#Fluff and stuff

[demaparbat-hp]

Mutual damage (a WIP)

[riswippiesx]

Toji with a reader who basically is Megumi friend. Like Megumi realized how much you two like each other so started to set stuff up for you two to get together. Reader is like a mother to Megumi (since I hc that his bio mom died when he was 2 or 3) and Toji is just loving reader for helping with Megumi. Headcanons please

Love & Care | Toji Fushiguro X Fem! Reader

Theme: Fluff

TW: a lil bit of cursing, ooc toji(????) maybe..as I didn't want to make him a brat here, age gap, reader is in her early 20s and Toji is in his 40s, not proof read[because I'm lazy asf]

Summary: headcanons for Toji X reader where reader is a friend of Megumi with motherly vibes.

Note: I am not really a Toji stan..okay?😭 I NEVER read any Toji fic in my life. Never. This was all so new for me. I tried to stick to the character as much as I could in the given scenario. Please don't mind :(💗

•You missed a very important class at your university and you needed a notes, immediately. Thus you ended up visiting your friend, Megumi, at his place, for the notes. Thus you met his dad, Toji Fushiguro. And what a sight! What a man! You couldn't look away.

•Toji just came back and you were leaving after taking your notes and BANG! You bumped into a person who felt like rock because of his well physic. You looked up, only to find your friends dad. You saw him on Megumi's phone but never in real life. "Kid, watch where you are going!", Toji groaned and looked down at you "also who are you?". "I-", you started to utter but Megumi finished it for you "My friend, dad, her name is Y/n." Toji did a little hum and gave you place to leave. You gave a nod with a little smile and left.

•You came back home, freshened up and decided to go through the notes but your mind refused to focus. All you could think how handsome that older man was. Your breath hitched and a weird feeling strated to grow in you.

•And all that grew harder with each passing day. You longed to see that man in person, once again. And your wish came true when your friend fell sick and took a few days off. You, being the responsible one, decided to help him with the notes.

•You went to your friends house. You finally met his dad again. You greeted him formally and he greeted you back. Your heart danced in joy. Then you went to Megumi's room and saw him laying down on his bed with an ice bag on top of his forehead. He looked really sick. You kept the notes on his desk and walked near him and sat on the chair beside the bed.

•Megumi was coughing and breathing heavily. The high fever was making him feel dizzy but he recognised you.

"You shouldn't... Have come..you will catch cold too..idiot..", he breathed out.

"Shh, don't talk much. Relax."

"Tsk"

Your friend was like that, refused to take help but you always loved to help him, you loved taking care of him.

You took the ice bag off as the ice was melted already. You saw a bowl of water and a piece of cloth in it on the bed side table. You kept the ice bag on the and damped the cloth and rinsed out the excess water. Then you put it on his forehead and ran your hand through his hairs, soothing him down. And it actually relaxed him. Your offered him some water when he coughed a lot. You were busy in taking care of your friend when Toji came and stood by the door, which you didn't notice. He observed how you took care of his son.

"You take care of him like a mother." His sudden voice made you startled and you looked back to find him standing there. He had a smile on his face and you felt like you could die then happily. "Oh..yeah..haha", an awkward and nervous laugh came out of your throat with a faint tint of red on your cheeks.

•And that whole thing made you and Toji interact more. Slowly a bond was forming between you two. Both of your scolded Megumi when he was going extra harsh on himself for studies and didn't take care of him. Megumi often rolled eyes at the strict scolding but he could feel something in the air. He was smart. He was quick to catch the real scenario when he found you chatting with your dad and laughing. He also noticed how conscious you got around his dad or by the mention of his name. The faint blush, little chuckles, small glances— he noticed it all.

•You were in love with his dad —Megumi easily understood that. If it was anyone else other than you, maybe he would be against it but you were different. You were calm and collected, a soft person, who didn't date many guys. Megumi trusted you, he knew you. Your happiness was also important to him. So he accepted it in his mind. He also noticed how his dad was finally interacting with a woman after his mom died. Megumi's life's biggest tragedy was that he lost his mother when he was barely two years old. He never felt the motherly care while growing up until he met you. His dad supported him a lot but you, you took care of his mood, well being and feelings. Though you were his friend but he found the comfort of a mother in your embrace. So he was all over pleased and wanted your relation to form properly with his dad.

•For you, it felt so wrong yet so right. You didn't plan to fall for your friends dad but some matters would always stay out of human control. So you had finally accepted it but didn't want to make a move from your side. On the other hand, Toji liked spending time with you. You were calm but not boring. He liked that. Also, he adored how you mothered his son. It made him chuckle with happiness. But the muted feelings in his heart was forcibly put down by himself. He refused to acknowledge any such weird feelings about his son's friend. So he just stayed in his limit as well. Megumi was honestly tired of seeing the lack of confronting ability. He wanted any of you two make a move. The way you both appreciated each other while talking with Megumi, he was surely confused why weren't you two making any move yet.

•The frustration was major. Megumi couldn't take it anymore decided to make move on you two's behalf. One day he called you to come over to his place while he went to Itadori's place, who was a mutual friend of you and Megumi. You agreed without knowing and came over to his place with some cookies you made, only to find his dad alone. You were confused, so was Toji. Both of you tried to contact megumi but he didn't pick up any call. You wanted to leave but Toji stopped you.

"You can stay untill he comes back, you know. I got no issues", he said with a chuckle. You hesitated but accepted soon. You sat with Toji and ate a few of the cookies you made.

"You made this?"

"Yeah.."

"Tastes good"

"Thank you, Fushiguro san"

"Hey you know, that fushiguro and all...so fucking formal. Call me Toji"

"But you're way older than me"

"Do I look like I care?", he laughed.

"Okay..Toji ...san?"

"Sounds better", both of you chuckled and chatted. It wad getting late but Megumi wasn't home till then. Toji suggested you to go back and he would talk to his son for his carelessness. You nodded and headed back. Though you didn't meet your friend that day, you felt somewhat happy. Spending all those time with Toji made you giggle in your mind.

•Such shits continued, as Megumi kept on setting you two up. Someday he sent his dad at your place to give you some important assignment files, giving the excuse of being "busy", someday he asked for your help to come over and stay a few hours at his place as he needed to go to the library, stating that his dad wasn't home. You agreed again and went to his place. He left, you were alone, using your phone, when the door knob moved. You thought he came back but it was Toji. Both of you were surprised at first but that day ended with chats and laughs as well. But Megumi heard a few words from his dad but his weird behavior later, and from you as well. But he didn't mind.

• Things continued. You two might confronted Megumi but all those 'accidental meet ups' were too good for both of you. So you two didn't care much and the bond grew stronger and you two came closer than before. Megumi was happy by the progress so far.

•One day, you hanged out with Megumi and his dad, as you were free that day(also his dad was there). Megumi excused himself for using the washroom near the park and you two waited for him. Then Megumi messaged you that he had a parcel coming by that day, so he had to go back to recive it but he would join you two soon after. You sighed and told Toji about that.

"My son is getting sneaky", he sighed and you two sat on the bench.

"Sure he is.", you chuckled and Toji looked at you.

"I would be concerned about it if he didn't have a friend like you. You take care of him like a mother.", he gave you a sounded laugh, making you blush a little. "Thanks a lot for being such a great friend to my son. I trust you enough that I know he won't do anything wrong as long as you stay with him.", he smiled.

"My pleasure. He is a good guy. He just..doesn't know how to talk about his needs. I somehow manage to read his face. And thus I try my best to take care of him. After all, he is my most important friend."

"You like my son?"

"As a friend, yes"

"Of course", he laughed "do you like his dad?"

His one question made you nervous. Did he find out? No way. You didn't know what to reply. Panic was clear on your face. Toji quickly fixed his words.

"I mean..do you think I am a good dad? Am I good enough?" You sighed and smiled in relaxation.

"Of course. You're doing great as a dad. Maybe you don't know but he once said that he feels grateful to have you around. He also acknowledge your hard work as a single father. You're more than just good."

"Really? Wow", he smiled to himself, feeling good about himself after so many days, or years.

•Things didn't actually go to that level where you could admit your feelings for Toji but you loved him, loved being around him. Megumi's set ups made you two more than just friends. Both of you knew that very well but didn't have the courage to tell each other.

•Megumi stopped setting you two up after a few months as he was tired. Also he wanted you two long for each other.

After a few weeks, when you were longing for Toji, trying hard to find a reason to meet up, you asked Megumi if you two should hang out and proposed to bring his dad too, Megumi decided to confront you.

"Y/n"

"Yes?"

"Do you like my dad?"

Your lips were sealed, not a single sound came out of your throat. How the hell did Megumi find out and how was he so exact? Was your facial expressions were so certain and prominent? Yoy had to lie. You coughed and gave him a dry laugh.

"Are you crazy Gumi? That's your dad..how can i-"

"Stop lying. You think I am a kid?"

"No but-"

"Why do you think all those accidental meet ups happen so frequently? Because I tried to set you two up"

"Wha-"

"But again you two couldn't even say a word about your feelings. If you like each other why don't you confess?"

"I don't like your da-"

"You do."

You stayed quiet, feeling exposed. Then you gradually asked:

"Are you..mad at me for falling for ...your dad? I'm so sorry please.."

"Are you really that dumb Y/n? I told you I set you two up. You think I would do all that if I was mad?"

"..."

"You are going to confess. I'll go out today with my dad. We will hang out, i'll bring my dad. I'll excuse myself. You will talk your heart out today!"

"Absolutely not!"

"Why not?"

"Your dad won't like me back. The hell are you saying?!"

"He does. I am telling you."

"Wait really?"

"Confess and see for yourself."

"But-"

"No buts!"

"Ugh-"

"You will confess or i'll set him up with another woman"

"What the hell bro?"

"I said what I said"

"Goddamn! Fine!"

"Good"

•You came back home. Your face was flushed. You were feeling nervous and excited at the same time. Megumi accepted you, even said his dad liked you back. You definitely needed to make a move the. Moreover, the way your buddy threatened you. You had to. You would definitely confess to Toji that evening! Yes! You could do it!!

Let's hope for the best, then :D

Part two with better details?👀

Thank you for reading. A big thanks to @//aliorailrow for requesting this<3 I hope it was okay as per your request?! Tried my best..hehe

Requests are open <3

♡Reblogs and comments are always appreciated♡

[ikemenomegas]

I'm sorry but I was suddenly bashed over the head with imagining how Itachi would respond to being subject to fan-favorite anime trope de-aging/regression/swapping places with his child self.

You go to get him from his favorite lounging spot only to find out he's not there. Instead, you find what is very obviously Itachi wandering around the house like he's never been there before, as a child.

He immediately whirls around and trots away, like a cat caught doing something wrong and pretending it hasn't, but your legs are about three times longer than his so it's not hard to catch up, and after so long together you know his chakra signature like the back of your hand, even when he muffles it so well you're pretty sure no one else but his immediate family might be able notice.

And little Itachi doesn't take super well to a strange alpha following them around, chasing him. His shinobi training tells him threat! and the part of him that knows in a very objective way that he is still small and vulnerable makes him hide his back and neck against a bookshelf that will also be quick to climb. But while he is on edge, it takes him a few moments to realize he doesn't necessarily feel unsafe. And you don't necessarily feel like a total stranger.

You catch obvious confusion in his scent. Pups are usually easy to read. It makes it easy for family to know what they need and for strangers to soften quickly to pups that are not their own. It's typically a natural survival mechanism, a gift of evolution, but not for shinobi who view truth and emotion as vulnerability.

Adult Itachi, your Itachi, grown as he is and also one of the most talented ninja of his generation hardly ever slips like this, even around you, but this youngster doesn't have that level of control, even though a shift in his pheromones might not be detectable to someone not intimately familiar with his moods.

One of the first things genin are taught, especially young genin, is how to control their scents, to lie with them, induce sympathy or confusion in enemies who might lose precious second in the face of someone telegraphing their youth. Chunin exams sometimes test scent control, and Jounin are all required to be able to mask nearly perfectly, although in your experience, this can make them louder with their displayed emotions, hiding by saying they are not hiding.

All the best lies contain just enough truth to be believable. Whatever's going on to make him like this may make him appear more innocent, but Itachi's balanced posture tells you he'll probably lash out at you if you attempt to touch him.

He seems mildly irritated at his own contemplative surprise being obvious when you sink down onto your heels and you can tell when he wretches his scent back to a blank neutral.

It shows his talent but is still both heart-wrenching and somehow cute. Lying to him about how he got into your home and what he is doing there is very difficult, mostly because you don't want to, but you're not sure if this is Itachi or something else, so your own training forces you to be careful. You also don't want to freak him out by showing him spaces he would understand as his own within a home he barely recognizes (and if this is an imposter, it's your job to protect Itachi's nest, to manage an infiltrator who has gotten into your den).

Equally difficult is remaining impartial in the face of how heart-wrenchingly obvious Itachi makes it that he wants to trust you and... just does, rather quickly. It takes some convincing but it's so unlike Adult Itachi that it makes you want to stab everyone who made Itachi have to be careful and suspicious all over again.

He seems so quietly pleased when you make him yamitsuki shio and umeboshi onigiri without a single comment about the unusual tastes of someone his age. Depressingly, he doesn't know how to play like normal children, but is thrilled to bits when he realizes that you're experienced enough to train with him, teaching him something new. And you do find ways to make it fun, like getting him to compete at skipping rocks with you on the pond near the house (he would be worried about disturbing the fish in the one in your own garden), eventually becoming similar to shuriken training. He looks uncomfortable but doesn't put much of a fuss up when you get him a snack and blanket while he reads some books of yours on chakra manipulation.

The pride Itachi has in his independence would be very obvious (and heartbreaking). It's not as though you need him to need to rely on you, but children his age usually only behave this way when they are praised for it, or the behavior is reinforced. And quiet children are, on the surface, easy for their parents to deal with, especially when it's the first child that otherwise upends the household dynamic.

He's so proud when he gets to show you how to use leftover ingredients from lunch to make okonomiyaki, although you mostly suggested this because it's festival food and you're really getting concerned Itachi had absolutely no fun as a kid. When you nearly burn a pancake while trying to watch him handle a grater, he nudges you aside and puts you on food prep and miso-making duty. The ultimate result is definitely the kind of meal a child would come up with, but everything is perfectly edible, and he seems oddly relieved (while also being a bit uncomfortable because this is Itachi) that dinner was a task you did together rather than leaving it up to him when he pushed you out of the way.

For it to be a complete trope, Itachi has to at least have one night where he is still his child self. And! he asks you if you have an omega. Although you still think it would be a bad idea to show him his own nest (smelling obviously of himself), there's something in him that is very impressed by how obvious it is that you love this omega when you say that he's not there right now but you're sure he'll be back soon (did I mention how hard it is to continually suspect the child version of Itach is some kind of imposter!!)

Finding little Itachi some clean, spare nesting supplies is simple enough, as is setting him up in a guest room. But while Itachi's desire is very little contact with the shinobi world after he takes leave of absence from active duty, it is still the world you live in, and it's easy to hear noise from the guest room that doesn't smell suspiciously like Sasuke.

Presuming this small version is the real Itachi, you guess something about the trauma of whatever caused this change triggers nightmares, which are simply impossible to ignore, from any pup, but especially from the pup version of Itachi. He doesn't ask you to stay, but he does seem subdued and asks you to scent around the door and windows when you bring him a glass of water as an excuse to check on him. Which is a huge gesture of trust, effectively asking for protection, and after that he sleeps through until moring.

Itachi may not remember a lot from the entire experience, some parts of it are just muddled, but one hopes that once he returns to normal, there's something healing about literally confronting his internal child, and realizing that his alpha took such care of him until their omega did indeed come back home.

It would be super interesting if Itachi ages back to his normal self in an accelerated fashion so you get to experience other life-stages of his but I'm too tired to write it now. Suffice it to say, allowing Itachi to be moody, broody, secretive, and slam doors and yell in your face for "hiding something" (you're still trying to make sure his head doesn't implode or this doesn't cause some awfully strange time paradox) without him having to apologize for a perfectly understandable emotional outburst could be just as healing as carefully tending his much younger self had been.

[say-hwaet]

That's the Way it Is

Chapter 39: Learn to Heal, Part I Next Chapter: Forty Summary: You and Arthur follow the breadcrumbs that Mary Beth left you. What will you encounter along the way? Warnings: Mature themes, violence, language Word Count: ~10,000

Roanoke is as though Lemoyne and the Heartlands had converged to make a new landscape. With the woods and hills and rivers from the Heartlands and the grim, gray, and dangers of Lemoyne, this territory is beautiful while also uncertain. 

The whole ride up north, you’ve heard talk about a band of monsters called the Murfrees, an inbred group of people who feast on the innocent and consider torture as their means for fun. 

You haven’t wanted to travel this way, but Arthur promised he’ll keep you safe, not that you ever doubted. 

The leaves are already beginning to change color, the oranges and yellows nearly mesmerizing. The cool air is also welcomed, given the heated days you spent in Guarma. You rebutton the holes in your new jacket that Arthur bought for you in Rhodes and readjust your hat. 

You look down and watch Arthur as he leads Montana. Even though Arthur has been taking good care of Montana: feeding him extra apples and beets, and keeping him groomed and well-rested, he still insists on walking every few miles. 

So far, he’s walked ten miles today. 

“Arthur,” you say softly. “I’d feel better if you were on the horse around this area.”

He doesn’t stop walking, but looks up at you over his shoulder. “Maybe in a little bit.”

“Arthur—”

In the middle of your argument, you hear a loud scream. You instantly clutch at the reins, the young leather creaking under your grasp. 

Without saying a word, Arthur hurries to hoist himself on Montana’s back, pressing close against your spine. With a quick kick of his boot heels, Montana gallops onward toward the sound of the scream. 

“You think it is the Murfrees?” you ask worriedly. 

Arthur doesn’t answer, which is all you need to know. 

But the good thing is that Arthur’s now fully armed, having spent some of the money you’ve both recovered on a rifle and repeater. From the corner of your eye, you see him reach past you to pull the repeater out of the saddle’s holster. 

Even with the afternoon sun, the dense underbrush and trees don’t let hardly any light in, making it difficult to see more than a few yards ahead. It lends a haunting quality to the forest, amplifying every sound around you. the scream echoes once more, closer this time, desperate and filled with terror.

Then, there is the sound of gunshots. And laughter.

Murfrees. Even you know it is them. Their victim’s screams tell you enough.

“Hah!” Arthur urges Montana to go faster and the stallion breathes deep as he pushes forward up the hill.

The ground beneath Montana's hooves turns uneven, and the trees claw at your view with their skeletal branches. You lean into Arthur, feeling his heartbeat against your back, fast and firm like the pounding hooves. The sense of urgency grows with every breath you take, the cold air biting at your cheeks as you and Arthur race to intervene.

As Montana crests the hill, the scene below unfolds with chaotic clarity. A small group of travelers, their stagecoach overturned, are fending off a band of Murfrees. The attackers whoop and holler, swinging machetes and brandishing rusted shotguns with wild abandon. A woman clutches a crying baby to her chest, two others are already dead and lying in the dirt.

You gasp at the sight and Arthur pulls the reins until Montana skids to a halt. He immediately enters the fray, swinging off the horse and running towards the Murfrees.

“Come fight an armed man, you bastards!” he roars, instantly firing his repeater in rapid succession, taking out three of the Murfrees instantly.

You have to do something. You need to help those alive to get to safety. You dismount Montana and run towards the overturned coach, where others are trying to hide.

The woman with her crying baby spots you coming, confusion riddled across her face. 

In your rush, you slide through the muddy underbrush, reaching out to her. "Get behind the coach," you call out, your voice strong despite the clamor. She hesitates for a moment before nodding, scrambling towards the relative safety as you cover her retreat.

Your heart pounds like it's trying to escape from rings of fire. Excitement. Danger. The thrill is good for you, but for these strangers, who have not grown accustomed to such things, need immediate protection. It’s only a good thing that this does not phase you one bit, allowing yourself to help while Arthur singlehandedly takes out these monsters.

You urge the mother forward and when you escort her to the back of the coach, you regard the remaining strangers: two men and a young girl, about eighteen.

“Any of you hurt?” you ask.

They all shake their heads. That’s good.

“You’re going to be okay,” you say as you regard each one. Eye contact is one of the first steps of establishing trust. Each of them seem reassured and while the young girl's eyes are wide with fear, there's determination there too. You nod to her, a silent promise of protection. You glance back over your shoulder to where Arthur is now grappling with another Murfree, his movements fluid and unforgiving. The sharp report of gunfire punctuates the air, a grim symphony that harmonizes with the pounding of your own heart. The earth underfoot trembles slightly with each discharge, a tangible reminder of the chaos erupting around you.

You turn back to the people behind the coach, your voice cutting through the noise. "Stay down and keep quiet. I'll come back for you." Your promise is firm, an anchor in the storm of violence around them. You move swiftly, heading back toward the front lines where Arthur is still engaged.

Your body moves with the memory of countless such skirmishes, each movement calculated and precise. You retrieve a small sack from your pouch, and you squeeze it to shape the ingredients inside. Moving closer, you retrieve a match and strike it quickly as you step assuredly towards Arthur and the Murfree.

“Hej, ty blázne přírody!” you shout and that gets the assailant’s attention. Just as he looks up at you, you throw the bundle his way.

And it immediately bursts in a plume of colored smoke.

A smoke bomb.

The Murfree's confusion is palpable as he coughs and waves away the thick, disorienting cloud that envelops him. Taking advantage of his bewilderment, Arthur lunges forward with a swift precision honed by years of survival and combat. His fists connect with a thud, the sound muffled by the smoke that still lingers like a ghostly curtain. The Murfree stumbles back, unprepared for the ferocity of Arthur’s attack, his movements sluggish as he tries to regain his bearings.

Arthur doesn't let up, his every strike a testament to the pent-up rage and protectiveness that fuels him. You watch for only a second more, just as two others come charging down the hill.

“Here, kitty kitty!” they gargle at you. But you’re ready.

Pulling out another crafted item, you take out used shotgun shells stuffed with a mixture of gunpowder, fat, and moonshine, lighting each one before throwing it in their direction. They burst just as they reach them, emitting a loud crackle loud enough to burst their eardrums.

They immediately reach for their ears, falling to the ground in agony.

Now is your chance.

You sprint forward, your bare feet digging into the dusty earth as you close the distance between you and your fallen foes. With a swift motion of your firm hands, you disarm them, your palms jabbing into their jugulars to ensure they remain subdued. Your heart races, the thrill of the fight feeding the fire within you, but you don't let it distract you from your purpose. You're here to protect, to survive, and to find a way out for you and Arthur.

Glancing back, you see Arthur finishing off the last Murfree brood, with a quick slash of his knife into the creature’s neck. Aside from your heavy breaths, the forest falls silent. The battle over.

You watch Arthur as he rises from his bended knee, immediately scanning the area. “Kitka?!”

“I’m here!” you call out as you run over to him. His eyes meet yours just as you enter his embrace. He holds you tightly and you can feel the pounding of his heart.

“You alright?”

“Yes…” you sigh and after a moment longer, you gently push him away. “We need to check on the survivors.”

He nods, his expression hardening as he turns towards the smoldering trees where the skirmish had erupted. It seems that is how the Murfrees operate. Wait for an unsuspecting traveler to come by, then use fire to scare their horses and block their path.

It makes you furious inside.

Together, you and Arthur tread cautiously, your senses alert for any more Murfrees hiding in the shadows. The ground crunches beneath your feet, a stark reminder of every hazardous step you take in this lawless land.

As you approach the stagecoach, you take the lead, knowing that the strangers are learning to trust you. “You all still okay?”

One of the men peeks out from behind the coach. When he meets your eyes he nods his head. “Yes…We’re alright.”

You smile. “Good. It looks like the worst is over. My husband took care of them.”

After a brief hesitation, they slowly rise from their hiding place and cautiously step away from the coach. Their eyes scan their surroundings, taking in every detail with a mix of curiosity and caution. The woman's baby, who had been crying inconsolably, has finally settled down but she continues to whisper soothing words to her little one, refusing to take any chances with their safety.

“Thank God you came when you did,” the other man says, quickly approaching you. “We were all on our way to Annesburg, when they had come out of nowhere!”

“They’ve been taking travelers captive,” the young girl whimpers, her cheeks stained with tears. “But none have ever been recovered.”

It seems that these folks are some of the lucky ones.

You turn to Arthur who has his jaw set, his gaze steely with anger. “Crazy bastards…” he growls as he eyes the tree line. “We gotta get you folks goin’ before any more decide to show up.”

You agree. This may postpone your travels, but you can’t leave the job unfinished. As you look about, you notice a wagon cart that the Murfrees had brought, and it is hitched to a worn-out nag with scars and old wounds. The poor creature. While you wouldn’t dare burden the mare with its use, the wagon will be useful.

You touch Arthur’s arm and he looks at you. “Do you think Montana is strong enough to pull a small wagon full of passengers? Just to Annesburg?”

He must see what you’re getting at and he regards Montana who has remained close by. “It ain’t too far from here,” he reasons. “I think we can manage it.”

Arthur then parts from you and walks over to the old nag, running his hand down his face. You watch silently as he slowly approaches the mare, speaking softly to her. “Woah, easy, easy…” Once he is able to touch her, he gently runs his palm across her flank, assessing the condition of her body. He then whistles for Montana, who comes trotting over. Once the stallion meets Arthur, your husband begins patting his neck with a familiar ease. "Alright, Montana, let’s get these folks safe," he murmurs as he begins to unhitch the sad nag from the wagon cart.

You turn to the group of travelers who look at you expectantly. “We will help escort you to Annesburg.”

The woman sighs, bouncing the baby in her arms. “Bless you.” She turns to the young girl. “You will be seeing your mother soon, Meredith.”

Meredith smiles softly, blinking at her tears as they start to fall.

Arthur secures Montana to the wagon, ensuring everything is sturdy and safe. You gather a few supplies from your own pack—some water, dried meat, and blankets. Distributing them among the travelers lightens their palpable stress, even if only slightly.

“Let's move out then,” Arthur commands with a gentle authority and you turn to see that he has Montana hitched to the cart and the nag tied to the back. It looks like you will have a unique caravan to travel with, though temporary it is.

You gesture with a sweep of your arm for the group to follow. “Shall we go?”

And with that, you and Arthur begin the journey of an honorable life.

***

“What do you wanna call her?” Arthur asks you as you sit beside him in the wagon cart. After dropping the survivors off and resting near Annesburg, you’ve set out on your journey once again. The sun has finally risen high enough to peek through the leaves, creating an autumn glow that is nearly breathtaking. It’s a beautiful contrast to yesterday’s events and you’re happy that it is all over and done with. 

When you returned the frightened travelers to Annesburg, the husband to the woman and baby insisted you take twenty dollars, and after refusing adamantly, Arthur finally accepted it as to not offend the man. While you weren’t doing it for the promise of a reward, it doesn’t hurt to be twenty dollars richer. Any bit is going to help as you and your husband search for your lost family. 

You shrug as the gentle jostling of the wagon cart pushes you closer to Arthur. “I’m not sure, yet.”

Arthur chuckles softly. “What? I figured you’d be itchin’ to give her a name. You aimin’ to give her away for free, too?”

You smile at that, remembering your time in the Heartlands and the mule that you rescued. “I just think I need to give it some thought. She might not even respond to the name I’ll give her.”

Arthur flicks the reins gently. “Maybe so.”

You finally leave Roanoke and enter the border of Ambarino, which has more mountain ranges and cooler air. You wonder how much farther you’ll have to travel before you reach the reservation. Arthur seems to know where he is going, which gives you peace of mind. 

The trees start to thin out, which means you’re either approaching a lake, valley, civilization, or a homestead. Really narrows your options, doesn’t it? 

As you both come down the road, a lake comes into view, with a solitary cabin at its edge. You start to look for any sign of a turtle, wishing that this could be the place that Mary Beth, and hopefully, others. 

Arthur doesn’t seem to think this is the place, for his eyes focus ahead, his mind clearly elsewhere. 

As you come around the bend, your eyes remain fixed on the cabin, and the front of it comes into view. As well as a small pen with two horses. One is a cremello gold Dutch Warmblood, his coat shining when the sunlight hits it just so. 

And the other…

A palomino American Saddlebred mare. 

You quickly grip Arthur’s knee, making him jump in his seat. “A-hey! Kit, what—?!”

“Stop the wagon!”

He pulls the reins immediately but before Montana can even come to a halt, you leap out of the wagon and run in the opposite direction of where you were going, back toward the small cabin at the edge of the lake. 

“Kitka!” Arthur calls out to you as you slide down the embankment, ignoring the tear you just made in your skirts. As you near the house, you slow your steps. You aren’t sure of who lives here, and if you want to be sure of what you suspect, you need to not draw attention to yourself. 

You approach the pen where the horses are kept, your steps calm but not the beating of your heart. You eye the mare carefully, watching her as she munches on some grass. 

And you whistle. 

Instantly, the mare sticks her head up, looking around as she nickers softly. As her head turns, she meets your eyes and her ears perk up excitedly. 

It is. It’s Odliv! 

But how? How did she get here? Did this cabin-dweller take her? Rescue her? You scan her body. She looks well-fed, her coat and mane still shiny. She hasn’t been neglected, thank God. 

But you still need answers. You need to confront the thief. 

You reluctantly back away from the fence just as Odliv approaches it. You turn to the cabin and as you walk over to it, you see Arthur pulling up the wagon.

“Kit, what are you—?” he stops mid-sentence, almost gasping. “Is that?”

And you’ve already gone up the steps and are knocking on the solid door to the cabin.

You aren’t sure how this is going to go down. But you’ve already decided to take a more assertive approach. You square your shoulders, relax your face, and prepare to give the stranger a good stare-down.

You hear an odd step approach the door and it finally swings open.

Revealing an old man, with a long grey beard and buckskin hat. He sees the assertive expression on your face and his brow raises with a guarded curiosity. “Can I help you?”

You immediately thrust your arm toward the pen, pointing a finger at your mare. “Where did you get that horse?”

The old man lifts his chin and folds his arms across his chest. “Who’s askin’?”

You lower your brow. “The owner.”

At that, he chortles. “You can’t be the owner. That mare has never been ridden!” He ambles his way out of his cabin, brushing past you. It is clear that he has a crooked gait, perhaps an injury of some kind? You want to take pity on this stranger, but your expression remains firm. He walks to the edge of his porch, pointing at the mare. “She followed me home as I was ridin’ Buell, but I haven’t been able to ride her or even go near her. It’s been enough just to keep her here!”

You hear Arthur’s heavy footfalls behind you. “The mare’s hers, mister.” Arthur's voice is firm, carrying a weight that you've come to rely on. The old man eyes him suspiciously, then looks back at you with an expression softened by, resignation or perhaps genuine curiosity.

"Is that so?" the old man replies gruffly, scratching his beard thoughtfully. "Well now, if she truly belongs to you, ma’am, you’d best prove it.”

You lift your chin. “Gladly.” And with that, you turn and walk towards your husband. “Arthur, open the pen.” You pause, looking at the old man over your shoulder. “That is, if it’s alright with you.”

The stranger shrugs, waving his hand. 

Now given permission, Arthur nods and walks toward the gate. Upon reaching it, he lifts the latch and opens it, stepping aside.

Waiting a moment, you let out a sharp, short whistle.

Odliv perks her head.

That’s when you give the command. “Přijít!”

Odliv tosses her head, snorting excitedly, as she trots past Buell and out of the pen. Arthur makes the swift motion of closing the gate behind her before Buell tries to make his escape. Odliv’s tail swishes wildly and when she reaches the porch, she turns her body to stand parallel to its edge, waiting for you to mount. You look at the old stranger, lifting your chin in a proud gesture, before you seamlessly swing your leg over Odliv's back. 

You settle down with a natural grace, every movement a testament to the years of experience and the bond between you and the mare. Arthur watches with a hint of a smile tugging at his lips, his pride in you clear even from a distance.

But of course, you are a performer, so you must finish this with a little bit of flair. “Teď se, Odliv, ukloň.” You watch as her ears tilt toward the sound of your voice, and without any resistance, she lowers her front right leg, bowing her head and lowering herself into a formal bow. You remain stable on her back, squeezing her barrel gently with your legs and you remain astride without sliding or falling off.

You hear Arthur cackle, clapping into his leg. “Haven’t seen you do that in a long time, darlin’…!”

The old man’s mouth goes agape. “I’ll be damned…!” he gasps, astonished by the display. “Well, I ain’t too proud to admit when I’m wrong…!”

You wait for Odliv to rise before dismounting, landing lightly on the soft ground. As you pat her flank affectionately, Odliv nudges you gently with her nose, a sign of her deep trust and affection for you.

Arthur saunters over, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "I reckon you just about won that argument single-handedly.”

You shrug. “Used to be able to stand on her back while cantering.” You chuckle to yourself. “I’m not ready to try that yet.” You look back at the stranger, softening your expression. “I do apologize for my forwardness. I should be thanking you for taking good care of her.”

The man waves off your apology, the wrinkles around his eyes more prominent as he grins. “I should be thanking you for the performance! It isn’t every day that I get to see somethin’ quite like that.” He motions to walk down the steps and holds out his hand to you. “Hamish Sinclair.”

You don’t hesitate to take it and shake his hand firmly. “Kitka Morgan.” You point to Arthur. “This is my husband Arthur.”

Hamish looks over at your husband. “Nice to meet ya.”

Arthur tips his hat in a gesture of casual respect, his eyes never leaving the interaction between you and Hamish. "Pleasure's all mine, sir."

Hamish nods appreciatively, sizing Arthur up with a keen but friendly gaze. “You ain’t from around here, are you? Most I ever see are from the reservation, if they even travel this far.”

Your heart leaps at this revelation. “You mean the Waipiti Reservation?”

Hamish blinks and nods his head. “Yes, that’s the one. The chief is a nice feller. We’ve traded animal skins a couple of times.”

Your curiosity piques, and excitement builds as this information brings you one step closer to your family. “We want to speak them. We had a friend help them once. Seemed they really needed it,” you say, warmth lacing your tone as you glance at Arthur, who nods in agreement.

“Indeed they did,” Hamish agrees, resting a hand on his waist. “But they’ve been doin’ pretty well these past couple of weeks. Got rights to their land back.”

Your eyes widen. “They did?”

Hamish grins from ear to ear, seemingly eager to share the good news. “Yeah! Seems they were able to submit some evidence of Cornwall Kerosene and Tar’s illegal involvement in retrieving oil. They had murdered a man who had refused to sell. That and they presented some forged documents that had been recovered.” Your heart leaps with joy at this news. It seems that your photographs and Charles’ involvement did some good after all. “Not sure how they did it, but it seems they had some divine intervention.”

Your smile mirrors Hamish's as your heart swells with pride for Charles and the Waipiti. Knowing that your actions had helped, even in a small way, brings a sense of accomplishment that warms you deeply. "That's incredible news," you say, feeling a surge of hope. "It’s comforting to know that good people are still getting happy endings.”

Hamish nods. “I couldn’t agree more.”

“Could you point us in their direction?”

Hamish nods and turning his face to the northwest, he points towards the sun. “They’re up north. Start by following this road southward and it will take you past Moonstone Pond. It will eventually go northward, past Donner Falls. The reservation is just on the other side.”

You’re close. You’ve seen Donner Falls on Arthur’s map before. Though he doesn’t have it, the picture in your mind is clear. You reach out to Hamish and shake his hand again. “Thank you.”

Arthur clears his throat and you look back at him. “Darlin’, we should probably get goin’.”

You nod, feeling a twinge of reluctance at leaving the warmth of this conversation, but knowing the importance of moving forward. "Thank you, Hamish, for sharing that with us. You have no idea how much your news means to us."

"Anytime," Hamish replies with a heartfelt smile. "If you ever find yourself back this way, don’t hesitate to stop by. I know that we just met, but I kinda like you folks.” He chuckles. “Even if you had nearly accused me of stealin’ your horse.”

You look down at the ground almost bashfully. “Well, I…”

Arthur's hand nudges your shoulder gently, a silent reminder of the purpose that still lies ahead. "We appreciate it, Hamish. We’ll definitely make a point to come around again," he says with a tip of his hat, an expression of gratitude etched across his rugged face.

As you both turn to leave, the cool breeze picks up, rustling through the sparse grass and carrying with it the faint scent of rain from the distant hills. You pull your coat a bit tighter around you, feeling the chill seep into the air as the sun dips lower in the sky. You whistle for Odliv to follow, and she eagerly does. Buell, still in his pen, whinnies to her, seemingly longing for his fellow equine companion.

You hear Hamish chuckle behind you. “Guess we can’t always get what we want, eh, boy?”

Arthur leads the way back to the wagon, his boots crunching softly on the gravel. He reaches it first and rests his hand on the seat as he turns to you. “How far do you wanna go before we make camp? We may not make it before nightfall.”

You look at the sun. He’s right. You have only a couple hours of good daylight left. “As far as you think we can go. I want to cook you a good meal so we might want to hunt something.”

He nods. “That, I can do.” He holds a hand out to you, offering to help you onto the wagon cart.

But you take a step back, shaking your head. “If it’s alright with you,” you start, turning to look over your shoulder at Odliv. “I would like to ride Odliv for a little while.”

When you turn back to your husband, you can see a knowing smile on his face as he nods softly. “Shoah, Kitten.”

He watches with those deep blue eyes as you approach Odliv, who tosses her head and stamps a hoof eagerly. Mounting her feels like second nature; for a moment, it's as if the years rewind, back to the days of daring circus acts and the thrill of performance. You can't help but feel a wave of joy and relief sweep over you and you let yourself lay against her as you sit astride. You pause for just a moment, listening to her breathing and the wind in the trees.

“Chyběl jsi mi,” you whisper and you know in her own way she understands you.

You hear Arthur make a soft clicking sound with his mouth and the gentle flick of the reins. You slowly rise and as you watch him drive the wagon cart, you take hold of Odliv’s golden mane and urge her into a gentle trot, keeping pace beside the creaking wheels of the wagon. The rhythm of her movements is comforting, and the wide-open land stretching ahead feels like an invitation to freedom and new beginnings.

For the first time in a good while, things are looking up.

***

The soft earth is cool against your back as you lie down looking at the sky. Its dark hues are illuminated by twinkling stars, framed by pine trees as a beautiful landscape. 

You hear the sounds of the crackling fire and the sound of Arthur’s boots as they scrape against the gravel. He had just thrown another log in by the sounds of it, perhaps as an extra precaution as the nights are now colder and the area uncertain.

Your eyes remain fixed on the celestial canopy when he walks over to you.

“Dinner was good, darlin’,” he says warmly. “Near forgotten how well you cooked pheasant.”

“So did I,” you say with an amusing air and you hear him chuckle softly.

“You should cook more often,” he teases, settling down beside you with a soft grunt, and you turn your head to look at him. His face is partly shadowed, flickering in the firelight, but his eyes are clear and bright.

You smile, remembering the nights you’ve shared under similar starry skies, though they were enshrouded in secrets and hushed whispers. What a thrilling time, to be secretly loved, but it was also painful not to be able to share it out loud.

“I will, now that I can. I have recalled so many recipes my mother had taught me. Things that I helped Pearson cook in camp.” You look back to the sky and let the smile remain on your face. “I didn’t realize how much I knew until it all came back to me.”

Arthur lays down, supporting his head by tucking his arm behind his neck. “How did all that feel?”

Your brow pinches as you try to sort all of that out. “It happened so suddenly. I had fallen into the ocean when Micah threw me overboard. I was drowning and when everything went dark, it all just started to come back. Flashes of who I was, who I had met, conversations I had. Then I remembered Blackwater.” You pause a moment and you feel Arthur place a comforting hand on your torso, curving it to your side and pulling you close. “When I woke up, it was as though I had never forgotten a thing. If I had a question, the memory would come right to me. I didn’t have to think twice.”

“Did it hurt?”

You turn to look into the eyes of your husband, his face golden from the amber firelight. “I think being away from you had hurt me more.”

Arthur's grip tightens slightly, a mixture of pain and affection etched across his features. "That time without you," he starts, his voice rough like the sand underfoot, "felt like I was draggin' my soul through miles of hell." His fingers trace a line along your arm, tentative as if rediscovering a forgotten map. "But now, lookin' at you, I think maybe we got a chance to make things right."

You nod slowly, feeling the weight of his words sink deeply into your heart. The night air is crisp, and the distant howls of coyotes blend with the crackling of the fire, but you aren’t frightened or worried. “We do, Arthur.” And you find yourself leaning into him, tucking your head underneath his chin. “And come morning, we will be with our family again.”

He nods. “And we can finally search with those treasure maps.”

“And hunt bounties.”

“And go west.”

You feel it welling up inside you. The hope that has been softly dancing in your mind these past few days. Since you stepped onto that pier in Van Horn. “Yes,” you sigh.

“You wanna buy a home or build?” he asks you.

You think to answer with a question. “What makes the most sense to you?” You nuzzle him, taking in a deep inhale of the tobacco and pine that you love so much, and feel your body sinking into restfulness. “What has been a theme of this life?”

“Or what it should have been?”

You smile. He understands.

And you say it at the same time. “To build a home.”

Pulling you closer, he wraps his coat around you, keeping you in the warmth of his embrace. 

Then he adds, “Together.” 

And you fall asleep to those words.

*** It was just as Hamish said. Past Donner Falls and on the other side is the Waipiti Reservation. The sky is open with an assortment of birds that fly overhead, and the water that flows under the bridge is riddled with life. A doe and buck graze on some dry grass nearby, completely unbothered by the wagon cart and horses. 

You sit beside Arthur this time, hands gently clutching his right arm, and you take in the fresh air and scenery. Leaves fall and a breeze carries them over, an autumn rain of color landing in your short hair. 

Arthur looks at you and smiles softly just as your eyes cast downward. Your heart beats faster now that his attention is on you, but also for the anticipated reunion that soon awaits you. 

You wonder if they will be there. The tribe is definitely a clue, so you are curious to see how they are connected. Perhaps they know something about the turtle home? Whatever that is. You still haven’t figured that part out yet. 

Arthur continues to drive the wagon down the dirt road, turning right towards a slope that is fenced by several pine trees. By the snake-like lines of smoke rising into the blue sky, you deduce that it is the reservation, not someone’s camp. 

As the wagon rumbles closer, a group of children playing near the edge of the forest pause, their curious eyes fixed on your approach. You can't help but return their gazes, feeling a mix of nervousness and excitement bubble within you. It's a reminder of how different your lives might soon be—away from the past that you’ve tried to leave time and time again.

You smile at the children, wanting to appear friendly and they immediately run into the trees towards the smoke. “Do you think they won’t welcome us? Given how they’ve been treated…” you trail off, the weight of Cornwall and the oil feud pressing down upon your thoughts. Arthur squeezes your hand, a silent gesture of reassurance.

“If our people have met with them,” he begins to say, his voice soft and honest. “There’s a chance they might see us as allies, not enemies.”

Following the road, it leads up the slope, right into the trees as they open up to reveal the tribe’s domain. Arthur drives slow and careful, pulling off to the side before making a complete stop. You take in the reservation. Several men and women are out and about and they pause their daily tasks to look at you with calm, but curious eyes. The children, who you had spotted earlier, have run up to their parents, pointing and whispering.

Arthur gets out of the wagon cart first, walking over to your side as he regards the curious tribe. When he reaches you, he offers a hand and once you take it, he helps you hop down. 

He turns around and as you both look out, the tribal members step aside as an older man, with dark long hair and a deep blue coat, walks toward you both. He carries a calm, omniscient expression and if you look close enough, you can almost see a smile on his face. 

He raises a palm in greeting. “Mr. Morgan,” he says, his voice rumbling like a distant thunder. 

Your heart skips a beat at the acknowledgment. 

Arthur takes a step forward, taking your hand as he walks. “You know who we are.”

The man nods. “I am Chief Rains Fall.” He pauses as he looks back to his people. “We’ve been expecting you.”

And once again, the tribe parts, and you hear a strange set of footfalls. 

And there, hobbling on a crutch, is Hosea. 

With Charles aiding him. 

You let out a sob simultaneously with any remaining decorum and you let go of Arthur’s hand to run towards them. Your vision is blurred, but you can still make out their forms as you open your arms. Blinking at the tears in your eyes, you reach Hosea and wrap your arms around him, still being careful with his injured arm and leg. 

You can feel the weakened embrace of his working arm as Charles remains at his side to stabilize him.

“My girl,” Hosea says softly, his voice fatigued and trembling. “We’d begun to run out of hope…”

“So did we,” you cry, and you back away as you wipe your tears away with the back of your hand. “But we found the note.”

Hosea nods knowingly. “Mary Beth’s a clever girl.”

You nod, sniffing softly. “I have so many questions.”

“So do we,” Charles states as his eyes are cast upward as Arthur approaches. “Where did you and the others…?” His voice trails off and his brow pinches. Then he looks at Arthur. “Where are the others?” His voice is tinged with sobriety and curiosity, preparing himself for the worst. 

“Others? You mean you haven’t seen anyone since the robbery?” You feel your heart sinking just as it had risen up again.

Charles shakes his head, readjusting his support for Hosea, who listens patiently. “No, I mean Micah, Bill, Javier, and Dutch.”

You turn your head to meet Arthur’s gaze. There is so much to tell and it feels like it would take years. With everything that happened in Blackwater, to your marriage, Dutch’s hidden motivation, Micah’s murderous attempts, and Javier’s choice to stay. 

But Arthur, straightforward, unwavering Arthur, gets to the meat of the matter with a simple answer. “Javier was the only one left.”

“And where’s he?” Hosea asks. 

“Happy,” you answer and an image of Javier’s face appears in your mind. You can see him on a large ship, looking out onto the open sea. You blink away unshed tears. “He’s found purpose again.”

Hosea nods thoughtfully and looks at Charles. “Let’s find a place to sit and talk. It’s been so long since I’ve talked to my son and daughter-in-law.”

You have to look at Charles to see his reaction to Hosea’s slip, but his expression remains the same. He must know already, or doesn’t seem to find it shocking. You don’t think Hosea would have revealed your long-kept secret without just cause. 

Charles smiles at Hosea. “Of course, let’s get you back in the cabin.”

And just as though nothing surprising had happened, the life of the tribal members has resumed. They go about their business and you and Arthur follow Charles and Hosea as the invalid hobbles on his cane towards one of the few cabins on the reservation. 

Everyone seems friendly with Charles and Hosea, as they either nod or smile as you all pass by. How long have they been here? You didn’t realize how thankful you’d be for Charles’ direct involvement with the tribe, and how it would return a reward for all of you. 

It is a beautiful spot. Even if it wasn’t for the excuse of oil, though falsified it was, you can see the prospect of such an area. It seems that Dutch wasn’t the only one sinking in avarice. 

As you reach the cabin, the smell of pine and earth fills your senses, a welcome distraction from the turmoil swirling in your mind. Once inside, Hosea settles into a worn but sturdy chair by a small potbelly stove, his face etching lines of relief as he leans back. Charles opens the hatch and stokes the fire, sending sparks dancing within. He blows on it gently and once the flame grows, he closes the hatch.

He backs away slowly. “I’m going to get some more firewood.”

But you want him to stay. You haven’t seen him in what feels like forever. “Can that wait?”

Charles looks at you, eyes softening. “We will have plenty of time to talk.” He looks at Hosea. “But we can’t all take up your time all at once.” And with that, he nods to Arthur before stepping outside.

Your eyes focus on the door still but you hear Hosea softly chuckle behind you. You quickly turn around.

“What’s so funny?” Arthur asks, chortling curiously.

Hosea sighs. “Our wood box is full.”

You raise a brow and find a chair to sit in. “So what is it that made him leave?”

Hosea tucks his chin, pulling his coat collar up to his ears. “Dancing Wind.”

He says it like it is not just describing the weather. Like it carries weight. “What?”

A hand goes on your shoulder. You look up to see Arthur standing there, a smirk on his lips. “I think Hosea means a lady, Kit.”

Hosea nods. “Charles has found himself a lady friend. Though he isn’t the first to admit it…yet.”

Arthur's smirk widens into a full grin, the lines around his eyes crinkling in amusement. “Well, no doubt that explains the extra firewood trips,” he muses, his voice thick with jest.

“And other things for the past week or so. Though that doesn’t mean he’s neglected in helping me.” He stretches his good leg, letting out a contented sigh. “I’ve stayed in the reservation while the rest have camped close by. Didn’t want to crowd the tribe too much.”

You can't help but smile, feeling a warmth that isn't just from the blazing fire. It's rare these days to find moments like this, fleeting and sweet amidst the tumult of your lives. It's a reminder that even in the shadows of the outlaw life, there are slivers of ordinary joy and human connection.

Arthur takes a seat next to you, his presence grounding. "What’s on your mind, darlin’?" he asks quietly, his gaze locked onto yours, searching for answers in the flicker of the firelight reflecting in your hazel eyes. “I can tell you’re thinkin’ about somethin’.”

"Ano, I am," you reply, leaning into the warmth of his side. "Just thinking how it's nice... to see some happiness around here." Your fingers brush against his hand, a silent message of comfort between two souls bound by hardships as well as joys. 

“I take it you’ve seen not much of that, lately,” Hosea says, his voice sobering. “Tell me, what happened…when we parted ways.”

You feel yourself tensing as the memories are available to you, like looking in an index. Your memories are organized, structured, vivid, unlike they ever were before you lost them. You feel Arthur squeeze your hand and you turn your head slowly to meet his eyes.

“I can tell him, Kit.”

You shake your head. “We both can.” You look down at your lap. “But where do we start?”

Hosea tilts his head. “Well, start with the explosion.”

You shake your head. “No, Hosea.” And you lift your eyes to meet his gaze. “I need to go way back.” You pause a moment before explaining. “To Blackwater.”

It is then that his eyes widen, now understanding. “You remember it, do you?”

You nod. “Ano, I do.”

Nobody here knows. They are all still in the dark as to what had happened to you. The deceit and betrayal. Hosea leans forward in his seat, grimacing at the movements that he wants to make but his injured body protests. “Who did it?” he asks, his voice steady but laced with a palpable tension.

Arthur's hand tightens around yours, his other fist clenching in anticipation. You take a deep breath, feeling the cool night air fill your lungs, steadying your nerves. "It was Dutch," you say quietly, the name tasting bitter on your tongue. "Micah was there, too, but it was Dutch who shot me in the back.”

“He wanted Kit,” Arthur explains with a tight jaw, his eyes narrowing as he recalls that fateful day. “He was angry that she was spoken for and he’d rather her be dead than be with me.”

Hosea’s expression saddens, lines of betrayal etching deep into his weathered face. “Dutch,” he whispers, his voice aching as though in mourning. “You said only Javier survived…” He lifts his eyes again, searching for some sign of solace in your expression. “How did Dutch die?”

Arthur is only quiet for a moment before answering. “I killed him.”

You’re quick to explain. “He was sick and dying. He was going to kill Javier.”

The silence that stretches between you is thick, each breath shared seems laden with the weight of the past. You look to your husband and you see the ache in his expression, undoubtedly the memory of that day fresh in his mind.

“And I suppose you killed Micah?” Hosea asks. “I guess it would be too lucky if he died in the robbery.”

And Arthur gives a straight answer. “Yes. He admitted to killing Kitka. Well, he thought he had thrown her overboard.”

Hosea blinks, his brow pinched. “Overboard?”

That’s right. He doesn’t know you all had been on a ship and ended up in Guarma.

“A lot happened before people died, Hosea,” you say gently. “We can tell you the long version or the short version.”

Hosea looks out the window, watching the remaining light as the sun sets behind the trees in the distance. “I may be old and weak and tired,” he says as he settles back in his chair, his sentence punctuated by a cough. “But I always like a good yarn.”

And so, together, you and Arthur start from the beginning.

***

“So, Javier has made himself a pirate…” Hosea sighs, a small smile growing on his face. “Never would have imagined that, but it suits him.” You and Arthur didn’t spare any details. From finding Arthur on the rooftops in Saint Denis, to sneaking on the boat, then the storm and all that transpired in Guarma, Hosea is now able to see the big picture. “And this Hamish fella you met sounds like an interesting individual.”

You nod, smiling. “Yes. I am glad that he had good intentions when he kept my horse. It makes sense that he would be an honorable man, given his relationship with Rains Fall and his people.”

Hosea glances around the cabin. “Yes, they’ve been kind to us. Cornwall and folks like him could learn from these people.”

Arthur leans forward, resting his head in his hand as his elbow buries into his knee. “Folks like Cornwall ain’t the learnin’ sort.”

You can't help but agree with Arthur's blunt assessment, your mind wandering briefly to the cruel faces of men driven by greed and power, men who wouldn't hesitate to put an entire town to torch just to write down a few extra numbers in their ledgers.

Hosea shifts in his chair, the creaking sound of the wood under his weight mirroring the weariness in his bones. “So, what’s the plan now?” he asks, his voice low and raspy from years of talking over campfires and the whisper of schemes.

Arthur looks at you, his eyes searching yours for a moment before speaking. “We been thinkin’ of collectin’ some treasure. Got some maps.”

“We want to go out west still,” you explain. “To Oregon.”

Hosea nods knowingly. “Good thing John likes surprises.”

You tilt your head. “Where is he?”

There is a small pause and you wonder if it is because Hosea has become more tired as the hours have passed, but you remember that Hosea is more methodical than that. “The Marstons have gone to Oregon.”

Your eyes widen. “Alone?!”

Hosea holds out a palm. “No, not alone. Sadie had gone with them. Seems that she was keen on being a bodyguard. Come to find that protecting people was something that she had taken quite a liking to after everything that’s transpired. It seems like the right path for her, and she’s made peace with it.”

Arthur exhales heavily, the tension fading slightly from his rugged features as he leans back against the wall of the cabin. “Well, that’s good,” he says slowly. “But I don’t like that he just left you here.”

“Now, don’t start making assumptions, son,” Hosea chuckles. “I insisted I stay here and recover.” He gestures to his broken arm. “I am not in the position to travel thousands of miles just yet.”

Hosea has a point, and to be honest, you are impressed with John’s initiative to make such a trip. You’re also glad that Sadie had gone with them. You figure it is good for her to do something else other than wish for the death of O’Driscolls. It has a bit of purpose more productive to escort John and his family to unfamiliar territory.

“So you do plan on going, though?” Arthur asks, interrupting your thoughts.

You watch Hosea as you wait eagerly for his reply. You had tried to convince him to go with you and Arthur. To live out his days in peace. And now that everything with Dutch is over, the Pinkertons off their trail, it seems like the ideal time to start anew.

Hosea nods, his gaze thoughtful and distant. “Yes, I reckon I’ll join you once this heals up nice and proper. Always wanted to be able to see the Pacific again.”

A smile tugs at your lips at the thought of all of you, finally free from the endless cycle of robbery and pursuit, settling down to a life where the horizon was vast and untouched, instead of closing in like a noose. The dream seems almost tangible, a soft whisper of hope amidst the harsh realities you all had faced.

Arthur stands up, his chair scraping back on the rough wooden floor. He stretches out his arms, his movements exaggerated and languid, a sign that he's trying to shake off the tension that always seems to linger like an uninvited guest. “Well, if that’s the plan, then we oughta start doing what we can to make it all work. You’ll be healing soon enough.”

Hosea chuckles. “If you think months is soon…” Then his smile falls. “You can’t afford to wait that long. Winter’s coming. If you stay, you’ll be stuck here for the cold months.”

You look up at your husband. You both wanted to get going as soon as possible. But you can’t leave without Hosea.

What do you do?

Arthur must see the concern in your eyes. “We can sleep on it. We don’t wanna rush into somethin’ without thinkin’ it through. Dealt with that enough times to know better.”

You relax. You and Arthur will talk about it tonight. You nod, signaling your understanding.

“Well, that sounds like a good plan, son.” Hosea motions to rise from his chair and you immediately go to his aide. He smiles gratefully to you and nods towards his cot in the corner. With steady arms, you support him as he hobbles his way over, each step slow and measured. The old injuries and the long years on the run had taken their toll on him, but his spirit remained unbroken. Once Hosea is comfortably seated on the cot, he pats your hand gently. "Thank you, Kit," he says with a warmth that fills the cool air as the door swings open. Looking up, Charles comes back in, acting nonchalant.

“Where’s the wood you was after?” Arthur teases, raising an eyebrow at Charles as he brushes the snow from his coat.

“Got waylaid,” Charles replies with a half-grin, taking off his coat and hanging it. “Seems some kids needed help settling a dispute in their game. Couldn’t just leave them to it.”

You chuckle, knowing that couldn’t be the only thing that kept him occupied. “Be that as it may, it looks like Hosea is ready to turn in.”

Charles nods. “It is about that time. Chief Rains Fall says you two are welcome to set up camp here, and I can take you to the others.”

You can’t help but feel excited. You had hoped to see them today, but you can’t rush this. You’ve been away for a month, you can wait one more day.

Arthur nods, his gaze lingering on the flickering light escaping the stove as he opens the hatch, contemplating your next steps. "We'll make camp here then. Get a fresh start at dawn."

You sense the unspoken worry in his voice, the weight of decisions yet to be made pressing down on him just as heavily as it does on you. It's a familiar burden, shared silently between the two of you as you navigate this fraught path you've both chosen. The resolve to leave the gang and start anew, though liberating in thought, is daunting in practice. But this is a different kind of parting. Just as you are about to be reunited, you will soon have to say goodbye.

As Arthur stokes the fire, casting long shadows on the walls, your mind wanders back to all of the conversations that you had started with each of the members, hoping to stir them to find their own paths. You wonder who might have made that choice, and what their lives are like now. You wonder who all made it out, and if any others have been long gone.

By the tired look in Hosea’s eyes and the expression on Charles’ face, you know that will have to wait for tomorrow.

Arthur closes the door to the stove and stands erect, wiping his hands on his pant legs. “We will be goin’.” He turns to you and you step away from Hosea’s cot to take his offered hand. “You rest well, Hosea,” he says with a gentleness that only a son would give to his father.

Hosea leans into his pillow, closing his eyes. “That won’t be difficult, I promise.”

You all chuckle softly and Charles walks you and Arthur to the door. “Goodnight, you two.”

You and Arthur speak in unison. “Goodnight, Charles.”

And he closes the door behind you.

Outside, the air is crisp, carrying the faint scent of pine and the distant howl of a wolf. Stars twinkle overhead, unobstructed by the smoke of cities or the glare of electric lights. You find comfort in the darkness, in its vastness and mystery. It reminds you of nights spent under the celestial canopy over the many years of traveling across various terrain.

Arthur hasn’t let go of your hand as he leads the way back to the wagon, where your supplies and camping gear is stored in the back of the wagon. There aren’t many tribal members out now, most have gone in their teepees and tents to retire for the night. It is so calm and serene, a true picture of unity.

After gathering up the tent and bedrolls, you and Arthur set up camp at the edge of the reservation.

And just as you finish unrolling the bedroll within the tent, you feel the rush of cool air from Arthur entering the tent. “The horses are all okay?”

Arthur closes the tent flap behind him, going to his knees, and taking off his coat. “Yeah. That poor Murfree horse is going to need some extra care before we travel.”

You nod. That poor thing had been through a great deal before you came across it. The Murfree Brood didn’t even have one scrap of humanity to treat their horses well. “Come to bed, Arthur.”

Arthur hesitates for a moment, his face shadowed in the dim light of the lantern. You see the lines of worry that often crease his brow soften as he looks at you, a hint of that old affection flickering in his eyes. "All right," he murmurs, his voice low and gravelly from the cool night air. He moves closer, discarding his boots with a thud against the tent floor, and you scoot over to make room for him on the bedroll.

As he settles down beside you, the fabric rustles under his weight, a comforting sound in the enveloping silence of the wild. The space between you lessens as you wrap your arms around him and pull him close to you, letting him fall back into your chest. “What’s on your mind?” you ask him. “You don’t seem ready to sleep just yet.”

“I’m not,” he quickly answers. “We still ain’t done.”

“I know.”

“Hosea is gonna need a lot of time to heal. We can’t just leave him.”

“He’s been taken care of. Charles is keeping him out of trouble,” you say with a hint of jest. “Maybe…” you start, and let your voice trail off. You aren’t sure how well he may take what you’re about to say.

“What?” he presses.

You sigh. Might as well just come out and say it. “Maybe we can get a place ready for him first. Let him rest here in the wilderness. Maybe even meet Hamish and they can keep each other company.” You feel Arthur move away from you and watch him roll on his other side to look at you face to face. You try to read his eyes, but are unsure of what he’s thinking. “When our home is built, we can send for him. He will be with us.”

Arthur's eyes study yours in the lantern light, flickering with conflicting emotions. He seems torn, his rugged face etched with both hope and skepticism. "You think Hosea would go for that?" he asks finally, his voice carrying a hint of hopefulness that surprises you. "He might, if it means he don’t like to stay here instead.”

Your brow pinches. “Arthur Morgan, you must have a little faith. I think he doesn’t want to be separated from us anymore.”

“Faith…” he repeats as he averts your eyes. “Dutch used to speak of that.”

“Yes, but I think he misused that word. When I learned English, I took it for something different than he had made it out to be.”

“And what’s that?”

“Faith,” you say, pausing to gather the right words, your gaze fixed on his earnest face, “to me, it's about trusting what you can't see. Believing in something better ahead, even if the path isn’t clear.” You reach a hand to touch Arthur’s chest, feeling his beating heart beneath. “Dutch just wanted us to blindly follow him. That is not the same thing.”

Arthur turns away slightly, looking out into the darkness of the tent that isn’t illuminated by the lantern. “Can’t see him now.”

“Still isn’t the same. And you’re just being difficult at this point.”

You watch as a smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. “I guess I am.”

He shifts closer, the warmth of his body mingling with yours in the cool night air. "So, we build a place," Arthur murmurs, still wrestling with the idea as it hangs between you like a delicate promise. "And we send for him..."

"Yes," you affirm softly, pulling him close by the collar of his shirt. “If that’s what you want to do.”

He shrugs. “I can’t decide right now. We just got here.”

You don’t want to rush a decision, but you most definitely want to make a decision soon. “I can picture it now, Arthur. We’re so much closer than we’ve ever been before. Can you believe it?”

He shakes his head softly. “No, don’t seem real.”

You pull him close for a kiss, long and delicious, making it as tangible as you ever could. You part with a deep sigh, leaning back to look at him. “I think it’s pretty real.”

You see the warmth in his gaze as he looks into your eyes, and then they cast down to your lips. “Yeah…”

“And we will see the others tomorrow.”

His whole body begins to relax and you see his gaze still focused on your body, his voice soft and lowly. “Yeah.” His mind is clearly drifting off. 

“And I will shave my head.”

“Yeah…”

You chortle, your brow pinched and your lips pulled back in a smile. “You aren’t listening anymore are you…?”

His eyes flicker upwards, blinking. “What?”

You try not to laugh, but instead kiss his nose. “Arthur, turn out the light.”

He chuckles, the sound rich and deep, resonating in the quiet of the tent. “Yes, ma’am.” Obediently, he rolls away and reaches up to dim the lantern, plunging the space into a soft darkness, save for the faint glow of moonlight that trickles in through a small canvas gap. And without a moment to spare, he returns to you, snuggling up into your chest and you feel his arms wrap around your waist. 

And you’ve never felt happier.

Thank you for reading! :)

Tag Requests: @photo1030, @eternalsams

[pearlypairings]

re: your fluffy fic asks! I have a few hellcheer ones, so I figured an ask is the best way to go 🥰

Paper Bag Princess - dragon eddie and princess chrissy, fairytale-esque

beyond the sea (waiting for me) - selkie eddie and writer chrissy who moves to a lighthouse

A man with a mission on two or three editions - high school eddie remembers chrissy's favorite things

The Other Side of the Door - aggravated neighbors to lovers meet cute

take your time while you're mine (and smoke slowly) - line cook eddie and waitress chrissy coworkers to lovers

The shop around the corner - a you've got mail remix with tattoo artist eddie and bookstore owner chrissy enemies to lovers

ahh thank you vibez, this is a lovely list, I don't think I've read any of these before. I can't wait to jump in 🥰 means so much you have no idea rn♥️

(I asked for fluffy/comfort fic recs here if anyone else wants to share some with me ❤️)

[allthelittlecreepycrawlies]

Time for stupidly indulgent ideas because this is the stupidly indulgent idea blog.

Meet a-Yao (mesmer -> chronomancer, because i said so) and Sang-er (ranger -> soulbeast, because ditto) as they show up in GW2

Meng Yao grew up in the Risen-infested lower wards of New Kaineng City. His mother was once a singer of some prominence until it got out that her boyfriend was in fact a married man, and a high-ranking Minister at that! It barely made a blip on his career, but completely ruined hers, getting her banned from most of the clubs and teahouses frequented by the elite.

As a child, Meng Yao was forced to develop his talent as a mesmer almost entirely on his own by dodging undead and scaring off city guards who would have taken advantage of his mother.

When the Aetherblade fleet crashes down on Shing Jea Island, re-awakening Cantha to the rest of the outside world, Meng Yao finds an opportunity for lucrative work when he comes across a group of extremely strange-looking (Cat people? Plant people? Giants?) outsiders putting down Risen. They're following someone they call Commander into the Echovald Forest to continue getting rid of Aetherblades, but had to pause to fight. They may or may not actually need a translator (their accents are atrocious, but they can somewhat speak Canthan, and it's been hundreds of years, so he can't really fault any language changes) but if he wants the job, he can have it.

For the money they're offering, he jumps at the chance.

Meanwhile, Nie Huaisang grew up in the Echovald, dodging gangs and cultists and big hungry beasts his whole life. The Nies were once a prominent family, but had supposedly died out even before the Ministry of Purity began its purges, and the few members left are perfectly fine with that reputation because it gives them more freedom to move about if people think they don't exist.

His magic as a ranger makes it easier for him than most, since he can charm most things that would try to eat him with no problems. Unfortunately it also makes him a desireable asset to the Speakers and an annoyance to the Jade Brotherhood, who both target him with frequency.

And then the fucking sky pirates and their undead and those creepy shadow monster things showed up and so did the weirdos chasing them all.

Nie Huaisang and Meng Yao end up almost literally crashing into each other when things start getting truly chaotic, and Huaisang winds up more or less accidentally swept into the group of explorers Meng Yao was traveling with.

Which winds up with both of them caught in the middle of what could be the end of the world.

They're ordered to help get miners and civilians away from the battlefield, but as the battlefield keeps growing and reality falls apart around it, they quickly realize that if the strange outsiders don't win, there's not gonna be anywhere to run to.

And then the end of the world stops.

And the last of the original elder dragons dies.

And... damn, what do they do now?

"Want to go get dinner?" Huaisang asks, which is as good an option as any, really, since they were only side characters in this whole story.

[the-inspector-jones]

Hey quick question.... Do you hate us?? First kiss! Chapter ending with office kisses! Whyyyyy.

I really hate advent fics. You are not helping.

😬

Honestly? I'd kinda just decided no one was actually reading it. I've continued posting for my own enjoyment alone, so getting any ask on this blog at all has made me chuckle.

We move much faster from now on, nonnie. I don't know if that helps at all. Advent fics are sorta the worst. I guess I'm sorry. Except I'm having fun.

So.

Oops.

[xoxojisu]

thinking abt unofficialbf!katsuki

unofficialbf!katsuki who's abrasive and rude and loud until you're near him. he almost instantly sizzles down

unofficialbf!katsuki who proudly declared you as "his" when you were 4 after you accepted his bouquet of dandelions and its kind of just stuck since then

unofficialbf!katsuki who, after that, began proudly holding your hand and marching around with you. at some point, it just became a habit for him to reach for your hand, continuing even as you got older

unofficialbf!katsuki who still apologizes to you the same way as when you two were kids. he holds your hand and looks away as he mutters "'m sorry.." with rosy cheeks. when he really messes up, he'll bury his nose into your neck and hold you close and whisper a genuine apology into your ear. he'll struggle for the right words and get super flustered, but you know hes trying!!

unofficialbf!katsuki who, for as long as izuku could remember, has been a package deal with you

unofficialbf!katsuki who is practically inseparable from you. like youre not hugging in class or anything but theres just this unnecessary proximity with you guys? you're always just unexplainably close for no reason

unofficialbf!katsuki who carries your bag everywhere. he complains that you "can't even carry your own damn bags!!" but would never let you carry them

unofficialbf!katsuki! who beats his friends up for being stupid when they don’t understand something he’s teaching them, but is so gentle when teaching you. he gets real close and talks in this low rumbly voice that’s just SO HOT

unofficialbf!katsuki whos an asshole to everyone but you

unofficialbf!katsuki who, despite being unnaturally nice to you and finds it hard to be/stay mad at you, gets really genuinely angry when you get reckless when fighting. the only times hes ever really yelled at you for real were when you put yourself in danger

unofficialbf!katsuki who doesnt care if mineta and kaminari ogle the other girls but would blow them up if they so much as laid an eye on you

unofficialbf!katsuki who tries to hide the way his eyes soften whenever you talk

unofficialbf!katsuki who, due to your childhood marriage/relationship/idk-its-complicated, is really comfortable with touching you. he would never let any of those other extras touch him, but he never hesitates to grasp your hand when you're scared, grab your waist to pull you in when he just wants you closer, or even pull you into his lap (in private) to cuddle. he has no problem manhandling you and throwing you over his shoulder or even carrying you bride-style when he's reaaally feeling confident. when you sit next to each other, his hands easily find your thigh almost subconsciously to rub his thumb over it soothingly

unofficialbf!katsuki who you've been having tickle fights with since you were little! he would never DARE hit you like he would those other losers, so he tickles you when he thinks you're being annoying. he knows all of your ticklish spots and still uses it against you when he thinks you're being bratty (or when he just wants to hear you laugh, but he'd die before he admits it)

unofficialbf!katsuki who LOVES cuddling with you! (would never admit it) you get all loud and fussy sometimes (no one is allowed to sass him other than you) so he just pulls you close to his chest and drags his fingertips up and down your back in the way he knows you like. he loves how it gets you all quiet and sleepy and clingy in a matter of minutes. he wonders if you notice the way that after just a couple minutes, your speech starts to slur and you bury your face into his chest or neck. (he does. he notices.)

unofficialbf!katsuki who you've been cuddling since you were kids so it just sort of continued as you two got older? you've known him for forever, so it never felt weird or anything. its just oddly natural? mitsuki has photos of you two cuddling from ages like 4-now.

speaking of mitsuki!! she absolutely ADORES you and unofficialbf!katsuki HATES it! he always mutters about how she likes you more than him whenever you come over, which is like everyday, which she always affirms happily. calls you "my sweet y/n-chan," "sweetheart," "dear," "lovely," and of course "my future daughter-in-law." (katsuki always tells her to "SHUT UP, OLD HAG" with bright red cheeks)

unofficialbf!katsuki whose grumpy moods and grumbles are easily halted by you running your hands through his blond spikes, which always turns him into putty in your hands

unofficialbf!katsuki who always has you in his dorm. he has this thing about nobody, not sero or denki or even kirishima being allowed in his bed when they hangout, but he lets you with no problem. in fact, he's the one who drags you into his bed with him.

unofficialbf!katsuki whose classmates have literally placed bets on when his balls will drop and he'll make you his official girlfriend (he cursed them out and blew stuff up when he found out)

can you tell im a sucker for the just friends/unofficial bf trope...

[goldsnek]

More of eepy Luci and his duck blanket and more radioapple (established relationship here) previous part

[serotonins-stuff]

As a boy Katsuki never understood why men cried whenever they saw their bride for the first time.

When it came to his turn to stand at the altar, suited up and slicked back hair,he finally understood why.

His heart is pounding violently against his ribcage, so loud that he can hear it reverberate through his head. His palms were damp, and his gaze stays fixated on the double doors before him. The doors that will soon open to reaveal the love of his life.

His foot meets the floor repeatedly in a tapping motion, and his hands are rough as he shifts his collar side to side. His body litters with goosebumps and involuntary quivers.

He's suddenly grateful for this being a small wedding with only close family and friends. He wouldn't want a large crowd witnessing his nerves get the better of him.

Kirishima smiles though the tears flowing down his face. He's honored to be the best man on his best friends big day, because that means he gets to see the tough Katsuki find pure happiness and put his walls down for the one he loves. If it's enough to make the great lord explosion murderer god dynamite nervous, then it's love that should be cherished.

Katsukis stomach flutters when the pianist begins to play your song.

It's time.

He fiddles with the cuffs of his blazer and submerges the urge to run his hand through his perfectly styled hair.

When he locks eyes with you for the first time that day. It feels as if time itself slowed down. In this moment, every ounce of anxiety he had been carrying fades away. You are radiant under the soft orange glow of the sun, your skin shimmering like a precious diamond. His precious diamond.

His heart dances swiftly against his chest, touching every nerve in his body.

He catches a glimpse of your hands nervously fiddling your dress by your sides and remembers that he isn't alone. You, the love of his life, are sharing the same nervous flutter of butterflies in your stomach.

He begins to see you more clearly as you approach him. The soft glow of your eyes, your perfect lips and curves.

And when he hears his name flow so sweetly from your lips he can't help it. He chokes out a sob, and immediately your hands reach up to gently swipe away his tears.

The audience give a numerous amount of awww's, which cause a smile to tug its way onto his lips.

His glossy eyes stare longingly into yours. "You look beautiful" he whispers.

Saying his vows was the hardest part. He just couldn't stop crying, and the tears wouldn't stop flowing. You were there assuring him and giving him gestures of love. When you started to say your own vows, seeing his redened nose and tear stained face cause tears of your own to flow down your face.

With a gentle yet firm grip his palm finds comfort on the curve of your waist. The minute the officient said you may kiss the bride. Your arms envelope the soft skin of his neck and your heads tilt to the side as if it's instinct.

This kiss hold a firm yet sweet connection, a silent promise that this love would endure for eternity.

He was finally married to you, his angel, the girl of his dreams. He looked forward to calling you his wife, to starting a family-

Hot tears stream uncontrollably down his face, an explosion of raw emotions he can't contain. His heart swells with overwhelming swarm of love, joy, and deep appreciation, a feeling he once never believed possible.

With a shaky breath, he pulls away softly before resting his forehead on yours. "I love you" he choked "so fuckin much"

You huffed at his cuteness "I love you more Katsuki"

He places one more kiss to your lips, and nuzzles your nose with his.

"Impossible"

[riswippiesx]

Can't post anything today..I guess..as I have some work😷☝️ also i'm freezing omfg😷 it's so cold! And it's raining goddamnnn😷 Anyway, toji x reader hcs soon 🏃‍♀️☝️

[baurem]

cw: children, bakugo being a tired dad and then some wc: 604

with the soft patter of small feet and the door’s hinges quietly crying as it was pushed open, you feigned sleep. through ajar lids, in peeked your mixture of love, your husband and your own affections personified into something you both cradled and loved undoubtedly.

biting back a grin, you listened for the shuffling of your bedsheets as your daughter forcefully settled in between the spooning position that bakugo held you in. 

“papa..” your three year old called out in a whisper, her palm lightly tapped his cheek.  still in his drowsy in between, bakugo hummed roughly to let her know he was listening. 

“move over..” she whined as she pushed his shoulder to create more space for herself

“no, i was here first.” bakugo’s tongue languid with sleep but unmoving to your daughter’s attempts.

her little lips pursed like yours and her brows furrowed like his as she conceived a way to convince her hard-headed father to move. she turned her body to you, preparing to wake you up until a large hand interrupted her. 

“no, don’ wake y’er mama up.” his voice mellowed by fatherhood and patience. katsuki’s daughter turned with a pout at his whispered chiding, the same one he often wore against you.

  still, even while unconscious and in his grasp, he sought to preserve your sleep though there wasn’t a need for it (not that he should know). 

he lured her back with his hand splayed out on her tummy which earned yet another whine from her as she sat back into the tight space between you and your husband. 

she stared back with a disgruntled expression he knew all too well; cheeks puffed up, eyes narrowed that were still swollen with sleep, and a deep frown all at the lack of space her father provided. 

katsuki stared back, now more awake than before, but still just as adamant and stubborn as the red-eyed girl before him. 

“gotta use your manners if ya wanna be here.” 

after a beat of contemplation, your daughter spoke up, “papa..?”

“hm?” katsuki hummed, attentive.

“can you— can you pleeaase move over?” she asked, softer as to not disturb her mother. 

katsuki deemed it good enough since it was too early in the morning for a lesson. abiding by her plea, he shifted over which opened up the space for his little one. 

“mm.. thank you.” his daughter murmured as she squirmed into her place under the sheets and between her parents. 

katsuki hummed in a quiet response. his attention on the way her eyes fought sleep, nestled in the warmth and scent of her parents. once he’s sure she’s asleep, his attention shifts over to you.

“were you going to help at all?” he huffs. 

“i knew you had it.” you toss over to gaze to your family with a sapped grin at his discovery of your consciousness; your husband furrowed his brows at you like your little girl would when she didn’t get what she wanted and your daughter’s face squished on the pillow like his would whenever he came home from a long patrol.

katsuki saw you too in that moment, you think; with her hair disheveled in the mornings just like yours would be and the light snoring from her— the snoring you both vehemently denied though he insisted on it. 

he must’ve also been feeling that same swell in your chest too, the overflowing of love seeping out of your chest and into your throat. the kind of feeling that only mornings like these could bring out of you both; you, your husband, and the whole of you both combined snuggled in bed together.

“you always do.” 

[say-hwaet]

That's the Way it Is

Chapter Seven: To Dance With Danger, Part 2 Previous Chapters: VI V IV III II I Next Chapter: VIII Summary: You, John, and Bill continue your onslaught on the O'Driscolls. It is rather successful, and dangerous. Word Count: ~8,000 Warnings: Violence, Mature themes, language

The last gunshot rings through the trees and the surrounding air is cast in a fog, not from rain or bad weather, but from gun smoke. You finally lower the shotgun, its weight now becoming too heavy as the adrenaline wears off. 

You’re surrounded. Surrounded by piling bodies of dead O’Driscolls. 

“Well, Hell…!” Bill cackles, clearly too happy for the fight. “I was itchin’ to get that out of my system…!” And he looks over at you, giving you a respectful nod. “Sure started to wonder when you was gonna be back.”

You furrow your brow. “I am back.”

He shakes his head, you must not be getting it. “Naw, I mean the real you. The real Kitka Petrova!”

John walks over a body after looting it, tucking some found riches in his pocket. “Yeah, that was really somethin’, like old times!”

You feel a jittering in your heart and you place a hand over it. “You mean to say I’ve always been like that?”

John nods. “Sure am. Hosea would be proud.”

You find yourself smiling. If this is the real you, and they approve, then you must be doing something right. Maybe taking the risk in doing this mission was just the thing you needed to get in the right direction. 

But then a cracked voice shouts behind you. “You think you can defeat us…?!” You turn around, and see the young O’Driscoll. Blood from the beating you gave him caked on the side of his head and his gun pointed at you. “I knew you was trouble…!”

You freeze, too shocked to move. 

And just as Bill and John retaliate, drawing their weapons, another shot echoes. 

The boy’s eyes widen and without another word, he falls to the ground with a soft thud. The shot did not come from behind you, but ahead of you. 

You see movement to your left and as you turn your head slowly, you are stunned by what you see. 

It’s Kieran, with your rifle, smoke still coming from the barrel. He just saved your life. 

You are all silent for a moment, perhaps waiting to see if another O’Driscoll will come out of nowhere, but after a minute or two, there are none. 

You find yourself opening your mouth, speaking humorously. “I suppose I didn’t tie the knots tight enough.”

“No kidding,” John breathes. 

You look at Kieran, who finally lowers the rifle. “I guess we’re even, now,” you exhale.

He nods, looking at you suspiciously, not fully believing you. “If you say so.”

“No, no, no,” John says, waving his hand. “While it’s always a pleasure to kill some O’Driscolls, we’re still short one.”

Bill growls, nodding his head, and storms over to Kieran. “You said Colm was gonna be here!!” 

Kieran instantly cowers, dropping your rifle without hesitation. “I weren’t lyin…! He-he-might come back!”

“Not after all that, you idiot!” John snarls, eager to lay a punch on him.

But you step in between them, holding out your hand like you’re trying to tame an angry wolf. 

And that’s when you feel a sharp pain in your side. 

“Ack…!” You bend over, your left hand going to the spot that stings and burns. 

“Kit?!” John goes to you, his brows pinched in deep concern. “What’s wrong, sis?”

You look down and you lift your hand. Your blouse has a dark spot and a long tear in it. You’re surprised you didn’t feel it or see it, but your blouse is a dark brown and you were caught up in the moment of the fight. 

But the pain is coming in waves now. “I’ve been shot…” You try to inspect the wound, still retaining some decency as you turn away and lift your shirt. 

John places a hand on your back, coaxing you to move. “We gotta get you back—“

There aren’t any holes in your flesh. It looks like a terrible scrape, or like someone took a chisel and marked a chunk out of your skin. “I'm fine,” you interrupt, moving away from him. “It’s just a grazing.”

You hear John sigh. “Still, you need to get back soon.” And he returns to look at Kieran, his eyes narrowing. “After we figure out where that bastard Colm is.”

Still looking at your wound, you say what you were going to say before your injured interruption. “I overheard them saying there was a stagecoach robbery. Colm was on his way here from another hideout.” You grimace, bunching your shirt in your hand and putting pressure on your wound.

John looks at Kieran, his gaze steely and intense. “You know where it is?”

Kieran shakes his head. “O-only this-s-s one…!”

You look up and study Kieran’s face, you can tell that he is petrified, but there’s no hint of deception. You lower your head as the pain in your side increases and try to speak calmly. “He’s telling the truth.”

Kieran’s eyes shift between you three. “I can make it up to you!” He points to the cabin as it continues to burn. “There’s gotta be money in the chimney! Colm always keeps a stash hidden every place he goes!”

John’s raspy voice rings out in irritation. “If it ain’t burned up first! Ever think about that?”

But only the front of the cabin is in flames, it still has to reach the back. Maybe there’s still a chance to find out. Feeling emboldened by your survival, you begin to walk toward it. “I’ll go see.”

But a hand grabs your shoulder, pulling you back. “Oh no, you don’t!” And John whips you back around. “Hosea would have Arthur kill me if I brought you back not only as you are, but burnin’ besides.” And with a hint of a smirk, he points his revolver at Kieran. “You go get it. And you better make sure you come back out with some cash.” 

Kieran nods hesitantly, his eyes darting from the smoking cabin to John's grim expression and back again. You watch him approach the cabin, each step tentative as if the ground might give way beneath him. The tension in the air is palatable, like the low rumble of thunder before a storm.

“Hurry up!” John roars, pointing his gun skyward and shooting once. Kieran nearly jumps in the air, and hurries toward what’s left of the door as the flames eat it away.

Your breathing becomes shallow, the sting from your side rising with each pulse of your heart. You lean against a nearby tree, the rough bark pressing into your back, providing a strange comfort amidst the chaos. From this vantage point, you watch as Kieran disappears into the smoky maw of the cabin, his form swallowed by the thick, billowing smoke. Your heart continues to pound in your chest, an erratic drumbeat in the quiet of the dying fire’s hiss and crackle.

“You think he’ll find it?” Bill’s voice breaks through your thoughts, his tone laced with skepticism.

You glance at John who just watches for the opening. “No loss, either way.”

You scowl. “And we aren’t like the O’Driscolls at all,” you say with agitated sarcasm. “I wonder what Hosea would say seeing us now, acting like vultures around a carcass.”

John frowns, the lines on his scarred face deepening. "Hosea ain't here, Kit. We gotta do what we gotta do to survive. Besides, he’s an O’Driscoll, you know that."

Your gaze shifts back to the cabin and just when you are about to give in and go in there after him, Kieran rushes back out, clutching a small, metal box.

“He’s got somethin! He’s got somethin’!” Bill cheers and practically leaps over bodies to get to the young man. Kieran, half-choked by smoke, stumbles toward you all, the box clutched to his chest like a lifeline.

As he nears, his coughing subsides enough for him to wheeze out, "Found it in the chimney—nearly missed it with all the smoke…!”

He offers it to you, not John or Bill, and you take it from him. You try to open it, but it’s locked.

“Hey, what the—?”

And before you can finish, John snatches it from you, and with his hunting knife in hand, he slips it under the lid and pries it open. You all gather close and look inside the box.

And there, perfectly wadded, is a roll of cash. A thick roll.

John manages a smile. “I guess it weren’t all for nothin’.” And discarding the box, he holds the wad of cash and begins to divide it amongst you, leaving a large portion of it for the gang’s collection.

You get a nice take out of it. One. Hundred. Dollars.

There was six hundred dollars just sitting in that tin.

You tuck your share into your bosom, feeling the weight of the bills pressed against your flesh. Aside from the thirty dollars you had woken up with after Blackwater, this is the most amount of money you have ever seen. You don’t feel guilty for having it. After all, it was Colm you stole from, not an innocent family or lonely traveler.

“We should get goin’,” John says calmly and sheaths his knife. He turns to leave and after sharing a glance with Bill, you both follow.

After walking a few paces, John quickly stops, turns around, and looks behind you. “Except you.”

You then realize he is talking about Kieran.

“What?” Kieran asks, his voice trembling. “Y-y-you’re just gonna leave me here?”

“It’s better than killin ya, get lost!” John waves him off with a large sweep of his arm. 

Kieran shakes in his boots, his voice trembling. “I’m just as good as dead if you leave me! Colm ain’t gonna be happy about this.”

“And how is that our problem?” Bill roars.

“So, I’m one of you now…!” He says it with more courage than what he usually gives, and this causes John and Bill to pause for a moment.

You’ve been watching this exchange and you aren’t sure if this is a regular occurrence or not. It doesn’t make sense to leave him, after helping you by revealing this hideout and finding you some cash.

But most importantly…

“He saved my life, John,” you remind him. “You’re just going to let that go?”

You see his eyes shift to you and soften. You know now that he looks up to you, in a way, in a sisterly way, and after what Abigail said, he clearly missed you more than what he was willing to let on.

John’s lips press into a thin line, a visible struggle playing across his features as he weighs your words against his instincts. His gaze flickers back to Kieran, who stands shivering slightly, his eyes wide with a mingled fear and hope.

Finally, John lets out a long sigh and nods curtly. "Alright, but if you get yourself in trouble, don’t go cryin’ to me.” He points to you. “Cry to her, God knows she’s the softest one in the bunch.” You can hear the light teasing in his voice, clearly trying to hide it behind the gruff tone he’s taken. He turns back around and continues to head toward the hill, where your horses wait on the other side.

You feel a mixture of relief and responsibility settle on your shoulders, realizing that you may have just made a decision that will impact the gang forever. After Bill and John are a few paces away, you turn and look back at the new member. “Come on, Kieran,” you say softly, gesturing to him to follow. He nods quickly, almost disbelievingly, and meets the pace of your stride.

"Thank you," he murmurs, his voice barely carrying over the rustling leaves around you.

You nod, feeling the weight of his life now partially in your hands. "Stick close, keep your head down, and please, don’t make me look stupid.”

***

You ride carefully back to camp with the boys. You also make a point not to wince or groan, though you are in a great deal of pain. You keep your hand on your side, hoping that the bleeding has stopped by now, but you don’t want to stop and look. You just need to make it back to camp, and prepare yourself for what may happen.

You already know that Dutch is going to question where you have been. Micah may even be well enough to hiss words into his ear, no doubt making you sound more of an enemy than you would ever intend to be. It seems that is what Micah does best.

The crisp evening air snaps against your cheeks as you guide Odliv along the familiar path, the rhythmic hoofbeats a comforting, yet somber tune. John and Bill are quiet for the ride back, and you aren’t too upset by that. You don’t mind peace and quiet, the time to gather your thoughts.

You wonder if Arthur is back. If he managed to find something about Sean, like he mentioned. You are eager to know, Sean is another person that knows you, someone who has a piece of a puzzle that you are trying to put back together.

After a little bit longer, you see the trail that leads to camp, and you feel your heart beating just a little bit faster. It is darker now, and just as the sun sets, you can spot the glow of the camp’s fire.

“Hey! State your business!” It’s Karen.

“Guess who?” John asks, speaking enough to identify yourselves.

“Well, well, well…!” Karen says, a lilt in her voice. “Was wonderin’ if you’d come back at all!”

“Shut up,” John barks back and you can’t help but wonder if there is a hidden meaning there.

You can feel the eyes of the other gang members on you as you ride into camp, their curious glances like prickles on the back of your neck. You dismount with a quick swing of your leg and once your feet hit the ground, you feel a sudden twinge in your side and wince. “Ack…!”

“Hosea…!” John calls out. “Kit’s hurt!”

That was not what you wanted. The last thing you need is to have everyone flocking over to you, worrying over just a bullet graze.

The girls, aside from Karen who remains guarding the camp, are the first to reach you. Concern is clearly etched into their faces, as their gentle hands take you and escort you to the nearby table.

“What happened?” Mary Beth looks you over.

“Are you hurt?” Tilly wipes some dirt from your brow.

“What did John do?” Abigail asks.

You aren’t able to answer any of their questions, as they all come at you all at once. You shake your head lightly, trying to assure them without using too many words. "It's nothing," you manage, though the throbbing in your side argues otherwise. Mary Beth looks skeptical, her eyes narrowing as she inspects the wound more closely.

"Just a scrape," you repeat, hoping to dissuade further inquiry.

“Let me be the judge of that,” Susan, with a lantern in her hand, pushes her way to the table and pulls up a chair beside you. “Move aside, girls…” And seeing where your hand is placed, she quickly grabs it and pulls it away from your side.

The movement is enough for the pain to sharply course through you and you bend into your side. “Ow…!”

She holds the lantern up close and squints to focus her vision. “You got shot, alright.”

You then hear Hosea’s voice as he approaches. “Shot?”

His tone is a mix of worry and disbelief. Hosea, always the peacekeeper, never likes hearing about injuries, especially when it comes to someone he considers family. You see the concern in his eyes as he kneels beside you, his weathered face etched with years of hardship but always maintaining that gentle kindness.

"Yes,” you answer. “I didn’t realize it until after we took them all out.”

Hosea’s brow furrows. “Took who all out?”

“O’Driscolls!” Bill growls, with an edge of excitement in his voice. “It was like old times, Hosea. You shoulda seen her!”

Hosea turns to look back at you. “Can’t seem to recall the old times including Kit getting shot.”

You frown. “I guess I am not as nimble as I used to be,” you manage a weak smile, trying to lighten the mood despite the throbbing pain that suggests the bullet did more than just graze you.

“What’s this about O’Driscolls?”

Those gathered around you turn to see Dutch and Micah, walking up to you with narrowed glances.

John steps forward, standing right behind you as you sit in your chair. “Kit got Kieran to talk, and we attacked one of their hideouts. Got a good payout, too.”

Dutch looks at you, arching a brow. “Did she, now?”

You swallow and nod your head confidently. “Yes, I did.”

“Well, ain’t she just a go-getter?” Micah says condescendingly. “For someone who can’t remember a lick, she seems pretty eager to get back into the saddle…get us in trouble.”

Hosea furrows his brow. “I hardly see a bunch of dead O’Driscolls and a handful of cash trouble, Micah.”

And Micah doesn’t have an answer for that, only lifting his chin and snickering, like he’s got a winning hand and terrible poker face.

Dutch looks at you. “You got Kieran to talk?”

You nod. “All it takes is a gentle hand.”

He almost laughs at that. “You always did have a way with people, Kit,” Dutch says warmly, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Even when they’re as stubborn as mules.” He glances at Hosea before turning to walk away. “You make sure she gets treated for that wound,” he calls over his shoulder. Micah only leers at you before going in the opposite direction. Good. You hate seeing him try to be Dutch’s shadow, even after the sun has gone down.

Hosea nods, giving you a concerned look. “He’s right, you know,” Hosea says softly, his voice low as he takes your hand. “You’ve got a knack for this, but don’t push yourself too hard.”

You smile, feeling a sense of pride. “I just want to be myself again.”

Hosea shakes his head, his expression softening. “We need to get this cleaned up before it gets infected.”

Susan nods, and gestures for Mary Beth to bring some clean cloths and whiskey. "Mary Beth, if you could also prepare some of that poultice we have in the medicine wagon and meet me by the lean-to. It’ll help with the inflammation."

Mary Beth nods firmly, bustling away to fetch the items while others clear a space around you on the table. Hosea pats your shoulder and you look up at him. You can see the relief in his eyes and you can’t help but feel a little guilty for worrying him. You watch as he walks away and gestures for the onlookers to carry on as they were.

“Come this way, Kitka,” Susan beckons, helping you stand up and walk you back to your tent. “Tilly, come with me.” She helps you sit down and without a second thought, helps you unbutton your shirt. “Let’s see how bad it is…”

As Susan carefully peels back the fabric, her hands are steady but her brow is furrowed in concentration. The cool evening air brushes against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine from the sudden rush of cold.

“Cut through your chemise, too,” she says regretfully.

“Yes, ma’am,” you say and she gently moves the fabric around to get a better look at your wound.

Leaning back, she rolls up her sleeves, preparing to treat your wound with the practiced care of someone who's seen too many injuries in her lifetime. “Tilly, get me some water.”

Tilly nods, and turns to leave the tent just as Mary Beth returns with a bottle of whiskey, cloth, and a mortar filled with crushed herbs. Sitting down, she sets everything down beside you, and Susan takes the bottle of whiskey. You can already sense what is about to happen.

Tilly quickly returns, and stands by with a basin of warm water and the clean cloths, ready to assist.

“Ouch!” You grimace as Susan begins to clean the wound. The sharp sting of whiskey follows, making you suck in a breath through clenched teeth.

"All right, Kit," Susan sighs. “You’re going to have to hold still for just a little longer. Mary Beth, please finish mixin’ the poultice while I finish cleanin’ this up.”

Mary Beth nods, her hands deftly working the mortar, grinding the herbs with a pestle. The scent of yarrow and chamomile fills the tent, a gentle earthy aroma that contrasts the gunpowder and woodsmoke on your skin.

You’ve been treated by a doctor only recently, but somehow, nothing seems to compare to the gentle care of these three women, who have been by your side through thick and thin. Each touch and motion is infused with a kinship that no formal medical training could provide. They move around you with a seamless choreography, one born of many nights spent huddled in dimly lit tents, tending to one another's bruises and breaks.

If you had any doubts as to where you were, you don’t anymore.

You are home.

***

“Ah…! It is sooo good to be back with you all again…!” An unfamiliar voice bellows loudly into the night, causing you to rise from your rest. After being bandaged and given one of Mary Beth’s shirts to wear, you are cleaned up and ready to recover. You managed to close your eyes for just a few minutes, before the sound of hoofbeats and the loud Irish accent came storming through camp.

And, of course, you’re too curious for your own good.

Easing yourself out of your bedroll carefully, you step outside the tent, steadying yourself against the wooden pole. The camp is alive with energy, a stark contrast to the quietude that enveloped it just moments ago. Lanterns are lit, casting flickering shadows across the faces of your companions gathered around a figure near the campfire.

You see faces who weren’t there before. Charles. Javier. They are back.

And there, standing on a crate with a lopsided grin, is a red headed young man in a gray shirt. “…Uncle Sean is back! And don’t you worry, Ms. Grimshaw, old crone. I’ll keep dem girls in line, if I have to whip’em, I will…!”

Tilly, standing nearby, yells back at him. “I’d like to see you try…!”

Sean. This is Sean Macguire. But if he’s back, then…

Where’s Arthur?

You look over at Charles and he meets your gaze and smiles politely. You haven’t really talked to him much, but he seems the type to be friendly when it calls for it.

Carefully holding your side, you walk over to him. “Hello, Charles.”

“Hi, Kit.” He notices your hand. “You okay?”

You shrug it off. “It’s just a grazing. I’ll manage. But…” your voice trails off as you glance around, hoping to catch a glimpse of the one face you want to see more than any other. “Arthur—is he…?”

Charles's expression softens, understanding immediately who you're asking about. “Ah,” he says, a hint of sympathy in his voice. “He hung back for a bit. Lookin’ to see if the bounty hunters had left anything valuable.”

Your eyebrows raise. “Bounty hunters?”

Charles nods. “Mmhm. That’s how we got Sean back.” You both look back at the already inebriated Irishman, who can barely keep his balance on the crate as he raves on about how much he loves everyone and to have fun tonight. “Now I’m having second thoughts.”

You chuckle, but that causes your side to hurt more. “Ouch.”

“Hey, you should take it easy.”

“Oh, I intend to, I just wanted to see what the fuss was about before I try to get back to sleep.”

Charles shakes his head. “If you say so.”

You hear music begin to play and look to see Javier with his guitar and those gathered begin to sing. “You sing, Charles?”

He shakes his head. “Nope.”

“Oh.” You pause, and think to ask him a question. “Do I?”

Charles raises an eyebrow, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "You? Sing?" He chuckles softly, leaning back against the wagon. "Can't say I've ever heard you, but I figure if you wanted to, you'd have a voice worth listening to."

You smile tentatively, appreciative of his compliment. “I like you, Charles.”

He smiles back warmly, chuckling. "You’ve always spoken your mind, Kit. I learned that quickly when I met you six months ago.”

You tilt your head, and your smile fades. “Did I? Does that offend you?”

He looks at you funny, then shakes his head. “Of course, not. I appreciate it. You've always got a way about you that's...calming. Even in times like these."

Appreciation shadows your face as you look around at the ragged band of outlaws, finding comfort in the familiar albeit battered faces. The fire casts dancing shadows and for a brief moment, the flickering light seems to illuminate a path directly to Arthur as he strides back into the camp. Relief floods through you so powerfully that your knees nearly buckle.

Arthur's eyes search the crowd until they land on you. His stride quickens, his face a mix of concern and something deeper, softer.

But Dutch catches him, calling his name. “Arthur…!”

Arthur stops in his tracks, changing directions and walks toward the charismatic leader. “You seem to be in a good mood…”

Charles must see the dissatisfied look on your face, for he chuckles softly. “Everyone’s always fighting for his attention. But you needn't worry. He's always made time for you."

You watch as Arthur laughs at something Dutch says, throwing his head back in a display of genuine amusement that you've seldom seen recently. His laughter is a warm sound in the cool night, inviting yet somber when laced with the undercurrents of the looming dangers that shadow your gang. It's a rare sight that softens the edges of your worry for just a moment.

As the music grows louder and the singing more fervent, you feel an unfamiliar ache to join in, to let go of the burden of secrets and fears for just a little while, but you want to talk to Arthur. You have questions you want answered.

Leaving Charles, you make your way over to the rugged outlaw as he continues to converse with Dutch.

Dutch is smiling, with a newly lit cigar in his hand. “…We’re havin’ a party! We’re celebratin’!” Then just as he sees you coming, his smile dissappears. “Do you mind, Kit? Arthur’s just got back, and—”

Arthur holds out a hand, clearly trying to calm Dutch down. “No, Dutch, it’s alright.” And not waiting for a response, he turns to look at you, his eyes soft. “How’ve you been? Gettin’ along fine?”

You nod, trying to get into the conversation, despite Dutch’s intense gaze. “Yes, I have.”

“She’s been gettin’ along, alright,” Dutch quips as he begins to walk away. “Gettin’ herself shot.”

Arthur quickly looks at you, his eyes narrowing with worry. "What?" His voice rises slightly, an edge of panic threading through the gruffness.

You quickly shake your head, trying to dismiss his concern. "Arthur, it’s—it's nothing, really." You place your hand on your side, indicating where the bullet touched you.

But he’s still catching up. “You got shot?!” Arthur’s voice booms, louder than you intended, and a few heads turn in your direction. You wince, not wanting to make a spectacle, but his concern is palpable, radiating from him like the heat from the distant campfire.

“It’s just a graze,” you try to reassure him, your voice softer now.

And thankfully, he mirrors your tone, lowering his voice slightly. “When?”

“Today…”

“What happened?”

You look around, avoiding his gaze. “Erm…Well…Arthur, erm…” You tuck some loose hair behind your ear. “John, Bill, and I, we—we…We raided an O’Driscoll hideout.”

“An O’Driscoll hideout?” He steps closer to you, and you quickly pick up the familiar scent of tobacco and leather. “How did you figure out where they were?”

“Erm…Kieran told us.” You punctuate your answer as though it were a question, your heart racing at the close proximity to Arthur.

Arthur nods his head, almost approvingly. “Dutch got him to talk, huh?”

That’s when you hear John’s voice behind you. “No! She did.”

Arthur turns to look at John, his brow pinched in confusion. “What?”

“Is that all you’re here to say? ‘What?’” John chortles. “Kit’s back, Arthur! You didn’t think she was just gonna sit around and do nothin’, did you?”

Arthur looks confused, letting his head tilt backward as he eyes the two of you. “Back?” Then he looks at you, his eyes widening a little. “Y-you remember everythin’…?”

You shrug your shoulders. “Well…no…I remember a little of where I came from…and I learned what I can do with explosives and, uh, incendiary buckshot…” You look up at him and grin as you proudly list off the things that you’ve learned. “I can do all those things…!”

Arthur looks at you, almost with skepticism. “Really?”

John nods. “Yeah! She set their cabin on fire and we managed to get some money.” He holds up his beer as though to drink a toast to you. “It was a good day.” And he brings the bottle to his lips, takes a long sip, hands it to Arthur, and walks away from you to go relieve himself in the bushes outside of camp.

You look back at Arthur and he’s quiet. His gaze is piercing, as if trying to convey what he wants to say but isn’t choosing to. But you don’t like being kept in suspense. “What’s wrong?”

“Are you crazy, woman…?”

You nearly scoff, not affected by his reaction. “No…” But you still punctuate your reply as though it were a question.

He almost begins to pace, but stops to look back into your eyes as he gestures to the trees beyond the camp. “You—you just got back, still tryin’ to figure things out, and you go runnin’ off shootin’ O’Driscolls?”

You shrug. “Well…It’s better to shoot O’Driscolls than at innocent people, Arthur…!” And you think of another reason. “It helps the gang, doesn’t it?” He doesn’t answer and you can see his muscles tensing. You want to be calm and reason with this overprotective behavior he’s exhibiting. You step closer to him, but not too close. “Look, I figured that…The last time that I was able to…” You flippantly pantomime with your hands, like you are crafting something. “…whip up stuff, when I figured out any kind of skill that I had, I was in danger—”

“So you did this just to put yourself at risk, is that—is that it?”

“Yes! That is what I did…!”

Arthur throws his head back to look at the sky, chortling in a frustrated way and throws up his hands. “You’re so stubborn…!”

You rest a hand on your hip. “And you’re not?” You lean toward him, tilting your head to look at him with your right eye. “You’re not stubborn at all?” You laugh. “Arthur Morgan…! You’re one to talk!” And you laugh too hard, hurting your side. You bend into it, placing your hand on the wound. “Ow…!”

He crosses his arms, looking at you as though you kind of deserved that. “Where’d you get shot?”

And you answer pathetically. “My side.” And you try to recover with making it not so big of a deal. “It’s just a graze, the bullet barely touched my skin, I’m fine.”

Arthur begs to differ.

“You’re fine?” His voice carries a mix of anger and concern, a tone you’ve come to understand all too well. “You call bendin’ over and clutchin’ your side ‘fine’?”

You straighten up, still feeling the sting but ignoring it best you can. “Susan took care of me.” And you gesture to the campfire where Hosea sits with the others. “Hosea even said she did a good job. I’m fine.” Arthur just stares at you, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. You feel that you need to be honest with him, maybe he can be convinced that you weren’t so crazy to risk your life. You begin to speak softly, almost pleading for his good nature to listen to you. “Arthur, it felt really good to do that.”

He swallows. “It did?”

“Of course, it did! I feel more at home now than I have in a while. I mean…Kieran is now one of us!”

He raises a brow. “Is he?”

“Well, he still has some earning to do, but I think people will start trusting him now.”

“You want him to stay?”

“He’s a gentle soul, Arthur.” Arthur goes quiet for a while, and you begin to question if there’s something more going on. You can't shake the feeling that something is troubling him deeply, something he isn't voicing. "Are you alright?

He looks away, then back at you, his eyes searching yours as if debating how much to reveal. Then he nods. “Yeah…We got Sean back.”

You look over to where the Irishman sits, with Karen on his lap. “Yeah, I see that,” you chuckle. “Some people seem to be happy.”

He laughs at your joke. “But not all?”

“Maybe not.”

“You remember him?”

You shake your head. “No, but I have a feeling I will regret it when I do.”

Arthur laughs and tucks his chin, saying something under his breath. “…funny…”

“What’s that?”

“I said you’ve always been funny.”

You can’t help but raise an eyebrow and tilt your head, teasingly asking, “Funny looking?”

His cheeks almost burn pink and he ducks his head again, shaking it. “No.” And as though wanting to change the subject, he quickly asks you a question. “So, how’d you handle it?”

“Handle what?”

“The O’Driscolls?”

You shrug nonchalantly. “I don’t know, it just…came natural to me.” He looks at you and you figure he’s asking for more of an explanation as he begins to take a drink of the beer in his hand. “I just saw they had three women with them…and figured if you can’t beat them, join them.”

At your words, Arthur instantly spits out his beer away from you, coughing as he tries to regain his composure. "You what?" he splutters, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth.

You can't help but laugh at his reaction. "Arthur, I said if you can’t beat them—"

“I heard what you said! What do you mean by that?”

The corners of your mouth twitch in amusement as you try to explain it to the concerned outlaw. “I mean, that I pretended to…be one of them!” He looks at you with great skepticism. “I’m serious! I walked up there…” And you begin to reenact the way you walked, your hips exaggeratedly swaying. “Just…like this…” And you twinge your side. “Ow…! And…and they believed it.”

He still looks at you, like you just grew another arm. “They believed it?”

“Yes! Well enough to get one to…walk into the cabin with me.” The way he looks at you is utter shock, his eyes as wide as the plains, his skin almost pale. “Why, Arthur! You look like you’ve seen a ghost!”

He swallows thickly, his voice a low rumble when he finally speaks. “Just…never thought you’d do somethin’ like that…”

Oh…he thinks you did it. You shake your head. “John…John said that is something that I’ve done before. Entertain and distract.”

“Well that part’s right, but, not about bringin’ men in cabins wit’chu…”

You look at him nonplussed. “Arthur, I didn’t do anything. It’s fairly simple, I knocked him out, tied him up, and threw him out the window.”

He almost looks relieved, a light chuckle breaking through his disbelief. "You threw him out the window?" he asks, sounding more amused now than anything.

"Yes, and not gently either," you admit with a shrug, feeling a flutter of pride at your own resourcefulness under pressure. Arthur shakes his head, the corners of his mouth turning upwards. You remember that boy you tied up, and what happened afterward. “I want you to know…Kieran saved my life.”

Arthur's eyebrows lift, surprise momentarily displacing the earlier tension. "Kieran?" he echoes, his voice tinged with a mix of disbelief and curiosity. His stance shifts as he grips the neck of the beer bottle, the dim light from the campfire casting shadows across his face. "How'd that happen?"

You nod as you explain. “The man I tied up? Well, I guess I didn’t tie him well enough…He could have shot me, but Kieran got to him with my own rifle.”

Arthur looks at you, surprised. “Your own gun?”

You almost roll your eyes. “Yes, my own.” You pause, remembering the weight of the rifle in your hands, how it felt like an extension of your own body. “I bought two guns, figured I should if I am going to be helping—”

He shakes his head. “No. No, you’re not gonna be doin’ that.”

“What? I just—”

“I know what you just did, but if anyone had a brain they wouldn’t have let you step near an O’Driscoll hideout.” He shakes his head. “Marston and his half-eaten…”

“I’m trying to get my memories back!”

“Risking your life? That really worth it?”

You fold your arms, not willing to relinquish your decision. “I feel like my headaches are mild in comparison to that…Arthur, it felt good to not feel like a delicate little flower. I…I don’t want to be delicate.”

Then he says something under his breath, but you catch it this time. “That’s a fact…”

“What?”

His eyes widen and he pauses, clearly trying to come up with something else. “I said…there’s a rat…!” And he points by your tent, looking at you to see if you’ve bought it.

You cross your arms. “That isn’t what you said.”

Not denying it, he lifts his brow. “Will you take it then?”

Indignant, you lift your chin. “I don’t know if I want to. You seem to do that when you don’t want to answer questions you don’t want to answer. Like a couple days ago.”

He sighs, clearly understanding what you’re talking about. “I had to go.”

“Oh, you did? You couldn’t just stay for a few minutes to talk to me?” He avoids your gaze for a minute. He’s doing it again. “Arthur Morgan, if we grew up together, that might as well make us friends, right?” You pause, but he doesn’t answer. “Right?”

He sighs, relenting, and he closes his eyes as he tucks his chin. “Right.”

You grin, satisfied that he agrees with you instead of making up an excuse. “Okay, then. So if I ask a question, you just say that you don’t want to talk about it instead of slopping off on me like that. Fair?”

“Fair.” And after a moment, his eyes soften and a small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “You’re talkin’ different.”

“What?” Your brow pinches and after thinking about it, you begin to wonder if it’s true. “Have I always talked…different?”

“No, you’re just…soundin’ more like yourself.”

You smile and you can’t help but feel something. Relief? Flattered? You aren’t sure, but you’ll take it. “I guess that’s a compliment?”

He blinks softly, his blue-green eyes never leaving you. “Yeah. It is.”

A silence falls between you, letting the sounds of the singing and partying waft over to you. As the sound of raucous laughter and the strum of a guitar drift closer, you feel a strange mix of comfort and unease; it's like stepping back into a life that both is and isn't yours. Arthur watches you, his gaze fixed as if trying to read your thoughts from across the small space between you.

“Arthur…?”

He nods at you, speaking more calmly than before. “Yeah?”

You swallow, nervous about asking the question that is begging to force its way out. You’ve asked a similar question to the girls but you feel more anxious this time, for whatever reason. “Were we close?”

His intense gaze flickers back and forth between you and the dense forest behind you. The dancing flames of the fire can break bye to cast shadows across his face, adding depth to the already visible lines of worry etched into his skin. You can feel the weight of his unspoken thoughts hanging in the air between you. "What do you mean?" he finally asks.

"I mean...were we close? Did we have deep conversations? Share secrets?" Your impatience seeps through your words as you lean against the table, watching him closely. He falls silent, causing your impatience to grow even more. "Arthur?" you prompt him.

Finally, he answers with a flippant tone. "We grew up together."

But that response isn't enough for you. "That's what you always say. I want to know if there are things that I told you that I didn't tell anyone else." Your voice betrays a hint of desperation as you search his face for any signs of recognition or understanding.

“Maybe.” There is a heaviness in his answer, a sort of resignation, but it still maintains a vagueness that bothers you.

You’re eager to know and so you reply quickly. “Like what?”

Then he stammers, his words coming out in a jumbled mess. “I-I-I don’t know! I don’t know what you may have told anyone else.”

Your eagerness deflates and your brow furrows in frustration. “That’s not helpful at all.”

He responds with agitation, as if nothing ever pleases you. “Well, I’m sorry.” But then his expression softens and he lets out a remorseful sigh. “I’m sorry.”

“Arthur, I just want to be normal.”

He lets out a rough chuckle. “We ain’t normal, Kit.”

“You—Well, I hoped you knew what I meant…!” You roll your eyes and let out a self-deprecating laugh, fully aware of the fact that you are both wanted outlaws. “I want to be myself again. I feel like I’ve been getting closer and closer…” The weight of your words hangs in the air, the unspoken truth of the necessity of your memories constantly weighing down on you.

He clears his throat, encouraging you to talk with a gesture of his hand. “Well, what parts do you remember? What parts of you spurred on besides relearnin’ your skill set?”

“Well, for one thing, I grew up in a circus.”

He nods, his brows lifted in a soft surprise. “That’s true.”

You’re almost astonished, glad that your mind wasn’t actually playing tricks on you. “Really? That’s true?”

He smiles softly. “Yeah.”

And then, suddenly, you begin to hear a gramophone playing, a light waltz music sweeping through the night air. Dutch steps out of his tent, finding Molly and asks her to dance.

You look back at the tired cowboy sitting next to you. “Do you dance, Arthur?”

He leans back, caught off guard by your question. “Me?” He looks away bashfully. “Hardly much of a dancer.”

You look on and watch the two dancers, smiling as a memory brings itself to the forefront of your thoughts. “I remember dancing.”

“Do you?” After thinking about it, he nods. “Oh, that’s right, you told me.”

“Yes, I think it was my family. The circus? I think we were all dancing in a circle. I was little then.” You laugh at the thought. “I practically danced around today, doing backflips for the O’Driscolls.”

He gazes off into the distance, his expression wistful as he reminisces. “Yeah, you were pretty good at those.”

You turn to him with a quizzical look. “Was I?”

He nods, a small smile playing on his lips. “Mhm. You tended to use it a lot when you were tryin’ to get people to look the other way.” He sits down at the nearby table, finally relaxing after a long day of dealing with bounty hunters and Sean Macguire. “We could always count on you to do that.”

You sit next to him and you let out a sigh. “People don’t seem to want to count on me now.” You can’t help but feel a pang of disappointment and uncertainty in your abilities, even with what you were able to accomplish today.

Arthur looks at you softly, with empathy. “That ain’t true.”

His words offer a semblance of comfort, but the skepticism lingers in your heart, like a stubborn stain. “Is it though?” You go quiet for a moment and glance over at the dancing couple again, Dutch and Molly’s movements fluid and synchronous under the ethereal moonlight. “I just want people to trust me.”

He sets the beer bottle on the table, his attention seeming to have drifted elsewhere. His eyes scan the camp, taking in everything with a sense of unease. “Seems like people should be wantin’ that from you.”

You look at him, raising an eyebrow and speak with a hint of skepticism in your voice. “Really? You mean who should I trust?”

His gaze meets yours, a flicker of earnestness softening the rugged lines of his face, his sincerity surprising you. “Exactly.”

A small laugh escapes your lips as you look away. “Even within the gang?” you ask, half-jokingly.

But his response is serious and unwavering. “Shoah. You never know what things’ll do to people.” The weight of his words hangs heavy in the air, reminding you of the constant danger and unpredictability that comes with this type of life.

“I see…” Your voice falls to a hush as you process his words. You can feel his gaze on you, waiting for a response. After a moment, you decide to lighten the mood, going back to something you were talking about. “Anyway, so, you don’t dance.”

He lifts a hand in response, as though it will sway you from the topic. “I never said I don’t dance.”

You lift your chin and look at him through half-lidded eyes. “So you do dance?”

He chortles. “I’m just not a good dancer.” The twinkle in his eyes tells you there may be more to it than he’s letting on.

“Can I be the judge of that?” Easing yourself off the chair without too much protest from your sore body, you turn around and offer a hand to him, his marine eyes staring into yours. “Will you dance with me?”

He hesitates, offering an excuse as his gaze flickers down to your side. “With your injury?”

You pout, a soft plea in your voice as you drop your arm. “Arthur, please.”

He scoffs, clearly torn between concern for your well-being and his own inner feelings. “I don’t wanna hurt you.”

But you’re determined, knowing that this moment may never come again. “I don’t want to be delicate.” He is quiet for a moment, his eyes flickering with something that you can’t quite place, but you feel something in your stomach, something warm and cold, heavy and light at the same time. “I’m not going to snap in two, I can bend backwards whenever I want.”

He chortles, tucking his head almost bashfully. “Yeah. Shoah.”

You offer your hand again. “Arthur…Will you dance with me?”

His reluctance begins to melt away at the desperation in your voice and he finally gives in, taking your outstretched hand and leading you away from the table and to a better spot. The music swells and envelops you as you guide his hand to your waist, the uninjured side, of course, and you take his other hand in yours.

The music, a soft, haunting melody that seems to drift on the evening breeze, wraps around you both like a whisper. Arthur's hand is steady on your waist, surprisingly gentle for a man of his stature and reputation. His other hand grips yours, fingers interlaced with a firmness that speaks of protectiveness rather than possessiveness.

You look up into his eyes, intending on being light and humorous, but you can’t find it in you. And you see it in his eyes, too.

Something about the way the moonlight catches his gaze, lends a vulnerability to his rugged features that tugs at your heart. He’s a mystery, and unlike your memories, it isn’t something you can throw danger at to get it to confess.

So, at least for now, you will let it go and let him hold you.

Thank you for reading!

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@photo1030 @eternalsams

[delicatedarknight]

Tim: so why should we select you?

Guy A: I'm rich and handsome

Dick: Bruce is literally a billionaire. are you saying you are more rich than him?

Jason: and handsome? Don't make me laugh you look worse than our family dog.

Guy A: ex-xcuse me??

Damian: you are excused. Now get out

Tim: and what about you?

Guy b: I can protect him

Damian: protect?? dad??

Dick: [scoffs] It's like saying you can protect Batman.

Guy b: but he ain't Batman though

Jason: bitch he might be

Damian: where did you even find these people Tim?

Jason: seriously? imagine saying u can protect Batman

Dick: nah bruh imagine flexing money and looks on Bruce

Tim: ok guys this is the last candidate for the day

Tim: so what makes you special?

Clark: I can cook for him

Jason:[snorts] What if you can cook for him? How can it help our Bruce?

Clark: I'm sorry I'm not as rich as him but I can cook, clean, and care for him

Dick: have you brought anything to claim your statement.

Clark:[places the pie] I brought this Kansas special apple pie-

Damian:[already on his second slice] ae-ets gsoo ghuuud

Jason, Tim, and Dick fighting for the last piece

Clark: uh..soo

Damian:[clears his throat] You are selected.

Dick: Definitely

Jason: prepare your vows

Tim: btw who recommended you? Because you have a really ordinary background

Clark: oh it was Bruce

[collective HUH from batkids]

Clark: [snickering] It was to get approved by you guys

[collective even louder HA]

Clark: [laughing] That's because we are already dating

[collectively yelling WHAT]

Clark: [changing into Superman] hate to leave like this on our first meet but Metropolis needs me

[collective screaming]

[nekoashiii]

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ For me?

‧✧̣̥̇‧ : Lads men when you give them what they were looking for.

No warnings for this post! Just posting something to hop back on tumblr, request me your ideas, I will do my best to write them all!

Ps I know this is bad but bear with me it’s been a year since I last wrote anything…

Part 1: sylus

⨯ ◞ Sylus

Sylus had been looking for a specific item, it was a protocore, one he had been looking for relentlessly, every wanderer he had hunted down or ordered someone to go after, lacked what he needed.

there was the noise again— you blinked up at the ceiling, sylus tripping over an open cabinet door at your apartment, if his biggest enemies couldn’t take him out, your bathroom would. “Too small and too tight, out for my blood” he complained.

He left you with no sleep that night, it wasn’t his fault really, nights were his morning and vice versa. you got out of bed and went to the living room, the room lit up with a notification buzzing from sylus’s phone, curiosity got the better of you and you leaned over, reading the message.

Unknown: “We didn’t find the protocore tonight either, sorry boss—“

Huh, how odd, you clicked on the message. There was a picture attached. that protocore’s shape looks like the one in the hands of the hunter association, you can attempt to get it. The idea of getting Sylus that protocore lingered in your mind, even as you yawned and rubbed the sleep from your eyes. It was the first time you had seen him chase after something, and as such seeing him frustrated was a rare thing.

— Wouldn’t it be interesting if you got to it first?

The Hunter Association was no joke, though. They weren’t the type to hand over rare artifacts just because you asked nicely. Still, you had your own ways of getting things.

Next evening at your shift, you went to look for captian Jenna

“Captain, excuse me! Protocore delta-6, I need it for the mission I’m going on, do I have the permission to borrow it?”

you suppose it did work, you had managed to borrow it, but still not safely secured as an owned possession. The second step of your plan was a bit more tricky, having to go to a field of wanderers and making the excuse of the protocore breaking in your bag.

…wincing as you walked back to your apartment, avoiding your neighbors, not wanting them to look at you while you resembled a wet homeless rat, muddy shoes and hair clinging to your forehead like a miserable pet being bathed.

Great, house was empty. No sylus in sight, tiptoeing to the bedroom you pulled out the gift box and sat on the ground, injury from the wanderer be damned, thinking about actually surprising sylus with something good gave you enough good spirit and motivation to wrap the gift up. As you placed the protocore on the plush bedding of the box, a shadow loomed behind you.

“Of all people…”

The voice sent a chill down your spine. You barely had time to react before Sylus was looming over you, his sharp gaze locked onto the protocore nestled in its plush box.

“Get out of my room!” You snapped, instinctively pulling the box closer, but it was useless. Sylus moved fast—too fast. Before you could blink, he was crouched in front of you, his fingers already curled around the edge of the box.

He didn’t take it, though. Not yet.

Instead, he studied you, eyes flicking over your disheveled state—the ripped sleeve, the way you shifted slightly to favor your injured side. His expression darkened.

“You’re hurt.”

“It’s nothing,” you muttered, attempting to brush it off, but he wasn’t listening. His hand darted out, grabbing your wrist with controlled precision. You hissed as he pushed your sleeve back, revealing the fresh wound underneath.

Sylus exhaled sharply through his nose. “You went into a Wanderer field.” That didn’t sound like a question.

You yanked your arm away. “It was for a good cause.”

His gaze flicked back to the box. “You stole that.”

“I borrowed it,” you corrected. “Technically… At first.”

For a long moment, he was silent. Then, in one smooth motion, he plucked the box from your grasp. You tensed, expecting him to scold you, but instead, Sylus just stared at the neatly wrapped gift, his fingers resting lightly on the edges as if he didn’t quite believe it was real.

“You did this for me?” His voice was quieter now, carrying something unreadable beneath the usual sharpness. Before his stupid handsome face returned to the usual smirk.

You shrugged. “I figured if you were gonna be obsessed over it, I might as well beat you to it.”

Something flickered in his expression— amusement, surprise, something softer you couldn’t place. He let out a breathy chuckle, shaking his head. “You are getting brave kitten, doing dirty work? should I hire you as my assistant then.”

“You’re welcome,” you huffed, shifting to stand up. “Now, if you’re done being dramatic, I’d like to clean up and—”

You barely made it to your feet before Sylus moved. before you could step away one hand caught your wrist again—gentler this time. He didn’t say anything at first, just studied you, eyes sharp and calculating. Then, before you could protest, he raised your hand and pressed a slow, lingering kiss to the inside of your wrist.

Your heart did an embarrassing little flip.

[neigepomme]

˙ ✩°˖ ✈️ bulking szn / caleb x reader

synopsis; who knew your lovely and insanely strong boyfriend could get even more muscular — even more sexy. gotta thank bulking season for that!

⋆ 800 words / suggestive (NSFW) / fem reader / 2nd person

caleb's hot. he's been hot.

you know that, and everyone around you knows that — it's almost become a running joke how he gets stares from everyone when he's out and about.

what you didn't know is that he could get even more attractive. who could blame you, though? he looks like he inspired michelangelo's david — and he can get hotter? now that's just plain greedy. except it's happening, and all you can do is stare at him more than usual.

and here was your greek god of a boyfriend standing in the kitchen, preparing his protein shake. sitting at the kitchen island with your chin resting on your hand, you were staring at him, ogling him. his arms looked so good. how would they feel around your neck, you wondered — but your daydreams had to be cut short by the sound of a refrigerator door closing loudly.

"you know baby, a picture might last you longer. i can feel your eyes on me, and i'm not even facing you."

"mmh, i'm just not used to this whole," you make vague gestures in the air, "bulking thing. gotta stare and memorize it."

he laughs, and you keep on openly admiring him. when he mentioned that he'd be bulking soon, you just nodded, not entirely sure what that implied. the caleb you knew from your childhood and teenage years was strong, yes, but mostly athletic. this meatier, buffer version was new, but so, so, so welcome.

right now, his muscles weren't as defined as you were used to. he looked more.. soft. still as strong, but he seemed bigger — he could already dwarf you before, but now, it was way more serious. not only that, he's traded his looser shirtless tank tops for compression shirts, and it was such a delight for your eyes. his pecs looked bigger, and his back — his back. just a little more broad. just a hint more sexy. was it even legal to look that good?

but man, whenever you hugged him? it was like heaven held you in its embrace. the cherry on top of your very attractive (beef)cake. he was so much warmer too — caleb always ran hot. he's your personal heater during the winter months, but now? he was burning hot. or maybe is it just how you see him? who knows, honestly.

funniest thing about this situation, though? caleb knew you'd react like that upon seeing him get more buff, but he didn't know you'd be that affected by bulking season. he knew how much you enjoyed his physique, and bulking up in order to cut and get stronger and bigger than you, just seemed like a nice challenge. a good way to keep himself busy and please you.

there was one more thing though, way more challenging than keeping tracks of his macros in his new diet. you made it insanely difficult to keep his hands to himself. first, it was the staring. he was well aware that you couldn't really help yourself, he was there looking all handsome just for you. the half-lidded stares when he worked out, lingering glances at his arms and chest, bedroom eyes when he wore that compression shirt one size too small, were to be expected. the way you basically undressed him with your gaze occasionally made him flushed, but caleb couldn't even comment on it — he did the same to you practically daily.

and then came the physical touch.

caleb wasn't shy. he knew he looked attractive, and he knew that you found him attractive. he also knew you were touchy, but your touchiness increased tenfold when he started bulking, always poking and prodding at his body. a perpetually careful hand making goosebumps appear on his skin as you softly traced the lines of the veins on his arms. did you know what you were doing? or were you unconsciously exercising your right to touch his body as if it were yours to own. oh well, it basically was — he was your possession as much as you were his.

god, you made it so hard to hold back, though. caleb just wanted to manhandle you and show you that he wasn't just getting softer — his strength remained. he could still bend you whatever which way he pleased (and he knew you'd enjoy it), but he held back. he held back because after years of yearning, years of practiced patience, he knew the reward was worth it.

so caleb just kept on tolerating it. after all, bulking season wasn't over just yet — he could handle your hands roaming around a little more. three more weeks until he could show you his full potential.

you'd get your lovely buff caleb showing off his muscles for you, and in return, he'd get his even lovelier girlfriend underneath him and return all the physical touches he's been subjected to while bulking — he'll have you oh so pliant and responsive to his roughhousing in bed.

fair trade!

🍎 pomme's final notes — don't look at me too hard this is so self indulgent i just really like strong guys and i've been rewatching caleb content and his back is just. irresistible i'm gonna chew on him like those buff bear breads