfusionsworld @jspitwall @sierruhhhh @georgeparisole @youcannotcancelquidditch @tallbrownhairsarcastic @ourteenagetragedy @peachiicherries @formulas-bitch @cherry-piee @spilled-coffee-cup @mehrmonga @eiraethh @curseofhecate @alliwantisadonut @dark-night-sky-99 @i-wish-this-was-me @tallrock35 @butterfly-lover @barnestatic @landossainz @darleneslane @barcelonaloverf1life @r0nnsblog @ilove-tswizzle @laneyspaulding19 @malynn @viennakarma @landosgirlxoxo @marie0v @yourbane @teamnovalak @nikfigueiredo @fionaschicken @0picels0 @tinydeskwriter @ironmaiden1313 @splaterparty0-0 @formula1mount

[oceanabyssal]

Little alonso when she is very small (around the age of 1 or younger), and she is brought with fernando to Media Day because there was no one else to watch her. She is being very quiet and content in her papa's arms.

Enjoy reading and send some requests!!!

- xoxo babygirl 🤍

Sleepy Baby

The paddock buzzed with its usual energy—engines revving in the background, fans cheering from beyond the gates, and reporters lining up in the media pen to grab their post-session interviews. Fernando walked toward the pen with his one-year-old daughter, Yn, snugly nestled in his arms. Her chubby hands clutched his team jacket, and her head rested against his shoulder. The bright sunlight filtered through her soft brown curls as she blinked at the bustling scene with wide, curious eyes.

There was no one else to watch her today, and Fernando preferred having her close anyway. Yn was his calm in the chaos, her soft coos grounding him in a way nothing else could.

As he stepped into the pen, all eyes turned to the two of them. Fernando was an icon on his own, but seeing him with a baby—a tiny baby—drew immediate attention.

“Fernando! Who’s this little one?” a journalist asked, her voice a mix of curiosity and adoration.

“This is Yn,” Fernando replied, his accent curling around the words as a smile spread across his face. He adjusted Yn slightly in his arms, her small fingers now playing with the zipper of his jacket. “She’s my daughter.”

“She’s adorable,” another chimed in, leaning forward with her microphone.

Yn, sensing the attention, gave the faintest of giggles. Fernando chuckled, pressing a gentle kiss to her temple.

“Thank you,” he said. “She is my lucky charm today.”

Behind him, Charles and Lando had arrived to do their own interviews. Their eyes immediately darted to Yn, and they exchanged a glance before stepping closer.

“Mate,” Lando began, his voice teasing but soft, “you’ve been hiding her from us all this time?”

Fernando smirked. “She’s not for paddock chaos. But today, there was no choice.”

Charles crouched slightly to get a better look at Yn, his face lighting up when she turned her gaze toward him. “Salut, ma petite,” he said gently. “You’re so calm. How does she do it?”

“She’s always calm,” Fernando replied, stroking her back absentmindedly. Yn let out a tiny yawn, her hands now resting lazily against his chest. “She is like this… most of the time.”

“She’s a baby!” Charles exclaimed. “Most babies I know are… how do you say… chaotic.”

“Mine is perfect,” Fernando said simply, though his proud smile said everything.

Lando leaned in closer, his hands on his knees. “Hey, Yn,” he said softly, “do you like racing?” He made a playful engine sound with his mouth, earning another quiet giggle from her.

“She likes to watch,” Fernando answered for her. “But only highlights. It’s too loud otherwise.”

George strolled over next, curious about the cluster of attention. His eyes softened immediately when he spotted Yn. “Oh, no. Fernando, you’ve officially brought the most charming person in the paddock.”

“Thank you,” Fernando said, brushing Yn’s hair back from her forehead. “She takes after her father.”

“Careful,” Lando quipped. “She might already be more popular than you.”

Fernando chuckled. “Good. She deserves it.”

The journalists were captivated, their usual hard-hitting questions replaced with soft inquiries about Yn. Fernando answered them all patiently, his hand never ceasing its soothing motion on her back. When asked about his race prep, he replied, “This is my preparation,” tilting his head toward Yn. “She keeps me focused.”

As the interviews continued, Yn’s eyelids grew heavier. Fernando’s movements slowed, his voice taking on a softer tone as he answered questions about tire strategies and team updates. Every so often, he’d pause to kiss Yn’s cheek or whisper something to her in Spanish.

From the corner, Max joined the group, arms crossed but his eyes fixed on Yn. “She’s so small,” he said, almost in awe. “How does she stay so quiet?”

Fernando raised an eyebrow. “Why do you assume she would not?”

“Because babies are loud?” Max replied, his tone genuinely curious.

“Not mine,” Fernando said, shifting Yn slightly as she burrowed deeper into his chest. “She understands when it is important to be quiet.”

The group laughed softly, careful not to disturb the little girl who now seemed to be half-asleep.

“Fernando,” a journalist began tentatively, “has becoming a father changed how you approach racing?”

He considered the question, his hand resting on Yn’s head. “It has changed… everything,” he admitted. “Racing is still important, but now, when I finish a session or a race, my first thought is her. I want her to see me… not just as a driver but as her Papà.”

The media collectively melted at his words, scribbling down every heartfelt sentiment. Nearby, the other drivers exchanged knowing smiles. Even the toughest rivalries softened in Yn’s presence.

Eventually, Yn’s soft breaths signaled she was fast asleep. Fernando’s voice dropped to an almost-whisper as he finished his last interview, his arms never faltering despite the length of the session.

As he walked out of the pen, the other drivers trailed behind, still marveling at the tiny girl in his arms.

“Fernando,” Charles called, “next time, bring her to the drivers’ parade.”

Fernando glanced back, a rare sparkle in his eyes. “We’ll see,” he said, a protective edge to his tone.

“Just saying,” Lando added, “she’d definitely steal the show.”

Fernando laughed softly, pressing one last kiss to Yn’s head. “She already has.”

[oceanabyssal]

𝜗𝜚 𝐂𝐇𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐌𝐀𝐒 𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐈𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐒 𝜗𝜚

⋆ pairing. oscar piastri x wife!leclerc!reader

⋆ summary. christmas is never calm, when the piastris are involved, or one would think.

⋆ notes. another part of dad!oscar series 😁😁😁 its honestly one of my favorites ever. this is a small christmas fic, but i might write another part of christmas at the piastris 😁 not proofread (i will do that one day i promise)

BEFORE YOUR DAUGHTER WAS BORN, you and oscar never spent christmas together. it was pretty understandable, he went back to australia to see his family, while you ended up in monaco, spending the festive moments along your family and your brothers’ girlfriends. however, you’d always spend new year’s together — whether it was australia or monaco, no one could make you leave each other’s side. nevertheless, as suspected, the problems started occurring as soon chloe’s second christmas came up.

her first christmas happened just after she was born, so there was really no conversation about going anywhere with a newborn baby, while pandemic was still going crazy. christmas in the following year was putting more and more stress on top of your shoulders. you barely seen your family all year, so the need to fly home was even stronger than ever, you couldn’t though. beside his dad, oscar hasn’t seen his family much either and asking him to go see yours for holidays seemed unfair, you were not the only one, who missed the warm embraces of their mothers.

“why don’t we all just come to your place, love?” nicole, oscar’s mum, suggested on one afternoon, making the tension in your shoulders loosen a bit. “there’s no point in stressing yourself out about flying with chloe, when we can just come to you.”

it almost seemed like a plan put together beforehand, because a few hours later your mum has called you, suggesting the exact same thing. even if it was a plan, you really appreciated trying to ease your nerves about christmas.

and it became a tradition, one you held dearly to your heart.

it’s been still a few days left till the twenty-fifth, so it was only nicole, who flew to monaco, her daughters would arrive near twenty-fourth to have a day to recharge. you were bundled up in a blanket, a small girl sitting on your lap, not wanting to be away from you as her tiny fists had tightened their grip on your shirt.

“i get puppy?” chloe asked, tipping her chin upwards to have a look at you before turning her head — so fast you thought it would snap in seconds — to look between your husband and his mom. “please, please puppy?” she repeated, jutting her bottom lip and flashed her brown eyes at oscar.

you raised an eyebrow at the aussie, awaiting his response. the possibility of him cracking and accepting your daughter’s pleas was high, considering that chloe had him wrapped around her little finger, or rather around her wrist like a leash she could tug on, and at first thought her dad would do whatever she wanted him to. his gaze shifted towards you as he let out a sigh, his heart breaking as he’s about to disappoint his only daughter.

“ah, squish, but you have a dog already, don’t you?” nicole started, catching her daughter’s attention. chloe’s eyebrows knitted in confusion. she has a dog already? is he invisible? “basil and rosie are yours too, aren’t they?” she asked in a gentle tone, the four years old perking up at this revelation.

“i do!” she exclaimed happily, letting go of your shirt to clap her hands, a big beam creeping up on her lips. “basie and rosie!” she said, her head bobbing up and down ecstatically. “my doggies.”

“and leo.” you chimed in, gently rubbing your hand against chloe’s back. the mention of your brother’s daschmund made the beam falter. “you don’t like leo anymore, squish?” you asked, a bit taken aback at the sudden change.

a pout appeared on your daughter’s face, her tone slightly bashful as she tried to explain. “leo pee-ed on me.” oscar’s lips were pulled into a tight line as he tried to suppress a chuckle. “s’no funny!” she frowned at her dad’s antics.

“he was just excited to see you, baby.” you tried your best reasoning with your daughter. “leo’s still just a baby, you know? babies pee when they get excited, it means he reaaaally likes you.”

“daddy’s baby, too an’ he don’t pee on me.” she scrunched her nose, unmoved by your explanation. “daddy don’t like chloe?”

baby. that’s how you’ve been referring to oscar for as long as you could remember, making chloe think that her dad is as much of a baby as she is. in different circumstances, you’d just start laughing — some guys, your friends’ boyfriend or fathers, random people on the street, probably acted like babies towards their partners or maternal figures, but not your oscar. he was the eptiome of a great partner, friend, and a parent, despite being a bit messy and leaving socks on your bedroom floor a few times, if you wished for someone better, you’d still get your oscar, because there couldn’t be anyone better than him, not for you and your daughter.

“well… daddy loves you so, so much, squish.” he began coyly, kneeling in front of the couch, to brush his nose against chloe’s, as an act of affection. “but i’m not a doggie, am i?” he asked, and while your reasoning seemed completely off to chloe, she bought oscar’s within seconds.

“no, silly.” the four years old giggled, putting both of her hands on oscar’s cheeks, leaving a small, sloppy kiss on the tip of his nose. “you papa.” a beam stretched across her mouth. “no doggie.”

THE CHRISTMAS CAME QUICKLY, which you were profoundly content with. it was one of the rare moments, when you could spend the time with your entire family, both sides. there wasn’t enough words to describe the amount of love you held in your heart for oscar’s relatives. you spent lots of hours, talking to your in-laws on the phone, when you couldn’t see them in person. it was natural that you wanted them in your daughter’s life as much as possible.

usually, the apartment was as quiet as it could be with a preschooler, although with almost twenty people inside, it was a mess. a positive one, one you would cherish every time it happened. your mum chatting away with nicole, tim, and chris, your brothers engrossed in conversations with oscar, while you talked to alex, and oscar’s sisters as your soon to be sister-in-law played with your daughter on the carpet, leo sleeping on his usual spot on the couch.

when you all sat down to open gifts, chloe was no longer playing with charlotte as she occupied the spot on arthur’s lap, giggling quietly, when he tickled her once in a while just to pretend he didn’t as she tried to pat his hands away.

“i give gifts, too!” she suddenly spoke up, her voice filled with excitement, pointing to a dozen of tiny boxes standing neatly next to (or on top of) one another.

it was small figurines made out of modelling clay that your husband has bought for your daughter. it wasn’t much, but it made your daughter feel involved in the gift-giving tradition. of course, you helped her throughout the process, so the figurines wouldn’t be just colours mixed together with no shape.

“oh, mon étoile. did you make them yourself?” your mum asked, a warm smile stretching across her lips as she unpacked the tiny star made out of modelling clay. that’s what pascale always called chloe, étoile, which meant a star, because she was the brightest star in your mom’s universe.

chloe nodded proudly in response, puffing her chest as she unpacked arthur’s box for him. “‘s me!” she giggled in happiness, placing the figurine in her uncle’s hand. “now, you ‘ill ‘lways remember me!”

“i could never forget you, squish.” arthur whispered into her ear, though loud enough for you all to hear, making the girl laugh from the sensation of his face in such close proximity to her ear. “i’ll always have it with me, okay?”

in the end, everyone was enamoured with the small gifts made by your daughter, which made her feel super proud of herself. she got a few toys (that you’d previously accepted, because if you had one more loud toy, you’d shred yourself into pieces) and… a racing helmet.

“we are not doing a project piastri, or whatever you’d call that.” you announced, giving your older brother a judgemental look. was it a surprise that charles gifted your daughter a racing helmet? not really, as he’s been talking about taking chloe karting. “she’s four.”

“i was four, when i started too.” he argued, a bit playfully.

“look what that made you. crazy.” you shook your head, taking a glimpse of the mesmerised look in your daughter’s eyes. “she’s too small for a go-kart. you’d have to put velco strips on her back and the seat, so she wouldn’t fell out of the thing.”

“that’s doable.” the ferrari driver shrugged, as he helped chloe put on the purple helmet. “uncle charlie wouldn’t let his squishy face get hurt.” he cooed at the girl, making you roll your eyes in exasperation.

cheering and stressing over your husband’s career was a thing you could live with, but having both oscar, and your daughter racing and karting? your poor heart wouldn’t handle it.

“i drive like daddy soon?” the four years old in question said, her voice slightly muffled by the helmet. once again, she clapped her hands happily.

and somehow, after a nice meal and gift openings, you were stuck in a conversation with your brother about taking chloe karting, while she quietly asked one of your sisters in law what karting exactly was.

[oceanabyssal]

OVERLOADED

SINOPSE - Onde Paul simplesmente te ensina a diminuir o ritmo - fora das corridas, é claro - e relaxar.

AVISOS - Machismo, xingamentos, leve obscenidade e alguém uma vez me disse que "Tibu" é um apelido estoniano usado entre amigos, então eu espero que isso esteja certo(se você for estoniano, por favor, me ajude😭)

Paul Aron x Driver!Leitora

— Você acha que a sua vitória se deve ao mau funcionamento do motor do Hadjar nas últimas voltas da corrida?

...

...

...

— O qu-Desculpe, você pode repetir?

O repórter coçou a garganta e aproximou o microfone do seu rosto, pigarreando para esconder um bufo de irritação.

— Na antepenúltima volta o Hadjar estava com vinte segundos de vantagem sobre você, mas ele teve um problema no motor e acabou perdendo uma posição. Você acha que a sua vitória foi uma consequência disso?

Consequência. A sensação da corrida ainda corria fresca nas suas veias injetadas de adrenalina. Suas mãos tremiam e pareciam pegar fogo, com a pele avermelhada e levemente marcada pelas costuras internas das luvas que você usava. Os seus ombros estavam rígidos e todo o seu corpo coberto por uma grossa camada de suor.

Você treinou durante anos por mais tempo do que você poderia se lembrar. Você poderia apontar para qualquer parte do seu corpo e dizer pelo menos uma lesão que já havia sofrido ali por conta dos treinos excessivos. Seus dedos tinham calos e seus pulsos tinham feridas constantes por sempre esfregarem o cockpit quando você dirigia.

Isso tudo, anos e anos dedicando toda a sua vida à corrida e mesmo assim eles apenas te viam como uma ganhadora ocasional. Alguém que só ganhava caso o adversário tivesse alguma complicação durante a corrida ou um carro ruim. Uma mulher, era apenas isso o que eles viam.

Você estava prestes a responder quando sentiu uma mão em seu ombro e o leve roçar de cachos contra a sua têmpora te fez se virar para ver Paul se abaixando na sua altura e encarando o repórter com uma expressão que era tudo, menos amigável.

— Ela não precisa responder isso agora. Afaste-se, por favor. — Paul pediu - ordenou - enquanto te guiava com uma mão respeitosamente pressionada contra as suas costas. A multidão de repórteres deu espaço enquanto vocês seguiam pelo paddock em silêncio.

O caminho até o banheiro foi silencioso e reconfortante. Paul sempre sabia lidar com esse tipo de situação e como intimidar de maneira discreta alguns repórteres intrometidos ou mal-educados. Ele era o seu companheiro de equipe, afinal.

— Obrigada por... Bom, tudo. — você conseguiu dizer quando já estavam há uma boa distância da multidão. Alguns funcionários parando para te parabenizar uma vez ou outra.

— Não precisa me agradecer por fazer o mínimo pela minha companheira de time. — ele sorriu te dando um empurrão — ... Você foi espetacular hoje e como sempre, não deixe aqueles abutres velhos e carecas tirarem o mérito da sua vitória.

Você riu fracamente com a parte dos abutres, mas seu humor logo se apagou. Paul encarou os curativos úmidos nas laterais dos seus pulsos, provavelmente eles deveriam ser trocados o quanto antes.

— Não deveria se cobrar tanto, tibu. — ele sussurrou para você. Fraco e leve como a brisa suave das manhãs de primavera.

— Eu devo. — você deu de ombros — Sou a única mulher aqui, é claro que eles vão me cobrar sete vezes mais. Eu já deveria ter me acostumado com isso.

Você disse a última parte mais como um sussurro do que como uma frase, e foi mais para você do que para Paul. Quando finalmente chegaram ao corredor para o banheiro feminino, o estoniano se apoiou na parede e cruzou os braços, indicando com a cabeça para que você fosse.

Sempre tão atencioso. Você sempre ia ao banheiro jogar um pouco de água no rosto após as corridas. A água gelada parecia a única coisa capaz de te tirar totalmente da pista, especialmente depois de um dia exaustivo como aquele.

Você se debruçou sobre a pia de mármore e encarou seu próprio reflexo no espelho, desde os cabelos desgrenhados e o suor na pele às bochechas vermelhas e as linhas de capacete nas suas bochechas. Você pensou em Paul do lado de fora, provavelmente também esperando para poder ir usar o banheiro masculino, então apenas jogou um pouco de água no rosto e retirou as bandagens dos seus pulsos, jogando-as no lixo e saindo dalí.

Paul estava exatamente onde você tinha deixado, encostado na parede e bebendo a água de sua garrafa em goles desesperados enquanto seus olhos corriam por todos os cantos do corredor, até pousarem em você.

— Podemos ir? — ele perguntou e você concordou.

Vocês andavam lado a lado quando uma funcionária de limpeza esbarrou em você com o seu carrinho, ambos rapidamente se abaixaram para ajudá-la a juntar os materiais esparramados pelo chão. Você e Paul juntaram a maioria das coisas e ajudaram a senhora reorganiza-las no carrinho, mas seus olhos captaram um vaso de amaciante que foi jogado um pouco distante dali por conta do impacto.

Você agarrou a alça da garrafa, mas ao tentar puxá-lo uma dor aguda se estendeu pelo seu braço e ombro, se espalhando pela sua omoplata e te forçando a deixar o amaciante cair novamente, a garrafa se abrindo dessa vez.

— Droga-Desculpe. — você murmurou vendo o líquido se espalhar pelo chão. Paul tocou suas costas cuidadosamente antes de correr na sua frente e se abaixar para pegar a garrafa antes de que você tentasse fazê-lo outra vez.

A mulher mais velha não fez nenhum escândalo e agradeceu a sua ajuda algumas vezes antes de vocês finalmente saírem dali. Paul te encarou por todo o trajeto enquanto você massageava o ombro dolorido com uma expressão amarga em seu rosto. Ele hesitou algumas vezes antes de finalmente falar algo.

— Há quanto tempo você sente isso?

— Não é nada. Deve ter me forçado muito na corrida de hoje-

— Você está mentindo. — ele te encarou diretamente com um olhar que poderia te esmagar — Seus movimentos estão rígidos há dias, e eu ouvi a bronca que a sua fisioterapeuta te deu depois dos treinos de ontem.

— Oh, o que? Agora você escuta conversas alheias? — você tentou despistar o assunto com uma piada. O que obviamente não funcionou, visto que Paul apenas te encarou mais seriamente.

— Tibu, não quero que você se machuque. — respirou fundo — Eu sei sobre a coisa toda envolvendo você ser uma garot-Mulher e como isso te afeta, mas até você precisa de descanso.

— Eu não posso descansar, Paul. — as palavras saíram mais agressivas do que o planejado, mas você não estava com cabeça para isso naquele momento — Eu nunca descansei e não vai ser agora que irei fazer isso.

Sem que o seu cérebro registrasse, você seguiu pelo outro corredor, deixando um Paul confuso e atordoado. As entrevistas com a mídia depois disso também não foram exatamente agradáveis, você recebeu elogios e parabenizações, mas nada como Hadjar ou Bortoleto, que também fizeram parte do pódio naquele fim de semana.

Quando o seu corpo finalmente se encontrou com os colchões macios e lençóis limpos da sua cama de hotel, um gemido aliviado escapou dos seus lábios. O seu fisioterapeuta tinha receitado alguns remédios e te ajudado com a dor, mas agora, tudo parecia mais psicológico do que qualquer outra coisa. Três batidas vieram da sua porta.

— Mhmm-mhnpfh.

— [Nome], eu preciso que você tire o rosto do travesseiro para que eu possa ouvir o que você diz. — a voz de Paul ecoou do outro lado.

O silêncio seguiu entre vocês por vários minutos. Você deitada na sua cama abraçando o travesseiro macio e erguendo seu torço apenas o suficiente para se livrar do isolamento acústico do colchão, podendo imaginar perfeitamente a forma como Paul segurava a maçaneta de maneira hesitante, sua testa pressionada contra a sua porta e o olhar baixo.

— …Entre. — sua voz era fraca e trêmula, mas Paul conseguiu ouvi-la, como sempre fazia.

A porta se abriu e junto com ela veio o familiar cheiro do perfume que tanto te fazia delirar. Paul vestia uma calça branca e uma camiseta de botões propositalmente desabotoada nos dois primeiros, seus cabelos estavam levemente bagunçados e um colar de prata caia perfeitamente ao redor de seu pescoço até o peitoral musculoso exposto pela camiseta.

Você se moveu na cama dando espaço para ele poder sentar ao seu lado, as mãos dele correndo para agarrar o tecido das suas cobertas e torce-lo entre os dedos. Vocês ficaram em silêncio novamente, apenas o uivo do vento e o som ambiente da cidade presentes naquele momento.

— Pepe nos convidou para uma festa hoje à noite. Começou há duas horas. — Paul começou olhando você ocasionalmente, só para ter certeza de que você estava realmente prestando atenção no que ele dizia — ... E eu ficaria muito feliz se você fosse.

Você o olhou de canto de olho e teve que se conter para não abrir um pequeno sorriso. Paul sempre era direto e honesto, e você gostava disso. Ele nunca te fez ter que adivinhar o que ele queria ou pensava, e nunca te deixou ter dúvidas sobre o que você sentia por ele.

— Eu não gosto de festas.

— E mesmo assim você vai sempre que eu peço. — disse com simplicidade, não havia nenhum ar convencido ou debochado em suas palavras, apenas uma afirmação que vocês dois sabiam que era verdadeira.

— Me dê dez minutos.

Quando finalmente terminou de se arrumar, Paul estava no corredor brincando com o pingente de seu colar e cantarolando para si mesmo, um longo sorriso surgindo em seu rosto quando ele pousou o olhar em você.

— Espetacular, como sempre. — como um cavalheiro, ele estendeu o braço para você e te guiou até o elevador do hotel. O cheiro dele se impregnou de maneira deliciosa em você.

A festa era simples, mas animada, como nos filmes europeus adolescentes dos anos 2000 que você costumava assistir nos poucos momentos em que não estava treinando ou competindo. Pepe e Dino foram os primeiros a se aproximarem de vocês dois quando pousaram os pés dentro do recinto.

— Finalmente! Eu achei que tinham sido sequestrados. — Martí reclamou enquanto fazia um toca-aqui com Aron e seguia para te abraçar.

— Quase, companheiro. — Paul descansou a mão na parte inferior das suas costas quando Dino os puxou para uma pequena mesa no meio da multidão.

Haviam copos vazios, duas bolsas femininas e o que você jurou ser um pacote de camisinhas preso entre as almofadas do pequeno sofá ao redor da mesa. Você se sentou entre Pepe e Paul e olhou em volta tentando achar outros rostos conhecidos.

— Gabriel não veio, Kimi e Ollie sumiram há algum tempo e Franco voltou para o hotel com uma italiana. — Pepe te respondeu como se lesse os seus pensamentos.

— A sua vitória hoje foi impressionante — comentou Dino, levando à boca a bebida cor-de-rosa que uma das garçonetes tinha acabado de servir. Ele fez uma careta logo em seguida. — Lamento pelo repórter intrometido.

Dino deslizou o copo em sua direção, e você agradeceu antes de lançar um olhar irritado para Paul. O loiro, porém, apenas deu de ombros, rindo, enquanto colocava um canudo para você na bebida.

— E depois dizem que são as mulheres que adoram fofocar — você provocou, tomando um gole da bebida. Sua testa franziu ao sentir o gosto peculiar.

— Estou falando sério, esses caras acham que somos máquinas e que não podemos perder de forma alguma. — Pepe cruzou os braços e se acomodou de forma preguiçosa — Acabei em quarto lugar e eles agem como se tivesse sido em último.

— E é exatamente para isso que estamos aqui, esquecer do trabalho e curtir como pessoas normais da nossa idade fariam. — Paul apoiou um dos braços no encosto do sofá atrás da sua cabeça e olhou em volta com monotonia.

Havia pelo menos duas dúzias de pessoas dançando no centro do espaço, alguns casais se beijando contra as paredes, um DJ com uma playlist de músicas ruins e absolutamente nenhuma bebida alcoólica sendo servida no bar. Dino suspirou decepcionado.

— Honestamente, essa é a pior festa que eu já vi. — vocês três murmuraram de acordo — Bom, eu vou pegar mais bebidas. Vocês três sabem sobreviver sem mim, certo?

Murmúrios de “nós damos conta” e “vá em frente” vieram de vocês e o sueco acenou com a cabeça, saindo em direção ao bar enquanto ria levemente. Pepe foi o próximo a levantar da mesa quando viu uma garota bonita chegar sozinha, deixando apenas você e Paul sozinhos.

— Desculpe. — você iniciou.

— Pelo que?

— Por ter ficado irritada hoje. Sei que você só queria me ajudar.

— Não precisa se desculpar, você estava sobrecarregada. — os dedos dele deslizaram para os seus sobre a mesa, você se afastou de maneira hesitante e descansou ambas as mãos sobre o colo — Estou falando sério.

— E eu também. — suspirou — Você sempre me ajudou desde que eu cheguei. Sinceramente, nem o meu psicólogo fez tanto por mim quanto você.

Paul teria rido se não fosse pela seriedade nas suas palavras. Ele realmente era bom para você? Ele realmente tinha conseguido ser o suficiente? Algo no seu olhar o indicava que sim.

— Apenas o melhor para a garota mais espetacular que eu já conheci. — ele ergueu uma das mãos tocando o seu rosto, o polegar calejado acariciando a sua bochecha e te arrancando um pequeno sorriso.

Você estava prestes a falar novamente quando Dino gritou o nome de Paul do meio da pista de dança, ele segurava dois coqueteis tinha um enorme sorriso enquanto apontava para o DJ que começou a tocar alguma música pop familiar, mas que você não se lembrava do nome.

— Eu-

— Está bem, pode ir. — você sorriu segurando a mão dele contra a sua bochecha, um pequeno beijo contra o pulso deixando uma marca que seria o suficiente por algum tempo — Eu sei me divertir sem você, sabia?

— Eu duvido muito disso. — o loiro riu beliscando a sua bochecha e olhando para você só mais um pouquinho antes de partir em direção à pista, lançando um beijo para você quando já estava perto de Dino.

Você riu e fingiu guardar o beijo no coração, o riso lentamente diminuindo e virando um suspiro que já estava preso na sua garganta há mais tempo do que você imaginava. Sentada ali sozinha, você observava todos os tipos de pessoas se divertindo como se o mundo fosse delas e como se o tempo fosse infinito.

Garotos e garotas, jovens, cheios de energia, rindo sem preocupações, dançando como se não houvesse amanhã. Eles pareciam tão leves, tão livres. Você, por outro lado, sentia o peso da sua vida que parecia infinitamente distante daquela. Não era como se você os invejasse exatamente - na verdade, havia uma espécie de imponência em ser quem você era, o reconhecimento do seu trabalho e o tudo o que você tinha conquistado com tão pouco idade.

Mas ao mesmo tempo, essa imponência era como um bloco de concreto te puxando para baixo da superfície.

Você não era uma adolescente comum. Não tinha o luxo de errar sem ser julgada, de ter um momento de fraqueza sem que se tornasse manchete, ou de se perder em noites como aquela sem que alguém tentasse fazer disso uma história maior do que realmente era em alguma página de fofoca ou jornal.

E Paul… Bem, ele parecia entender, de um jeito que mais ninguém no mundo conseguia. Talvez fosse por isso que você gostava tanto dele, por essa conexão que ia além das palavras e das aparências.

Como seria se vocês pudessem ser só dois jovens amantes? Sem repórteres intrometidos, sem fãs analisando cada gesto, sem o peso constante de serem exemplos ou ícones. Apenas vocês dois, com a liberdade de errar, de amar, de existir sem o mundo inteiro observando cada movimento.

Você suspirou, seu olhar seguindo Paul na pista de dança. Ele ria de algo que Dino dizia, seu sorriso despreocupado enquanto ele dançava e se divertia como se fosse apenas mais um garoto comum vivendo a sua própria liberdade te lembrando do motivo de você sempre aceitar ser arrastada por ele para festas como essa.

Depois de algum tempo, mais pessoas começaram a chegar e o salão da festa lentamente se tornava cada vez mais quente e abafado. Você se levantou da mesa e agarrou o drink de Dino, mal tendo tempo de se afastar muito quando outros cinco jovens imediatamente ocuparam a sua mesa.

Você andou em volta procurando algum lugar para tomar um pouco de ar até finalmente achar uma pequena sacada nos fundos do estabelecimento e se sentar nas pequenas escadas de metal. O oceano batia contra as rochas na costa e respingava de volta como chuva.

A maresia grudava nos seus dedos e bagunçava o seu cabelo, a melodia abafada da música chegava até você te fazia cantarolar baixinho. Alguns minutos, alguém abriu a porta e se aproximou vagarosamente, a colônia masculina o denunciando antes mesmo de aparecer no seu campo de visão.

— Achei que você tivesse me abandonado ou algo assim. — Paul brincou se sentando ao seu lado. Seus cachos dourados bagunçados e um pouco de suor em suas bochechas.

— Acredite, eu fiquei bem tentada. — provocou. Paul riu baixinho e apoiou as mãos atrás do próprio corpo, o tecido de sua camiseta se esticando um pouco sobre o peito musculoso e te obrigando a desviar o olhar para o oceano.

— Eu só queria que você se divertisse hoje. — ele se virou para te olhar, sua expressão mais séria agora — Você se esqueceu como fazer isso.

Você brincou com o canudo da bebida sem coragem de olhá-lo diretamente.

— Não é tão simples.

— Eu sei. — ele levou uma mão até a sua em um gesto tão natural quanto respirar. O calor dos dedos dele envolvendo os seus pulsos e o polegar acariciando os curativos que você conseguiu esconder com um relógio e algumas pulseiras grossas — Você merece uma pausa, sabe? Para se lembrar que você é mais do que apenas uma piloto, que você é… Bem, você.

— …

Silêncio. Tudo era mais confortável entre vocês quando o mundo estava em silêncio. Os dedos de Paul tocaram cada calo e cada cicatriz, tocaram com cuidado os band-aids nas laterais dos seus pulsos e brincaram com os nós dos seus dedos. Um suspiro deixou a sua garganta.

— Se nos vissem agora, achariam que você está me pedindo em namoro ou algo assim. — você murmurou olhando para as luzes da cidade e os raios dos farois dos carros passando pelas ruas.

Tantas histórias, tantas vidas, tantas oportunidades. Paul parecia ler a sua mente quando subiu o olhar para os grandes arranha-céus com pequenos quadradinhos brilhantes, cada um deles poderia contar mil experiências.

— Se eu fosse pedir de verdade, eu pediria da maneira certa. — você sentiu seus dedos se entrelaçando de uma maneira que parecia certa — Não aqui, não agora.

— … E onde seria? — você encarou ambas as mãos unidas, sem ter certeza de se realmente gostaria de saber a resposta e estragar a surpresa.

A pele de Paul contra a sua, o calor dele contra o seu frio. Parecia certo, e era certo. Ele cantarolou como se estivesse ponderando para si mesmo, balançando suas mãos juntas para cima e para baixo

— Eu pediria em algum lugar onde só existisse eu e você. — uma frase tão simples e o seu coração tropeçou numa batida — Sem flashes, sem manchetes, sem paparazzis e sem o mundo inteiro de olho na gente.

Você virou o rosto para o outro lado, mordendo o canto dos lábios para evitar sorrir, mas o calor do seu rosto entregava tudo o que deveria ser um segredo. Paul riu baixinho e descansou suas mãos sobre a coxa vestida dele.

— Às vezes você é assustadoramente fofo. — um sorriso ainda maior se formou no rosto do estoniano quando ele decifrou as suas palavras.

— Bom, eu vou levar isso como um elogio. — ele estufou o peito como um personagem de desenho e você revirou os olhos.

— Você tem sorte de ser o cara mais bonito do grid. — você o empurrou de leve e o sorriso do garoto apenas aumentou mais ainda.

— Não deixe Franco saber disso. — ele brincou se endireitando novamente.

O mundo entre vocês dois estava calmo. A música abafada, as ondas quebrando contra a costa e a brisa salgada criava um casulo que os separava de qualquer adversidade que tivessem que encontrar no dia seguinte. Era isso o que Paul fazia com você?

Sua cabeça caiu sobre o ombro dele e você o escutou cantarolar baixinho antes de deitar a cabeça sobre a sua. Como seria ter isso mais vezes? Sem ter que esperar para se esconder atrás de uma sacada de uma festa, nos corredores de um hotel durante a noite ou na sua casa com todas as janelas e portas fechadas.

— Você me fez sorrir hoje. Como?

— Talento nato, eu acho. — brincou — Ou eu apenas gosto de me dedicar a você.

— Uau, você é gentil.

— …

— Acho que gosto de como você me faz sentir. — você murmurou, tão baixo que duvidou que ele poderia ter ouvido. Mas ele fez, assim como sempre faria.

— E como eu faço você se sentir?

— … Espetacular

Sorrindo, Paul se inclinou e deixou um beijo no topo da sua cabeça, como se quisesse transmitir conforto em um gesto simples. Você ergueu o seu rosto, encontrando os olhos cristalinos por um breve segundo antes de retribuir com um beijo suave em sua testa. Ele riu baixinho, os dedos deslizando levemente pelo seu pulso quando ele se inclinou, deixando um selar em sua bochecha.

Arregalando um pouco os olhos e rindo divertida, você respondeu com um toque ainda mais próximo dos cantos de sua boca, sentindo a respiração dele vacilar por um instante. Paul não recuou, pelo contrário, deslizou o polegar pela lateral do seu rosto e devolveu o gesto, seus lábios quase tocando os seus.

Você prendeu a respiração e se afastou por um breve segundo, piscando para ele antes de se aproximar novamente. A ponta de seus narizes se tocaram rapidamente, ambas as respirações se misturando e os lábios formigando de antecipação.

Paul levou uma mão ao seu queixo e te puxou para perto, olhos sempre fixos em você e nunca vacilando. Seus dedos dedos se apertaram ao redor do pulso dele, sentindo a veia pulsando contra a pele pálida e percebendo que ele não estava nervoso, assim como nunca esteve com a sua presença.

Seus olhos se fecharam e Paul finalmente te puxou contra ele e tudo parecia perfeito demais para ser real. A sensação dos lábios dele era incrível e-

— Ei, pombinhos! — Dino e Pepe abriram a porta da sacada antes mesmo que os seus lábios e os de Paul pudessem se tocar, ambos segurando garrafas de vodka e usando óculos de sol de plástico — O Isack trouxe um presentinho para animar a festa.

— Cara… — Paul gemeu esfregando o próprio rosto e Pepe e Dino riram enquanto entendiam uma das garrafas para você.

— Qual é, vocês vão ter tempo de sobra no hotel depois que a festa acabar. — Pepe riu jogando dois óculos de sol de plástico no colo de Paul, que os encarava como se tivesse acabado levar uma penalidade de 10 segundos.

Você riu se levantando da escada e colocando os óculos de sol para se juntar aos meninos, mas não antes de deixar um beijo na bochecha de Paul e deixá-lo ali até a expressão emburrada se dissolver em seu rosto.

Quando a porta atrás de Paul se fechou ele soltou um suspiro e toda a tensão em seu corpo se dissipou. Uma de suas mãos correu para a pequena caixa de veludo em um dos bolsos da calça, tamborilando a caixinha com cuidado e leveza. O anel dourado/prateado brilhava sob a luz da lua com a sua inicial gravada no interior da joia.

Apesar de tudo, Paul sorriu. Aquele não era o momento, mas isso não importava quando ele estava com você.

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

• Eu escrevi esse capítulo todo duas vezes por que eu simplesmente perdi metade do arquivo😭😭😭

• Espero que gostem, eu adorei escrever isso.

[oceanabyssal]

🫧 𓇼𓏲*ੈ✩‧₊˚. 🎐 ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋🌊🦈˚˖𓍢ִ✧

𝐁𝐄𝐌 𝐕𝐈��𝐃𝐎 !¡

[ Esse perfil é feito puramente para

diversão e passatempo. Caso alguma das

minhas histórias te insultem, peço que me

comunique para que possamos resolver de

maneira pacífica e civilizada. Agradeço ! ]

⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚⋆°°‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ 𓇼🫧⋆｡˚﹏﹏𓇼𓂃 ‏𖦹.

• ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋🌊 Olá, eu sou uma escritora brasileira e meus pronomes são ela/dela, mas podem me chamar pelo vocês se sentirem mais confortáveis(eu realmente não ligo).

• ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋🌊 Produzo conteúdo relacionado à Fórmula 1(consequentemente, F2, F3 ou F4 também) e adoro fantasiar sobre diferentes situações com os pilotos(não necessariamente de maneira romântica). Se você também produz conteúdo sobre isso, deixe-me saber :) ficaria feliz lendo as suas histórias.

• ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋🌊 Eu provavelmente não vou demorar tanto para atender um pedido, mas eu ainda sou humana e posso acabar atrasando um pouco. Perguntar insistentemente sobre o seu pedido só o fará ser cancelado.

• ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋🌊 Estou aqui apenas para me divertir, e espero que você também possa se divertir :) Dito isso, não aceitarei desrespeito nessa conta! Gentileza gera gentileza.

🫧 𓇼𓏲*ੈ✩‧₊˚. 🎐 ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋🌊🦈˚˖𓍢ִ✧

𝐏𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐃𝐎𝐒 !¡

[ Caso você ignore as regras abaixo,

o pedido será descartado imediatamente ]

⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚⋆°°‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ 𓇼🫧⋆｡˚﹏﹏𓇼𓂃 ‏𖦹.

ATUALMENTE EU ESCREVO PARA :: Paul Aron, Ollie Bearman, Kimi Antonelli, Rafael Câmara, Charles Leclerc, Carlos Sainz, Lando Norris, Lewis Hamilton, Oscar Piastri, Franco Colapinto e Toto Wolff (+ podem ser adicionados futuramente).

TIPOS DE HISTÓRIA :: Social Media Au's, imagines e headcanons.

NÃO ESCREVO :: pedófilia, leitor trans ou não binário(não faço parte da comunidade e tenho medo de acabar ofendendo alguém acidentalmente, mas eu posso tentar escrever algo assim no futuro), incesto, abuso sexual/assédio ou qualquer tópico que eu considere agressivo ou pesado demais.

REGRAS :: Não pedir nada que contenha os tópicos citados acima, peça apenas no local designado para pedidos(me ajuda a manter tudo organizado), não peça se eu estiver fechada para pedidos(verifique isso na minha bio), seja educado na sua solicitação e não faça o mesmo pedido para mim se já tiver o feito para outra pessoa, e vice e versa.

DICAS :: Eu simplesmente amo escrever cenários fora do clichê, então não se preocupe se o seu pedido for um pouco específico demais. O seu pedido pode ter um cenário bem específico ou diferente, a única coisa que não gosto é quando me dizem exatamente o que eu devo escrever :( Fora isso, eu adoraria escrever algo único!

(Deixo aqui como exemplo uma vez no ano passado(na minha antiga conta no wattpad) em que uma garota me solicitou um headcanon sobre o Kimi Antonelli onde a leitora era uma típica "criança selvagem" criada no campo, que não tinha medo de andar descalça na grama ou sair por aí se pendurando em lugares arriscados. Foi um pedido bastante específico, mas que não influenciou em nada na maneira como eu desenrolei a minha história.)

🏝️⊹ ࣪ ﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ࣪ ˖

[oceanabyssal]

Eu no exato segundo em que o clima fica um pouco mais quente(amo o verão, mas socorro)

i just had a wild nosebleed so bad that it look like i murdered someone and threw their remains in the sink to try and wash them away. my hands and clothes are all messy now. i went for the tissue but my hands were so bloody it messed up the cabinet and the walls. blood on the floor so i reached for the broom but i bloodied the handle of that as well.

if anyone asks i did NOT commit murder i was trying to not die myself 😭

[oceanabyssal]

Franco Colapinto x Fem!Reader

Pt2

Sinopse :: Onde todos acham que a relação entre Franco e [Nome] é apenas uma amizade muito longa, mas eles tem algo à mais.

Avisos :: xingamentos, um pouco do meu senso de moda terrível, leitora latina e Franco Colapinto sendo material boyfriend

(se você tiver algum desses nomes de usuário no Instagram eu peço desculpas, foi só uma coincidência muito bizarra😭)

_________________________________________

Seunomedeusúario

Curtido por francolapinto, yourbff2, yourmom e outras pessoas.

Seunomedeusúario Atualmente o meu maior sonho e ser como esses velhinhos na última foto😭💓

Ver todos os comentários

yourbff3 um dia seremos nós!💖

Curtido pelo criador ❤️

↳ Seunomedeusúario sim, por favor!🙌

yourbff2 nós em um futuro distante

Curtido pelo criador ❤️

chloelacreux essa jaqueta é de quem eu penso que é?

↳ gretaa_06 Esperamos que seja🤭

↳ sebstt3 @gretaa_06 Com certeza é!😩💖

sally.beaumont os velhinhos🥰

Curtido pelo criador ❤️

eliz.marshalls Francoooo🎉✨

f1girlie Franco na primeira foto😩🫦🫦

↳ f1girlie correção, ele em TODAS as fotos dele 🫦🫦🫦🫦

sainzwife06 a jaqueta de Franco ficou mais bonita nela do que nele😆

Curtido pelo criador ❤️

anacastello O molho latino🫦

leclercgurl A melhor dupla do século!

colapintoswife Essa jaqueta ficaria melhor em mim.

↳ ash.mrs Não.

↳ lmarii.1 Cara, desiste

↳ rachel_th Eu sabia que ela estaria aqui😩

↳ litllelando @rachel_th uma assombração não some tão fácil😮‍💨

drikka.aa Podemos falar sobre @colapintoswife sendo uma presença constante nas postagem de [Nome] mesma ela aparentemente a odiando e tendo ciúmes dela?

↳ kimisb4bygurl ela é a literal definição de um fã incubado

↳ pessoa_normal Eu acompanho a conta de [Nome] há uma semana e já não suporto mais essa garota

↳ 22a.lana Eu rolei o feed de [Nome] até pelo menos dois anos atrás e essa garota simplesmente está por todos os lados😭 Como ninguém ainda não bloqueou ela???

francolapinto Aquele senhor é o meu novo ídolo

Curtido pelo criador ❤️

↳ chloe_banner alguém diga ao Lewis que ele perdeu

↳ jackson_01 Lewis ficará tão decepcionado 😂

↳ f1girlie hi guuurl🥰🤭

brancis.piccolo 💙🤍💙🇦🇷

yourbff Aquele é o meu colar?

↳ Seunomedeusúario 😰

↳ francolapinto não seria ela se não estivesse usando as coisas de outra pessoa

Curtido pelo criador ❤️

↳ monica.ah @Seunomedeusúario isso é tão eu

Seunomedeusúario

Curtido por francolapinto, yourbff2, yourmom, olliebearman e outras pessoas.

Seunomedeusúario com a minha pessoa favorita de todos os tempos🥰(Agora me pague a quantia prometida por ter me obrigado a escrever isso)

Ver todos os comentários.

francolapinto verifique a sua conta no banco

↳ Seunomedeusúario 1 peso? Cara, você corre na Fórmula 1😭

↳ kimifanpage Franco pão duro é algo que me parece estranhamente coerente.

↳ vivianlopez Ele é tão nós😭

maxine.morson A maneira como ele a olha💔💔

↳ thatgirlsophie Eles dois não terem absolutamente nada simplesmente não me parece plausível😩 Aquele é o olhar de um homem apaixonado!

olliefanpage Os abraços confortáveis continuam!

bananna.art Franco, você não pode me enganar com esses olhos brilhantes e esse sorriso frouxo!

ariel_fauna Nós estamos simplesmente deixando a melhor wag de todos os tempos escapar por entre os nossos dedos😮‍💨

sonna_00 Nossa, Franco🫦💙🤍

yourbff2 ❤️❤️ amo vocês

Curtido pelo criador ❤️

ianbby FRANCO, PEÇA [NOME] EM NAMORO E A MINHA VIDA É SUA

↳ cc.chanel MINHA VIDA E MINHA ALMA

fernanda.marquezz Eles são a minha dose de serotonina semanal.

Curtido pelo criador ❤️

Seunomedeusúario

Curtido por francolapinto, alexandrasaintmleux, yourbff e outras pessoas.

Seunomedeusúario Alguns dos meus melhores looks da última semana 🌺(Ignorem a última foto, é um dos meus vestidos preferidos e eu simplesmente não tirei mais nenhuma foto com ele😭)

Ver todos os comentários.

francolapinto mi alma 💜

Curtido pelo criador ❤️

↳ Seunomedeusúario Corazón🫶

babi.mun Como pode ela não ter filhos e ser a minha mãe?

tanisha.ww Eu mataria e morreria para ter 1% do estilo dela😔

beccaxs ✨brilho✨

paddocksgirl como pode? Ela tem mais roupas para usar em uma semana do que eu tenho para usar durante a minha vida inteira

yourbff ícone fashion

Curtido pelo criador ❤️

natalie.f1 ela é >aquela< garota

natalie.f1 Ela é engraçada, bonita, fashion, rica e [sua nacionalidade], Franco, que merda você está esperando??

w4termall0w Franco sabe brigar?

↳ wagsfanpage ew, eles são irmãos🤢

emilaudah visto todas as informações recentes, a probabilidade de um(ou mais) desses vestidos ser de Franco é de pelo menos 30%

Curtido pelo criador ❤️

victoriamartinez de onde é o terceiro vestido?

↳ Seunomedeusúario @lojacujoonomeeunãotenhocriatividadeparacriar :)

↳ victoriamartinez mãe😩🫶

yourbff eu tirei a última foto😆

Curtido pelo criador ❤️

alexandrasaintmleux 💘

Curtido pelo criador ❤️

↳ Seunomedeusúario Miss Rabbit has fainted

↳ zarahhh.a rainha e princesa de Mônaco ❤️🤍🇲🇨

catlynn.bearm ela saiu diretamente do Pinterest

mirandapilgrim os apelidos entre ela e Franco me causaram borboletas

↳ sainzfanpage Tão fofos🧡

↳ leclercgurl apelidos em espanhol me deixam meio-✨💘💫🎉🔥

lanacoded contagem regressiva até ela se tornar uma it girl do mundo da F1

colapintoswife 🤢

↳ 0h.abby garotaaaaaa😮‍💨

↳ florence.iie uma fada morre sempre que ela comenta em algum post

Seunomedeusúario

Curtido por francolapinto, yourbff2, yourmom e outras pessoas.

Seunomedeusúario Praia :)

Ver todos os comentários.

f1girlie essa cama parece tão confortável😩

wendy.ii Franco sem camisa 🙌

yourbff faz tanto tempo que não vou à praia que quase me esqueci da sensação🥲

Curtido pelo criador ❤️

pessoa_normal Irmãozinhos🫶

userbratx Por que todos nós simplesmente esquecemos do comentário de Franco no post sobre eles estarem se parecendo com um casal?

↳ winmie_mie Meu Deus, sim!

↳ bluedog_ WTF??????

↳ charlottecarson_ Eu ainda penso sobre isso pelo menos uma vez por semana

leclercgurl Eu quero o que eles tem😭

francolapinto alma hermosa

Curtido pelo criador ❤️

↳ irinaabc ela a chama de alma😭

↳ damianni.luc se eu morresse agora eu partiria feliz e sem nenhum arrependimento

↳ _florfortune gente, são só apelidos.

nanda.fer é impressão minha ou ela está sempre viajando?

↳ vic.viscoslk chama-se 💵riqueza💵

Seunomedeusúario

Curtido por francolapinto, yourbff2, yourmom, alexandrasaintmleux e outras pessoas.

Seunomedeusúario 💛🌞🏷️

Ver todos os comentários.

sainzswife ela é tão mediterrânea

Curtido pelo criador ❤️

↳ Seunomedeusúario Essa é a coisa mais linda que já me disseram

↳ pessoa_normal isso foi estranhamente bonito

↳ florrodriguez se alguém me elogiasse assim eu me casaria no mesmo instante

melinaaah_ as roupas dela parecem tão elegantes e confortáveis

↳ sasharoccioli sim!

↳ sasharoccioli ela é >a< It girl

trizcapipavorov a vibe nesse rolo de fotos>>>

marcolissin 🇦🇷❤️

esterlavitoria mommy, a girl behind you

Curtido pelo criador ❤️

yourbff2 Ainda não acredito que você roubou o meu cigarro só para tirar uma foto

Curtido pelo criador ❤️

↳ yourbff3 e logo em seguida começou a tossir como uma criança da era medieval com peste bubônica🤓☝️

Curtido pelo criador ❤️

↳ Seunomedeusúario 😒

↳ tomiiiiii_ ela é rica, não bebe, não fuma, se veste bem é extremamente educada. Franco, O.QUE.VOCÊ.ESTÁ. ESPERANDO???????????

sabrina.aa A última foto🤭💞

↳ f1girlie eu sinto coisas selvagens

elliesmx eu reconheço as mãos de Franco quando as vejo🌚👀

mts.sancea aquelas mãos🤫

girlepop_5 o estilo da mamãe

mariaarav_va nascida uma garota do mediterrâneo, forçada à ser uma garota latina

↳ rachelbass isso até você descobrir que há um mês ela foi banida permanente de uma boate depois de arrumar uma briga séria com uma garota que estava a insultando.

↳ dalila.salos @rachelbass e ela foi arrastada para fora pelos seguranças enquanto puxava o cabelo da outra garota e arranhava a cara dela. O sangue latino da mamãe ainda corre🔥🔥

ella._ A última foto😫

↳ eu.bruna se aquelas mãos não forem de Franco eu cometerei um crime

colapintoswife uma puta que não consegue postar nenhuma foto sem que um homem esteja envolvido

↳ marlo.sanchez [nome] é melhor do que eu, por que eu já teria denunciado e bloqueado essa garota de todas as formas possíveis

↳ rafa.daoly garota, que porra você tem?!

rafa.daoly muito se fala sobre as mãos na última foto, mas pouco se fala sobre como essa garota sempre parece estar arrumada e pronta para tirar uma foto para a capa de uma revista de luxo

Suacontapessoal

Curtido por francolapinto, yourfriend, yourmom, yourdad e outras pessoas.

Suacontapessoal Ocho meses💞

Ver todos os comentários.

francolapinto Te amo mucho🤍

Curtido pelo criador ❤️

↳ Suacontapessoal Corazón💗

yourmom eu sempre soube que ele era o garoto certo🤗💞

Curtido pelo criador ❤️

↳ Suacontapessoal obrigada, mamãe🤍

yourbff EU DISSE QUE VOCÊS ERAM ALMAS GÊMEAS

Curtido pelo criador ❤️

yourfriend eu tirei a primeira foto🙋🏽‍♀️

↳ Suacontapessoal e obrigada por isso😫🙌

Seunomedeusúario

Curtindo por francolapinto, yourbff, olliebearman e outras pessoas.

Seunomedeusúario acidentalmente tirei a melhor soneca da minha vida na primeira foto

Ver todos os comentários.

annamiano como alguém tem tantos amigos?😭

yokotagawa casualmente comendo fast-food com suas amigas em um jatinho particular

↳ _blueboy Ah, a riqueza

colapintoswife garota, você não é estilosa

↳ ully.itms garota, você não é a protagonista de um filme que vai fazer o cara bonito se apaixonar por você.

↳ hi.luna que merda é essa?

francoswife mommy

rosamian_0l Eu PRECISO fazer parte desse ciclo social

marquez.12 EU TENHO UMA SANDÁLIA IGUAL

↳ leclercgurl EU TAMBÉM

raqueldantas_ E ela segue tento os melhores looks possíveis

lisaprojek A bolsa dentro de outra bolsa

↳ leahhorny ela pode fazer isso

yourbff2 EU TIVE UMA INTOXICAÇÃO ALIMENTAR DEPOIS DA SÉTIMA FOTO😭😭

↳ Seunomedeusúario valeu a pena

↳ yourbff2 frio

Seunomedeusúario

Curtido por francolapinto, olliebearman, yourmom e outras pessoas.

Seunomedeusúario Corazón🫶

Ver todos os comentários.

f1girlie WTF-

pessoa_normal Ei, pessoal-

bibiex.s mano, o que

wagsfanpage Oh.

jeniiiis 😨

yourbff5 MUAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

olliebearman FINALMENTE

↳ francolapinto cara, eu vou te matar

yourbff3 a última foto😩💞

francolapinto mi hermosa alma

Curtido pelo criador ❤️

↳ Seunomedeusúario mi vida 🩵

↳ nanda_hii pais

↳ sophiavalvhg Eu SABIA

yourmom 🩷🎉

Curtido pelo criador ❤️

sasabinaxv_ Eu sabia que aqueles olhares eram de um homem apaixonado

yourbff5 Pais

Curtido pelo criador ❤️

brubslima um minuto de silêncio por @colapintoswife

Curtido pelo criador ❤️

↳ f1girlie OMG ELA CURTIU

↳ olliesfanpage Eu faria loucuras para ver a cara dela

↳ tinybff Oh, as doces reviravoltas da vida.

celiwilson.06 foda-se a amizade(?), eu quero o que eles tem

gabi.puerto que ótimo dia para se estar vivo.

_________________________________________

DESCULPEM PELA DEMORA😭😭😭

juro que tentei adiantar isso, mas eu simplesmente não consegui escrever durante muito tempo. Espero que possam me perdoar💓

EDIT:eu sou uma escritora brasileira e não tenho contato com a cultura da Argentina, então se algum leitor argentino puder me mandar apelidos carinhosos(entre amigos ou como casal) para que eu possa escrever mais sobre Franco, eu ficaria muito agradecida🩵🇦🇷

[oceanabyssal]

Me posting on tumblr:

[oceanabyssal]

Franco Colapinto x fem!reader

pt1

Sinopse :: Onde todos acham que a relação entre Franco e [Nome] é apenas uma amizade muito longa, mas eles tem algo à mais.

Avisos :: xingamentos e Franco Colapinto sendo material boyfriend

(se você tiver algum desses nomes de usuário no Instagram eu peço desculpas, foi só uma coincidência muito bizarra😭)

_________________________________________

Seunomedeusúario

Curtido por francolapinto, olliebearman, kimi.antonelli e outras pessoas.

Seunomedeusúario Obrigada por me arrastar de casa até uma lanchonete às três da tarde de uma terça feira e nem me dar tempo para me arrumar💘

Ver todos os comentários

francosgf06 a roupa de ficar em casa dela é a roupa mais chique do meu guarda-roupas e eu não estou bem com isso💔

↳ sharpayxx MEU DEUS SIM!!!!

↳ f1girlie pessoas ricas são tipo:

rose_lincon Franco é melhor do que eu, se eu tivesse uma melhor amiga como essas eu não teria tanta sanidade🙏🏻

↳ pessoa_normal melhor amiga? Eles não são tipo... Praticamente casados?

↳ ts_murph @pessoa_normal você provavelmente é novo no maravilhoso mundo da Fórmula 2, então eu vou segurar a sua mão enquanto te digo isso...

f1girlie Franco saindo para comer enquanto os mais velhos o subestimam por sua idade e maturidade, NÃO DÊ RAZÃO AOS HATERS IDOSOS😭✊🏻

↳ 0h.abby ele sabe que estamos aqui para proteja ele😌

imaginator.01 A maneira como todos sabem que é Franco mesmo sem ele ter comentado ou ter sido marcado na publicação me assusta

↳ kimisb4bygurl eu posso farejar essa dupla a 12km de distância e ainda acertar sempre que eles postarem alguma coisa juntos😈

↳ jiathompson @kimisb4bygurl que merda de nome de usuário é esse?

colapintoswife por que as pessoas estão dizendo que o meu Colapinto é amigo dessa garota?

↳ lucky06 como identificar alguém que começou à acompanhar Fórmula 1/Fórmula 2 na semana passada:

↳ f1girlie @lucky06 SIM HAHAHAHAH

↳ judit.ye @colapintoswife você provavelmente tem 12 anos de idade, Franco e [Nome] já eram melhores amigos antes mesmo de você nascer😒

francolapinto ;)

curtido pelo criador ❤️

Seunomedeusúario

Curtido por olliebearman, francolapinto, paularon_ e outras pessoas

Seunomedeusúario Eu estava meio triste essa semana e três caras invadiram a minha casa e me forçaram a beber e fazer coisas contra a minha vontade durante horas

Ver todos os comentários

olliebearman Pela sua legenda parece que somos criminosos😭

Curtido pelo criador ❤️

↳ Seunomedeusúario o único crime que você cometeu foi roubar o meu coração💓

↳ jeniiiis @Seunomedeusúario é tão identificável por que ela simplesmente flerta com qualquer cara bonito em um raio de 25 metros

↳ colapintoswife @jeniiiis ela é uma puta

↳ jeniiiis @colapintoswife se ela é uma puta, então o que você é?

↳ colapintoswife @jeniiiis alguém muito mais adequada para Franco do que ela😉😗

↳ jeniiiis @colapintoswife wtf?

↳ buddy.04 @colapintoswife ela acha que está em uma fanfic onde Franco simplesmente vai dar uma chance para ela por conta de sua personalidade difícil jajajajajajajj

↳ jeniiiis @buddy.04 totalmente! HAHAHAH

paularon_ nunca mais iremos te consolar😒

Curtido pelo criador ❤️

↳ Seunomedeusúario você sabe que é mentira ;)

↳ francolapinto @paularon_ diga por você💁🏻

Curtido pelo criador ❤️

↳ maggief1 eu sei que é uma piada, mas a forma como Franco sempre está lá para [Nome], mesmo quando eles brigam me deixa meio @+#($-)*~😫💓

↳ celiwilson.6 @maggief1 foda-se o romance, eu quero o que eles dois tem.

girgle04 Por que nós só estamos ignorando a segunda foto?😭

↳ tinybff por que é mais do que o esperado vindo de Ollie, [Nome] e Paul

wiggh_blear a segunda foto parece tão estranhamente rotineira para eles?

↳ Seunomedeusúario 👀👀

↳ cchris.08 @Seunomedeusúario imagine ver Ollie fazendo o número dois ser uma situação recorrente na sua vida

↳ jiathompson @cchris.08 eu me sinto estranhamente confortável e normal com essa situação

↳ wiggh_blear @cchris.08 eu mataria para ter esse nível de intimidade com os meus amigos😭

kimi.antonelli vocês nem sequer me chamaram

Curtido pelo criador ❤️

↳ Seunomedeusúario eu nem sequer chamei ELES😭

↳ olliebearman sem italianos, você conhece as regras🤷🏻

Curtido pelo criador ❤️

↳ francolapinto desculpe, mate, mas Ollie está certo.

↳ paularon_ concordo com tudo dito acima☝🏻

↳ f1girlie a energia de irmãos é PALPÁVEL

Seunomedeusúario

Curtido por yourbff, francolapinto e outras pessoas.

Seunomedeusúario noite neon e água borbulhante 💜🩵

Ver todos os comentários

yourbff quando você tirou essas fotos? Eu nem te vi pegar no seu celular a noite toda😰

↳ Seunomedeusúario o mágico não releva seus segredos😈

↳ yourbff2 ela as tirou com o meu celular

↳ Seunomedeusúario @yourbff2 😒

chillianaf1 só Deus sabe o que eu faria para fazer parte do ciclo social dela😫🙏🏽

babsz.martins Por que eu não conheço nenhum desses rostos, além do dela?

↳ kimiantonelli15 sabia que nem todos os amigos dela são pilotos de F1 internacionalmente conhecidos?

↳ babsz.martins @kimiantonelli15 foi só uma pergunta

taraconner Espere, um final de semana sem Franco e [Nome] juntos?! Fujam para as montanhas, algo está muito errado!

↳ olliesgf.1 eles não nasceram grudados, cara.

Seunomedeusúario

Curtido por yourbff, francolapinto, yourbff3 e outras pessoas.

Seunomedeusúario 📸

Ver todos os comentários

gabi.puerto a terceira foto descreve a maior parte dos meus finais de semana

gutts.tt [Nome] sendo a amiga sóbria no fim de cada noite para garantir que todos vão chegar em casa em segurança e não acabar se machucando durante o processo, mas ao mesmo tempo tirando fotos e gravando vídeos para usá-los como chantagem futuramente é simplesmente ✨maléfico✨

Curtido pelo criador ❤️

francolapinto aquela é a minha carteira?🤨

↳ Seunomedeusúario :D então...

↳ leclercgurl eles chegaram no nível de compartilhar seus utensílios pessoais💓😭

↳ miiiahio @leclercgurl eles se conhecem desde o útero, seria surpreendente se eles NÃO compartilhassem coisas.

colapintoswife ela tira fotos das próprias amigas bêbadas e posta como se fosse uma piada???

↳ ariann você CLARAMENTE não tem amigos, ok?

↳ tinybff cara, por que você é assim?

Seunomedeusúario

Curtido por olliebearman, francolapinto, yourbff e outras pessoas.

Seunomedeusúario semana caótica(sim, nós estávamos perdidos na segunda foto)

Ver todos os comentários

yourbff3 o jeito que nós conseguimos nos perder em uma cidade de dois quilômetros onde todos se conhecem😭

Curtido pelo criador ❤️

yourbff2 pelo menos a gente conseguiu encontrar aquele restaurante

↳ Seunomedeusúario e eu tive uma intoxicação alimentar logo depois💞💘

↳ yourbff2 detalhes, detalhes...

francolapinto eu fiquei tão preocupado quando você me ligou durante a madrugada dizendo que estava perdida💔

↳ Seunomedeusúario chama-se "fuso-horário", eu estava debaixo do Sol mais escaldante de todos enquanto você dormia

↳ bearmansgf a vibe de melhores amigos é tão evidente que eu quase posso cheirar

mikki_ a flexibilidade na primeira foto é admirável e assustadora

Curtido pelo criador ❤️

caroline_ahh Franco e [Nome] na última foto🥰

that.girl O abraço parece tão confortável😭🙏🏿

↳ maxx.ver Siiim!

sabrinakdx o fato de que ela ligou para Franco quando ela estava em apuros, mesmo com ele estando do outro lado do globo me causou sensações😭💓💞💘✨🫂

↳ kimifanpage.01 eles não moram juntos?

↳ arthurmypookie @kimifanpage.01 costumavam, mas ela se mudou para Mônaco há mais ou menos três anos

↳ arthurmypookie @arthurmypookie mas ambos são ricos, então eles podem simplesmente viajar de jatinho para se verem todos os dias😑

Seunomedeusúario

Curtido por francolapinto, yourbff2, yourmom e outras pessoas.

Seunomedeusúario Uma semana com o meu pookie wookie argentino favorito✨

Ver todos os comentários

francolapinto é sempre um prazer carregar as suas taças de suco de uva(por mais que você tenha dito para todos que era vinho)🍇

Curtido pelo criador ❤️

↳ Seunomedeusúario eu te disse para não revelar isso!😭😭

↳ francolapinto honestamente, o fato de você odiar álcool e beber suco de uva no lugar disso é meio cômico e fofo

Curtido pelo criador ❤️

juliestaps a última foto🥰

danny.ie quem é o cara na última foto?

↳ germangirl provavelmente Franco

↳ vitchie09 @germangirl provavelmente? Com certeza é ele

↳ danny.ie @vitchie09 como vocês tem tentar certeza?

↳ vitchie09 @danny.ie Franco já disse em um storys que ele e [Nome] costumavam dormir de mãos dadas o tempo todo quando eles eram pequenos e que até hoje eles tem esse hábito.

↳ danny.ie @vitchie09 eles não serem namorados me deixa maluca

belgaun [Nome] sendo a pessoa menos alcoólica do mundo é meio fofo e admirável

Curtido pelo criador ❤️

↳ belgaun oown, ela curtiu isso🥰

gossipfranco tem algo rolando entre eles e ninguém vai me convencer do contrário!

↳ celiwilson.6 desencana!

↳ buddy.04 aaaah, pessoas que não sabem que pode existir uma amizade sem segundas intenções entre um garoto e uma garota

Seunomedeusúario

Curtido por francolapinto, yourbff, olliebearman e outras pessoas.

Seunomedeusúario finalmente veio me ver em Mônaco💙

Ver todos os comentários.

francolapinto quando você literalmente me compra uma passagem de primeira classe e me liga duas horas antes do vôo é difícil recusar.

↳ Seunomedeusúario você só viria no próximo mês, eu não tive escolha🤷‍♀️

Curtido pelo criador ❤️

↳ francolapinto se você está dizendo

carlosgirl a última foto😫💓

↳ bibiex.s eles seriam O casal

↳ charlesgf @bibiex.s real!

↳ dixiems.art @bibiex.s eles já não são um?

↳ bibiex.s @dixiems.art não, eles estão muito mais perto de serem irmãos biológicos do que namorados hahahah

↳ dixiems.art @bibiex.s como todos têm tanta certeza sobre isso?

↳ bibiex.s @dixiems.art [Nome] e Franco já tiveram outros relacionamentos antes e eles nunca fizeram questão alguma de esconder, além de Franco já ter feito um daqueles testes com um polígrafo para uma entrevista e quando ele respondeu uma pergunta dizendo que nunca havia se relacionado romanticamente com [Nome] a máquina indicou que ele estava falando a verdade.

↳ jeniiiis @bibiex.s isso sem contar a vez em que um paparazzi os pegou conversando com um amigo em comum sobre as edits românticas que os fãs faziam sobre eles, o que é muito assustador e invasivo, mas a questão é que eles esboçaram nojo e repulsa por isso mesmo quando não sabiam que estavam sendo gravados!

↳ dixiems.art honestamente, nada disso me parece convincente, mas já que vocês insistem.

olliebearman isso são garrafas de vinho infantil sem álcool?

↳ Seunomedeusúario 🤫🤫🤫

mikka.by 😭💞

Seunomedeusúario

Curtido por francolapinto, yourbff, yourbff2 e outras pessoas.

Seunomedeusúario verão europeu.

Ver todos os comentários

yourbff sinto sua falta😫💔

Curtido pelo criador ❤️

↳ Seunomedeusúario vamos nos encontrar em breve, eu imploro!🙏

↳ yourbff @Seunomedeusúario VAMOS!

yourbff2 os bastidores de uma publicidade na segunda foto🫢

Curtido pelo criador ❤️

lilaxf1girlie A primeira foto me passa uma energia meio Mamma Mia🤔🥰

Curtido pelo criador ❤️

↳ Seunomedeusúario MEU DEUS, SIM!!!

↳ lilaxf1girlie @Seunomedeusúario eu não sinto minhas pernas, EU NÃO SINTO MINHAS PERNAS!!!!!!

mihaa.ii18 a última foto me causou sensações.

↳ naileadixon eu as sinto também

↳ sainz55.0 não, vocês são nojentos, eles são irmãos.

↳ bluegirl SIM!

debrah.hi ESSA É A VIBE

yourbff4 eu sinto o cheiro de mar e geso fresco durante a tarde através dessas fotos.

Curtido pelo criador ❤️

↳ Seunomedeusúario você deveria ter vindo!

↳ yourbff4 @Seunomedeusúario garota, eu não sou rico como você😫 eu ainda preciso estudar e trabalhar

↳ sainzfanpage @Seunomedeusúario meu Deus, isso significa que nós, meros mortais, temos a chance de ser amigos dela😭😭😭🙏🏾

↳ leclercgurl @sainzfanpage ela faz caridade, cara😭✊🏼

↳ arthurmypookie @sainzfanpage a rainha sem cuida dos seus súditos✨

olliebearman o vestido que eu te dei de aniversário😁

Curtido pelo criador ❤️

↳ Seunomedeusúario minha mãe sempre dizia que você pode saber o quanto um homem ama as mulheres atravéz das roupas que ele dá para elas... Ollie, você é quase uma de nós!😣💓💓

↳ olliebearman @Seunomedeusúario 😨

↳ lil.ly @Seunomedeusúario ela é melhor amiga/irmã de alma de um literal piloto de Fórmula 1 e age como se fosse uma pessoa comum ajjskskskak

↳ ana.salvez06 @lil.ly ela é literalmente uma pessoa comum, só que com dinheiro?

↳ lil.ly @ana.salvez você entendeu

morgan.jull É impressão minha ou [Nome] e Franco estão parecendo mais um casal do que o de costume?

↳ paulsfuturewag achei que só eu tinha notado🙌

↳ karenbucklet eles sempre parecerem ser absurdamente próximos, talvez apenas estejam deixando isso mais evidente agora.

↳ francolapinto 👀

esse comentário foi apagado pelo criador

↳ morgan.jull @francolapinto O QUE FOI ISSO?!?!?!?!?

↳ hi.ollie @francolapinto CARA??? VOLTE AQUI E EXPLIQUE-SE😭😭😭

↳ karenbucklet @morgan.jull O QUE? O QUE ELE DISSE?!?!?

gabi.puerto Sobre o que vocês estão falando?😭 O que Franco disse??

colapintoswife A última foto🤮

↳ ice.princess é só passar o feed

↳ eloenkane levando em conta o comentário de Franco, eu acho que você vai levar um choque dentro de alguns dias🤫🤭

yourbff Franco, meu Deus😅

↳ Seunomedeusúario calada, por favor.

Seunomedeusúario

Curtido por paularon_, francolapinto, olliebearman e outras pessoas.

Seunomedeusúario Uma das melhores semanas da minha vida!

babickovaela Mônaco foi tão😩💞

Curtido pelo criador ❤️

↳ Seunomedeusúario AGORA VOCÊ ME ENTENDE!

↳ avastornl @Seunomedeusúario meu Deus, elas são amigas😭✨

↳ f1girlie @avastornl Definitivamente😻

olliebearman o calção de banho que ninguém tem ideia de onde surgiu mas que foi compartilhado entre todos nós durante a semana na última foto💁🏻

Curtido pelo criador ❤️

↳ Seunomedeusúario nojento, mas memorável

↳ dailymicka @olliebearman você não pode simplesmente vir aqui, nos jogar essa informação e deixá-la pela metade!😭

↳ kobiebrown @dailymicka Basicamente, Paul e Ollie acharam um calção de banho que não pertencia a nenhum dos garotos junto com as coisas deles quando todos desembarcaram em Mônaco, mas, em vez de simplesmente devolver para o avião, eles resolveram ficar e compartilharam entre si durante os dias em que ficaram na casa de [Nome].

↳ dailymicka @kobiebrown isso é realmente nojento... Mas como você sabe disso?

↳ kobiebrown @dailymicka Apenas Franco sem nenhum treinamento de pr postando um story sobre isso às 4 da manhã, logo antes de ser apagado por alguém uns vinte minutos depois🤷🏿‍♂️

↳ dailymicka @kobiwbrown bem previsível, honestamente.

yukitsunodamybf eles saíram de férias para MÔNACO durante uma semana no meio do ano?

↳ clairemx.b eles são ✨ricos✨

↳ yukitsunodamybf @clairemx.b me sinto um pouco hiper-consciente da minha classe social agora

donna.wt isso é tão rich kids coded

↳ hi.milly eles sendo o sentido literal da expressão

↳ sasha.lerch [Nome] é realmente rica? Sem hate, estou apenas curiosa

↳ donna.wt @sasha.lerch o pai dela é dono de uma empresa de petróleo e um ex-piloto profissional de kart, já a mãe dela trabalha como corretora de imóveis de luxo em >>MÔNACO<<, então sim, ela tem grana

antonell.aa eles💓>>>

kimi.antonelli saudade de vocês, pessoal!🫶🏻

Curtido pelo criador ❤️

paularon_ eu ainda sinto minha pele arder pela insolação

↳ Seunomedeusúario você merece isso, eu te disse para usar a droga do protetor solar!😭

↳ paularon_ É grudento

↳ arinamuller @paularon_ pobre bebê

↳ mel___sd @paularon_ ele é tão bobo😭💓

francolapinto obrigada por não ter postado nenhuma das minhas fotos(a propósito, você é uma péssima fotógrafa)

↳ Seunomedeusúario você meio que pediu por isso agora🫵 Vou postar todas elas na minha conta pessoal😈

↳ f1girlie @Seunomedeusúario espera, VOCÊ TÊM UMA CONTA PESSOAL?!?!?!?

↳ angelina_ph @Seunomedeusúario MAMÃE?!??!? COMO ASSIM VOCÊ NÃO NOS MOSTRA TUDO?!?!?!?!?😭😭😭😭😭

↳ avalarson_ @Seunomedeusúario ser rejeitado pela própria mãe é o pior sentimento que um filho pode ter...

↳ keyleblanc @Seunomedeusúario o que eu não daria para estar nessa conta pessoal..........

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-- Infelizmente existe o terrível limite de imagens por postagem😭 Eu farei uma parte dois, não se preocupem!

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