#Red Writes

[red-doll-face]

Getting caught in the rain with Arthur leads to him finding creative ways to warm you up.

(high honor) arthur morgan x fem. reader

I love this trope! prob been done before but I cant resist... 😔Can you believe I wanted this to be a short head canon post?? LMAO it ended up way longer than that. That's why it has a more casual thing going on despite being super long 🥲Happy thanksgiving! This is for the girlies who are stuck with family and need something absolutely filthy to read !!! 💕💕💕💕💕

Warnings: NSFW content, vaginal sex, while honor isn't too relevant, arthur is very sweet and hes kind of a weenie here, in a good way! arthur does not have bad intentions here, he's genuinely a sweet little man...

-

Thinking of begging Arthur to take you away from camp for a while. Maybe you haven't had a bath in a bit or you're sick of hearing Swanson drunkenly parade around camp. But you've decided to ask Arthur, he's always so sweet to you and you know he won't say no. And Arthur and his stupid bleeding heart (the one that bleeds so much more for you) grumbles and pretends he's thinking about it but really he'd probably say yes to anything that came from your lips. He has no regrets when he sees the smile you give him. You're hoisted up onto the back of his horse, holding onto his waist so you don't fall. Arthur is desperately trying to play it cool. 

Then the rain starts coming down, you're soaked through very quickly and Arthur, such a gentleman, sheds his coat to give it to you, except now he is soaked through as well. The both of you are freezing and he tells you that you have to stop until the weather clears. He’s cussing up a storm worse than the one you're in. You nod, just wanting to be warm, wracked by shivers. He comes up on an abandoned shack and guides you inside, shutting the rain out. You're standing in the center of the room, looking like a wet cat after a miserable bath, Arthur is kind enough to take his coat off of you, giving you a ratty old, moth bitten blanket but it doesn't do much of anything for the cold. Trying to get a fire going proves fruitful but it's a small one and the wind blowing in from the flue almost puts it out several times.

Arthur feels so helpless, sitting there watching your teeth start to chatter as you sit in front of the pathetic little fire. He's trying to apologize (Ah, I’m sorry, I didn't know it was gonna come down like that,) but you only tell him it's not his fault. He has to help, all he wants to do is help. Things aren't getting any better and he doesn't want you to come down with something on account of him being an idiot. And then he gets an idea. He’s red all over flushed at the thought but he knows taking your soaking clothes off would help. And he's standing there, awkwardly, one hand rubbing the back of his neck while he tries to hide under his hat. He’s gently clearing his throat, trying to get your attention. 

“Maybe we could try… I…could…” he's nervously stumbling through his words and he's looking at you, sitting on the floor, desperately trying to warm your hands by the fire. You look up to him but he can hardly speak, so enraptured by the look of utter trust, reliance on him. His mouth hangs open but he swallows the lump of spit in his mouth. He tries to shake off these boyish jitters he gets around you. “Uhhh- I mean, it would be better if we weren't sittin’ round in these clothes, I guess, can’t be doin’ you any good...”  

“Really, you think so…?” Your voice is quiet and meek, struggling to say anything past the clicking of your teeth and the shivers. “Well then, turn around, Arthur,” at your obvious attempt to be modest, he nods stiffly and turns towards the wall, listening to you take your dress and your underskirts off, landing in a wet plop on the floor. You whine, peeling yourself out of your undergarments before a quiet ok leaves your lips. He turns and you're desperately covering yourself with that dusty blanket, legs bare, fabric hardly long enough to cover the soft mound between your legs, the fat of your inner thighs squished together. Arthur has a hard time keeping his gaze from locking onto any of the inviting bits of skin you show him. You're embarrassed, biting your lip, squeezing your arms around yourself. 

“Aren't you gonna- Arthur, you're gonna do it too, right?” Arthur has a hesitant nod and a course even though he just now thought he should probably follow along to help make you more comfortable. He’s removing his hat first, nothing to hide under now and he notices that you watch him take his gun belt off, unfastening his suspenders from his pants. You finally look away, his boots and his pants are peeled off and his shirt is unbuttoned. He’s breathing heavily now, naked as the day he was born. But you won't stop shivering. Your hair is still wet. And the fire is struggling to warm you from the bitter cold that clings to the dusty air. There isn't much left to burn for the fire. 

“You want me to hold you?” It's out of his mouth before he can stop it, trying to smack away these thoughts about the glimpses he’s getting of your naked figure underneath the blanket. He swears it's only out of necessity, that you're just not warming up fast enough. “Don’t want you gettin’ sick on me,” He really does only want you comfortable. Unrealistically hoping this won't change what you most likely consider a friendship. You nod, vigorously. 

“I think it would be ok, maybe if you just didn’t- didn’t look. Just- don’t look,” and you're desperate, curling up in his lap in front of the wavering fire. You're unable to look at him, but you still rub into him, enjoying how his body warms up a lot faster than yours. And both of you make some excuse that things would be better without that old blanket between you two. And suddenly you're pressed into him, his arms tight around you while he looks at the ceiling to avoid staring at things he shouldn't. Arthur struggles hard to keep from rubbing upwards into you, trying to keep you from sitting directly between his legs, afraid the way his body reacts to the feel of your body will scare you, scandalize you. But you only seem to want to be there more, getting comfortable with him. His chest hair tickles you, the hair creeps all the way down his torso. You giggle softly as it tickles you. His heart beats fast at the feel of you, so soft compared to the roughness of him.

As if all of the blood hasn't already rushed down to the very center of him, you just have to sit squarely on his lap. He tries to readjust you but it's too late and you've felt him, hard as a rock, pushing at you. He's so embarrassed, stumbling over an apology, “Shit-I-I’m sorry, I-” in that surly voice, all rough and low. you gasp and look over your shoulder. You see how he can hardly stand to look at you with his pretty blue gem-toned eyes. Instead he shows you his profile as he turns away. 

“It's ok”, Arthur has no idea how he's supposed to look at you after this, he can't see himself looking you in the eyes for a long while after you've felt his cock nudging the swell of your ass, unable to deny his own reaction to you. Hopefully he’ll be able to dismiss it as a fluke and not a devastating hope that you’d be interested in him that he's been crushing down for months now. He's trying to will away the burgeoning desire just under his skin, tamping down fires that rage on. And you look up at him again with that look of trust in your eyes, too ashamed to continue touching you, wholeheartedly convinced you don't like him. 

But then you're only closer than you were, looking up at him, so close, he's breathing in your scent, sweet and like fresh summer rain. His eyes search yours for any inclination and all you have to do is put your hand on his prickly cheek for him to lean and kiss you, hands on his broad chest, rushing over the warmth you can feel. How he ends up with you on his lap, tits pressed up against his hairy chest, his big hands squeezing at your hips, he's not too sure. Your arms are over his shoulders, playing with his light brown hair sweetly, rubbing the sore muscles in his back. And the glide of his tongue over yours is heaven, he swears. You whine into his kisses, the heat between the both of you licks over your skin, noses clumsily bumping into each other. 

Then he’s on top of you, tucking you over the blanket. “You gotta tell me you want this, want me,” and all you can do is say “Yes, please, Arthur, please,” features showing your ecstasy, anticipating his hands on you.

His hands are rough; petting down your sides. Any worries he had about being too old, too ugly and too brutish for you are forgotten when you kiss him, spread your legs for him to fit between them. When you push your breasts in his hands when he goes to touch them. Your nipples are hard from the cold but his hands start to warm them up when he gropes at them, squeezing languidly at your breasts, grabbing handfuls.

It's not long before he’s pinning your thighs up with his hands, spreading you and licking eagerly between your legs, so selfless. Letting you moan as loud as you like, telling you how good you taste, the roughened pads of his fingers circling at the sensitive button at the top of your slit. And he's so strong, doesn't put much effort into keeping your legs up. He has dulcet praises for you, “Such a pretty girl, darlin’, jus’ beautiful,” making you soften and ease.

He’s so warm, holding you, like you wanted him to, messy kisses that taste like you. The very tip of him catches on you, dipping softly between your folds. Your nails dig into him, thighs clench tight. He's sweet talking to you, shushing you, rubbing hard at the delicate little nub, getting you as wet as possible. Saying how good you look. How he must be dreaming. That’s my girl is what he says when you soak his fingers with your own arousal, heat rising to the apples of your cheeks. Even more when he's working his cock inside of you, panting, he seems overwhelmed, mumbling and groaning praises to you, his sweet girl, perfect in that slow easy voice of his. You feel him carefully easing you open, hissing at the feel of you wrapped tight on him and leaking down his shaft. You can't say much but his name, begging him not to stop, feeling his fingers almost bruise the tender softness of your hips. 

Arthur pushes so deep, a growl of pleasure leaking from his lips. You didn't think he would feel so big. Telling him how big he is and feels; “You're so big, Arthur,” in a wispy moan, makes him groan. He just wants to hear how much you like him. The rhythm he was trying to keep slow and careful speeds up. And he doesn't last very long, poor thing. It's been a while for him and he's flushed bright red, embarrassed and feeling a tad emasculated. The disappointed son of a bitch he lets out has you petting his hair back tenderly.

But all you have to do is give him a minute, kiss and nip gently, lock your legs around him so he can't pull away, until he's pushing his own seed deeper, mindlessly pinning you under his weight. He loves feeling so close to you, so small underneath him. 

The way you feel clenching down on him, moaning for him, begging him to keep going has him rutting into you, following his instincts, brain feeling like it's melting. He's harder than he has ever been, listening to the sound of your wetness slide on him, the mess he’s left between your thighs sounding dirty and sticky. You don't have to tell him to keep rubbing you, grinding your hips into his so he can press into the perfect spot. 

His thumb is rubbing at the very center of you, that tender bud, so sensitive, has you pushed to the edge and falling over, legs locking up behind him, bucking and moaning much too loud. You sink your fingers into the layer of fat over his broad muscles, arching your back, feeling so complete. Seeing you so relaxed, feeling so good because of him makes him push as deep as he can, making your toes curl, forcing more of his cum even deeper, a sloppy wet mess that drips out of you when he pulls out. But he revels in those few moments where he's catching his breath, still so deep inside of you, feeling you pulse on him. 

Arthur can’t not hold you afterwards, unsure what to say. He thinks it might be too soon for I love you, maybe you’ll be scared away by his raw sentiments and his lovesick words. But you stare into his eyes; his heart jumps when he blurts it out in the silence, too late to shut his damn mouth. But you only smile and say you love him too. You're the farthest thing from cold, tucked into his chest, not even noticing that the rain has stopped.

Thank you for reading! SO sorry this ended up being so long. Excited to write more for high honor arthur, this was more fun than i thought... I love him 😔😳

[reddsl1mer]

i wanna ride him while hes wearing those ears and chains. i wanna see him so so restless and overstimulated under me, babbling and rambling about how good he feels and that hes about to cum for the 4th time that night. i wanna tell him how good hes being for letting me use him and breed him while i bounce on his achingly hard cock and pull on the choker thats fixed so tightly on his neck. and then we’d do it all again the next morning. and then that night.

anyways sorry guys im freaky tonight

[redwiddershins]

"Brought to Light"

Synopsis: One morning soon after the world had gone to hell, Xaria and Monty give Lyle a beat-down, leading Sam to learn about what's hiding in Lyle's darkroom. People eagerly offer Sam their (unsolicited) opinions as questionable choices are made.

Read it on AO3!

[lets-just-daydream]

PLS only if you want to but i have been searching the web infinitely for a fic where astarion has a nightmare about tav being taken/injured/turned by cazador, and when he wakes up he can't find her. your writing is so beautiful ik you would do this justice omg ty in advance if you decide to do this

AS IF YOU COULD SEND ME THIS AND I WOULDN'T WRITE IT ANON

*

Your body ached as you hunched over the cold, damp floor. The shackles dug into your wrists as you looked around helplessly, hoping for something, anything to happen. On one hand you wanted to get out of here and you knew only one person would be able to help. But on the other, you knew being saved was a death wish for your saviour. For Astarion.

I mean, you two weren't really a thing or anything but you'd had some late night trysts and had become close friends since then. Well, you had feelings for him but you were quite certain he didn't see you in that way. Why would he? He was the cool, sexy, aloof vampire that had shut the world out. But you did hope he cared about your friendship enough to come save you.

You looked around at the suspended vampire spawn, clearly in pain and with no reprieve visible. How did you get into this mess in the first place? You weren't sure.

"I'm almost disappointed in that pathetic boy. I thought he would come for you," a grating voice said, pulling you out of your thoughts. "But, I'm not surprised."

You turned to look up at Cazador, his red eyes shining in the dim candlelight. He bared his fangs in an unhinged smile as he knelt next to you. "No matter. You will take his place."

You were used to the feeling of fangs piercing your neck, you'd let Astarion feed on you many times and you had learned to enjoy the sensation. But as Cazador drunk you dry, you felt burning cold and pain flood your entire body. You began to scream and writhe as he took deep, sloppy gulps, your fists weakly crashing against him to no avail. A tear rolled down your cheek as you felt your life force slipping away, a blurry vision of a white-haired pale elf entering your mind before your eyes closed permanently.

Astarion woke with a hoarse scream, sitting up in his tent and looking around. His body was tense and coated in a sheen of sweat and little half moons had imprinted in his palms where he had been clenching his hands in his sleep.

He didn't care about his physical state. His mind was on you. Was that a dream? Was it a vision of the future? Was Cazador showing him a play-by-play of what was happening right now? How could Cazador possibly know about his feelings for you? He kept them so well-hidden and hadn't even confessed to you that he… loved you.

At the thought that maybe Cazador did have you in his clutches and was sending Astarion a warning, he sprung up from his bedroll and to his feet, not bothering with a shirt as he stumbled out of his tent. His eyes locked onto your tent and he rushed over, nearly tripping over his own feet in his panic. His head was thundering and he knew if his heart could still beat, it would be beating out of his chest.

He called your name softly as he approached, pulling back the entry flap, looking for your sleeping form. His heart leapt into his throat when he saw you weren't there. It was the dead of night! Where were you? Did Cazador take you? Why? Wouldn't he just take Astarion instead?

His mind was racing as he started to hyperventilate, his body shaking. He had to go find you. Curse him and the feelings he had developed. Of course Cazador would take advantage of that, he couldn't believe he let himself be so stupid. If he had never gotten involved with you, you'd still be safe.

Astarion shook his head. Now wasn't the time for 'should haves.' He turned and exited your tent, coming to a stop as he gasped. You stood in front of him, squinty eyed and confused.

"Astarion?" You asked sleepily. "What are you doing here?"

He said nothing, only gaping at your uninjured form before letting out a shuddered sigh of relief. You stared at him, confused as to why he was having a freakout in your tent. Before you could ask him what had just happened, he leaned forward and wrapped you in a crushing hug. He had never felt such intense relief in all his long life. He nuzzled his face into your hair and breathed; you still smelled like you - no scent of any other vampires on you.

"Gods, you're okay," he whispered. He pulled back and glared at you. "Where the hells were you?! I was worried sick."

Your eyebrows shot up in confusion. "Not that it's any of your business, Astarion. But nature called."

He scoffed and mumbled something about 'humans and their annoying necessities.'

You weren't sure where this shitty mood was coming from so you pulled out of his arms and took a step back. You tried peering at his face to read his expression but the moonlight was limited and the campfire had gone out.

"What happened?" You asked.

Astarion looked a bit sheepish as he glanced left and right, making sure none of your other companions had left their tents. You sighed and stepped into your own tent, waving him in so you could have the extra privacy. You could tell something was on his mind that he wanted to talk about which was rare - you often had to prod him further before he would open up.

You sat cross-legged on your rolls and furs and Astarion joined you, mirroring your position. Neither of you spoke for a minute before Astarion sighed and looked up at you. "I… I had a nightmare."

"Oh, that's awful," your heart squeezed for him and you wanted to reach out and comfort him.

He'd mentioned a couple of nightmares to you previously, how they always manifested his absolute worst fears; Cazador capturing him and sacrificing him, Cazador burying him in a burning coffin as he tried to dig his way out. One of the saddest he had told you about was one where Cazador plucked him from your camp in the dead of night and Astarion had to watch as you and your merry group continued on like nothing was amiss. So, you had an idea that he'd had another awful dream about being kidnapped by Cazador.

"I'm here to listen if you'd like to talk about it," you said, deciding to reach for his hand and holding it.

Astarion looked down at your joined hands and couldn't help the slight flush to his face as he felt your warm, soft hand on his.

"This one…" He began with an inward hiss. "Was the worst nightmare I've ever had."

Astarion shuddered and you could have sworn he was on the verge of tears. You rubbed soft circles with your thumb into his skin.

"It felt so real and when I woke up, I was convinced it was real… especially when I thought you were gone."

Your brows furrowed in concern. "What happened?" You asked softly.

Astarion pressed his lips into a thin line. Telling you about this nightmare now was more-or-less a confession of how much he truly cared for you at this point. But he needed you to know. He wanted to tell you just how much his dead heart yearned for you, lusted after you and would beat for you if it could.

"I dreamt that Cazador had taken you," Astarion whispered, his gaze down and fixed on your hands.

"Me?" You whispered back, confused.

He nodded. "He had taken you to lure me back to the palace. He knew I'd come for you and when I failed to come save you he…" Astarion faltered before looking into your eyes. You hadn't noticed he'd started crying. "He killed you. Turned you into a vampire spawn to take my place."

Your heart shattered and you let out a gasp. This was the worst dream he had ever had? You dropped Astarion's hand and at the loss of the warmth and contact, he looked away in shame. He had overstepped. He had been so stupid to fall for you, of course you were disgusted he was having such horrible dreams about you. He moved to stand and excuse himself when you'd crawled across and sat in his lap, your legs straddling his.

"Oh, Astarion," you whispered as you wrapped your arms around him in a soft embrace. "I'm so sorry you had such an awful nightmare."

Astarion could hardly believe it. You were in his lap. Comforting him with a warm embrace he was certain he would never feel in his lifetime. He blinked in surprise and then breathed a sigh of relief before he wrapped his arms around you in turn and rested his face in the crook of your neck. He didn't want to feed, he just wanted to feel you, smell you. Hold you in place so you could never leave. So Cazador could never take you away from him.

"My love," Astarion whispered into your skin. "I'll never let anyone take you from me."

You pulled back, your arms still around your vampire love as you gazed into his watery eyes. "And I will never leave your side."

At your words, Astarion let a small and sincere smile grace his features. His eyes flicked down to your lips before shooting back to your eyes. You parted your lips slightly and he licked his lips and slowly leaned forward, his eyes closing as he pressed his lips to yours in a gentle and loving kiss. You smiled into him and returned the kiss, a soft sigh escaping you as you separated. His lips were so soft, his moves so smooth and practiced. You could could kiss him forever and you almost leaned back in for another.

Astarion let out a soft laugh and nuzzled into your hair again, hiding the blush and smitten look on his face from you. You giggled in turn and could have sworn you heard a very soft and very muffled proclamation of three little words from him but when you asked him to repeat himself, he only laughed and kissed your neck instead.

[redratt]

This is what it means to be a Bratovich:

Your uncle stares through liquor-dulled rheum and grins at you. He says it's time to show you how the Bratoviches get made; this is the first time you see the meat used for houndmaking. The meat screams and begs in its various cages. Your uncle says to pick one. He shows you how to shape the meat and bone. You stare into the hound's eyes and watch it cry. Uncle says he usually removes the ducts, but the big guy out in them fuckin Cawrpathians likes em to cry.

Ma passes down the sacred rule of hospitality. Three days, three nights. You give em bread and salt and meat and water. Make em at home and nevermind the way these folk stare at you with disgust. Third night, tell em they best be gone before the sun rises (if they're not one of the Dragon-Men, of course). You ask what happens to the visitor on the fourth morning and Ma just chuckles, says: "whatever we want t'happen, sweetpea."

There's some friends who only visit at night. You learn them by smell, by sight. Some of them don't ever seem to see you. Others turn your stalking into a game of predators. You always lose, but the leechwolf grins at you with glee anyway.

Your oldest sister puts a rifle in your hand. She ruffles your hair, calls you honeysuckle and bumblebee. She takes you out in the woods, the deep trails, and tells you to wait before she vanishes into the foliage. Not like you know why. Not at first. But soon enough, you learn. There's a group of campers, running and screaming, flushed towards you like them gamebirds you learned to shoot. So you take a breath in. Long. Deep. You pull the trigger. Fella up front jerks back, gasping, chest blown open by a round that fells deer. Don't need the meat alive, you suppose. Shame. That girl with the red hair is pretty as the sun.

The Dragon-Man is a woman, you learn. You must always please her. She opens your mouth and counts your teeth; she dictates additions to the family's diet. You see her three times before she takes you to bed on your eighteenth birthday; you call her Voivode. She lets you drink from her wrist the following night. You don't know what you've done to deserve the honor.

There's a wolf skin you carry like a war banner, stretched at the end of an iron spear you fashioned out of junk metal. You stroke the fur and smile fondly, remembering how the wolf tried to change and beg for its kin-lives once you filled it with silver buckshot.

The second wolf skin is nailed to a tree. You don't like to look at it. You remember, when you close your eyes, the look of agony as it spoke to you and said "We failed you, child."

Two things happen the summer Pa bites it: the Voivode takes one sister into the meat shed, and your kid sister is found naked, covered in blood, in the new moon night. Ma sends her off to some relatives down in N'Orleans. She never talks about Pa.

Maybe you should try to catch her a new man. You know where the bikers like to jump hills. Would be easy, and Ma would stop beatin your sister bloody.

[seeyoulbleed]

Stay

summary: toji wants more than you can give. afab reader x Toji Fushiguro.

warnings: nsfw, possible dub-con/non-con, yandere vibes

"T-Toji" You choke, lighting up from within with every touch. It boils in your blood, your desire for this man, every inch of you shaking as he continues his deep thrusts. "S-slow down!"

"After that stunt you pulled earlier? I don't think so, sweetheart." Toji snaps, his hips bucking harder. "I told you not to run."

"I'm sorry," You're babbling now, tears rolling down your face.

Slick sounds echo in the room, the creak of the bed joining it in a damning serenade that only spurns him on. His thumb circles your clit and your fourth orgasm crashes through you. You sob freely now, eyes threatening to roll into the back of your head.

"Not yet, you're not." His chuckle is mean but he slows down enough for you to catch your breath. "Look at me."

You do. Goddamn yourself, but you do. You can't help it, you look up at him and wonder if gouging your eyes out would make things any easier. But he speaks and it fills your hollow bones, his tone making your very heart stutter in your chest. His hand cups your face and his pace only grows agonizingly slow. You wish he'd go back to his bullying, unable to handle the weight of his full regard.

"Stay with me. You hear me? Stay with me."

Toji isn't a man who begs for anything. He takes what he wants with his own two hands because he was born hungry with nothing to call his own. But you swear, for the briefest of moments, that he's begging you now.

It's too much. Toji is too much. You close your eyes, if only for some kind of reprieve. It only makes him more frantic. When he wants, he wants it all. He hikes your knees up to your chest and fucks into you like he's punishing you for your lack of response. Frustration eddies off of him in tangible waves, his cock reaching all the way in as if he's trying to bury himself in you.

"Fuck," He grits his teeth, forehead on yours. "Fuck!"

His release is harsh. You think it hurts him, with how harshly his body twitches. It spills down your skin and you think it might be over. That he'll pull out. But Toji rocks his hips, gentle as the blue waves of your hometown, sweat beading down his muscled back where you cling to him.

"I just want you to stay."

[xreaderwrites]

Injured Rio

My ficlet for day 5! @agathaallalongweek

Focus Pairing: Agatha/Rio/Wanda, Billy & Tommy

Summary: The fighting stops the second Rio’s skin parts. 

The fighting stops the second Rio’s skin parts. Everyone on the field stills. Billy can feel the world stop. The people attacking them dissolve into nothing as Rio falls to her knees with a grunt. She holds a hand to her stomach and Billy is horrified to see black liquid spilling out of it and over her hand.

Agatha is beside her in a second while Wanda hovers over them both. Literally. Their attackers are gone but that doesn’t mean they are safe. Not until they’re home. That doesn’t mean Wanda doesn’t want to help Rio. Billy can feel it. He can also feel her helplessness. She doesn’t know what to do.

Agatha does.

Continue Reading (AO3)

[red-might-be-dead]

HI!!! i'm red :D!!! i go by he/him!!

#red rambles relentlessly - general text post/ talk tag

#red art - art tag (also-> #dumb art - where i post my stupid not art art)

#red writes - where i talk about writing (not a lot of actual proper writing at all lmao)

#asks - asks!!

#red hall of fame - posts of mine that i think are super silly :3 (not much in there tbh)

#original character - for strictly oc textposts/art, each oc is tagged by first name under relevant posts and i have a shit ton so i’m not gonna add them all here :3

fandom vaugetags under the cut :33

#kprcmp - when i get silly about keeperschampion (happens often)

#shiloposting… sigh - when i get super duper NORMAL. about shilo (FAGGOTRY WARNING!!!)

#not megumi too :// - BEING NORMAL AND SANE AND FINE AND VERY STRAIGHT. (faggotry warning again…)

I MIISSS HIMMM!!

[rederiswrites]

For an Arden ask or ficlet idea: animals? Pets? Is he a cat person or a dog person?

By a convenient twist, I have a snippet that didn't fit anywhere else, which I started to write about Arden's years in Minrathous, and which mentioned a dog! So I've finished it out.

_____

As Neve moved to rifle through the papers on the desk, Arden looked around the rooftop apartment.

“Stayed in a place like this myself when I was in Minrathous.”

“Up off the street, with a view?” Neve whistled. “Aren't you posh?”

“Yeah, well. Shared it with two other guys. We had to be out on different shifts, so we could take turns with the bed.”

“Ah.”

“Why not just share?” Harding asked. “Seems simpler.”

Arden laughed, but it sounded nervous.

“We did a few times. The guys decided it was a no-go.”

Neve hummed thoughtfully. “I detect a story in that laugh.”

“Not really.” Arden made himself busy lifting the wool mattress and checking for slits that might hide evidence. When he stood back up, Neve was still looking at him, eyes narrowed.

“Alright, look. I snuggle, okay? I had a dog as a kid, and she slept with me, and I guess…I don’t know, alright! But I snuggle in my sleep.”

Harding’s “awww” was genuine, but Neve’s was decidedly mocking.

“Well, isn’t that sweet?” Neve cooed. He grimaced at her pleased smirk.

“You had a dog? Oh, tell us about it!”

Arden took Lace’s change of topic gratefully.

“Big russet sight hound. Named Scylax. Loyal as could be.”

“You named your dog Puppy?” Neve laughed delightedly.

“In fairness, I was seven at the time.”

-------

I poked around for what seemed like an interesting Tevinter-ish dog big enough to snuggle with, and chose the Pharaoh Hound, national dog of Malta, and rabbit hunting dog:

Scylax is a Roman dog name taken from primary sources, and yes, it means "puppy". :D

[redshift-writes]

So, I finally wrote a thing. It's a very self-indulgent fic, and not read over for mistakes, but I hope you all like it anyway.

Warnings: Smoking, Swearing

Anywho, onto the fic.

Cuddles

It’s been a particularly rough day for Rowan. Bad anxiety day, he assumed, not much there is to do about it.

“Hey, you alright?” A voice calls out. Rowan looks over to see Painter leaning in the doorframe.

“Oh, hey.” Rowan responded to the question, his tail twitching slightly. He reaches over to the table for a pack of cigarettes. “I’m just fine…” He’d say, pulling one out and lighting it.

“You don’t look fine. Not at all.”

Rowan sighs. “Yeah… been having a little anxiety I guess.” He’d take a drag, exhaling a cloud of smoke.

“A little? I’m calling bullshit.” Painter says incredulously, sitting down next to Rowan. “What’s going on?” He’d ask, rubbing Rowan’s back, his touch gentle.

“I- I’m not really sure, honestly… Just had a panic attack out of nowhere…” Rowan answers, his tail twitching again.

“Yeah, that can happen sometimes.” Painter pauses. “How are you doing now?”

“A little better.”

“Good.”

Rowan takes another drag on his cigarette, coughing a bit as he inhales. The smoke streams out of his nose as he chokes.

“Woah, woah. Hey, easy there…” Painter says, taking the cigarette. “Maybe you should take a break from the smoke. Can you do that for me?”

Rowan nods, a little disappointed. “Yeah… I guess.”

“Hey, don’t get so upset at me. You’ll make yourself sick if you keep coughing like that.”

“Shush.”

“Aw, don’t give me that. I’m just looking out for you, you know.” Painter responds, pulling Rowan into a cuddling position.

“Yeah yeah, I know.” Rowan sighs, nuzzling into the crook of Painter’s neck. He’d yawn, relaxing further into the embrace.

Painter laughs, ruffling Rowan’s hair. “Someone’s getting sleepy.”

Rowan merely groans, the sound muffled. It makes Painter chuckle a little. He’d place a kiss on Rowan's forehead. Or, well, as close to a kiss as he can with a screen for a face. “You should sleep if you’re so tired. I’ll still be here in the morning.”

Rowan exhales heavily, closing his eyes. His body relaxes further, going nearly limp in Painter’s embrace.

“Sleep well, Rowan.”

[red-doll-face]

Heeyyy! Soooo I have a fun request idea that I totally came up with on my own with no help from anybody else, from my own mind and not some super creative person that answered my question about Arthur proposing to reader 🤣 it goes something like this:

-takes three months to work up the nerve and like another one to pick out one ring.

-chickens out at least two times bc the moment isn't right

-asks Hosea for advice 19 times (Hosea is tired)

-he's the trope where reader starts crying and he's like ohh goddd i fucked up of course you don't wanna marry my ass

-the way he would ride around for a week looking for the perfect spot to do it

-marks it on his map with a heart

-the essays he would write in his journal about this situation

-he's so cute i love him pls marry me Arthur Morgan

-awww once you say yes??

Hehehehe no pressure though!!!!! I just looooovvvveeeee this idea so much!

Yes !!! Yes of course I’ll write this!!! ❤️❤️💕💕🥰🥰😵‍💫😵‍💫😩😩As always it ended up running really long even though I didn’t even really flesh out a back story. 🥲 I’m glad you enjoyed my response ☺️☺️ I definitely had high honor Arthur Morgan in mind for this when I read it, I hope it’s ok and that you like it!!! I was so happy to see you in my inbox !!! @zae-heeyyy 💓💓💓💓💓 writing this was so cathartic and I loved the rdr1 setting so much so that I made this pre black water heist or whatever 😭🫶 from Arthur’s pov hope you like the characterization 🥹

Tags: established relationship, marriage proposals?? Arthur being a major weenie. Like huge weenie. He is soooo sooo sweet it’s almost like too much and I love love love sweet Arthur so very fluffy!!!! Pre black water !! Dutch being a jerk 😒 but cute dad Hosea moments ☺️

Arthur wants things to be perfect for you.

(High honor) Arthur Morgan x fem. Reader

Arthur knows he’s made up his mind when he’s in the tailor’s shop in Blackwater, looking like a lowdown cattle rustler among all of the fancy fabrics on the wall. He and his spurs, his boots scuffed to hell and a leather satchel slung over his chest. He’s out of place and he knows it. But he’s here to buy a new shirt.

Yesterday, he had nearly driven himself insane looking for a shirt of his that wasn’t ruined, ripped and mended, dirty, stained irreparably. None of them were good enough for what he wanted, something nice to get down on one knee and ask his girl to marry him. And so he kissed you goodbye and rode into town in search of something better. He makes an effort at pretending to be interested in any of the fancy stuff, silk and linen suits that he sure will never be fitted for him. He clears his throat as the attendant drags his eyes away from the sunday paper.

A tight lipped smile consumes the man's face. Arthur already can sense the assumptions he’s getting but he pays little mind to it. He’s getting this shirt and that's that.

“How can I help you, sir?” Obnoxious and nasally, the thin and short man's voice already gives away his air of superiority. Arthur's eyes narrow but he isn’t too irritated yet.

“Here to get a shirt.” His words are simple. The attendant raises a brow.

“Just a shirt, not… pants or shoes?” the attendant lowers the paper to scan over the rest of Arthur’s clothes. Arthur can hardly ignore the burn of insecurity.

He gives a look that conveys how quickly he is losing his patience. “Excuse me?” He can only tell his posture changed when he observes the man's attitude change, clinging to the counter between them like it would make any difference.

“No, well sir, perhaps I’ve overstepped, I apologize. What kind of-of shirts were you thinking?”

“Listen, I ain’t here to cause no trouble, just show me what you’ve got,” The attendant hurries to show him some options, tries to sell him a vest but that isn’t happening with his budget.

In the end, he picks a blue french dress shirt. Costs a real pretty penny but he wants it to be special. Because you’re special. He stuffs it away in a saddlebag after thanking the attendant, who no doubt heaves a sigh of relief after he leaves.

-

He’s been collecting rings. In a special bag is a collection. A few plain gold bands, some with stones set in them. They’re pretty blue and red gems, some have filigree detailing. But he still can’t find the right one.

Worse then, is that they’re rings of all different sizes which he gets from his more sordid activities. Debt collecting or train robberies. It’s all stolen goods. It feels wrong to give you something like that but when he told Dutch his intentions, he clapped him on the back and told him to look in the collection box for more rings. He nodded then but it was half hearted. Somehow that was more souring. Did he really want to give you something he took from someone else? That someone else bought for their loved one with the express purpose of giving them something to symbolize how they loved each other? His own thoughts swirl circles in his head, why he had these scruples about it, he didn’t know.

It’s riding with Hosea that he asks for advice. They’ve been working on a job in Tumbleweed, trying to con some poor fool into giving money he shouldn’t by pretending to sell land deeds. They ride all the way from the yellow grasses of Hennigan’s Stead and it’s been mostly quiet over the stretch of passing though Armadillo. Arthur decides to speak up after they pass through town. The sun is beginning to dip a bit lower in the sky but they’ll be in Tumbleweed before then.

“I been-”

“This about you n’ the girl?” Hosea already has a knowing smile and Arthur rubs the back of his neck. “I think you should do it! You two would make quite the couple, she’s a sweetheart, that girl,”

“Yeah, she-she’s… I’ve been lookin’ at rings to give ‘er,” He grips the reins before going lax, riding easily along the path. Hosea murmurs, letting Arthur continue. He guides Boadicea down the dusty road. “I don’t think I wanna give her something I got robbin’, don’t seem right,”

“Then get her something new, I don’t think she’ll mind at all. But you do what you think you should. You could probably fence all the other rings you thought about and get her something quite nice with the cash,”

“Yeah, I could do that,” why hadn't he thought of that?

“That’s a wonderful thing, getting married. Don’t be afraid to, y’know, go through with it. If you’re thinkin’ about it. Maybe, once Dutch and I find the perfect spot for the gang to settle down, we’ll build you two your own little thing on the land,”

“You that confident she’ll say yes?” Arthur has an awkward and disbelieving laugh but Hosea keeps his earnest smile.

“Why wouldn’t she? Arthur, somehow, she has gone for a man like you, you should be over the moon, you should be whistling tunes everywhere you go,”

“Like me? What's that supposed to mean?” He knows what he means. A man like him had very little to offer you, a young woman who could easily charm some other well established man into giving you a home. Leagues away from his cot and the weathered canvas he put up to give you some small amount of privacy.

“You remember what happened with that Mary woman. This time, things oughta turn out better. This one’s got no old man to chase you around with a shotgun,” Hosea figures himself very funny and laughs, ending it with a shallow cough. Arthur furrows his brows.

Of course he reminded him of his disaster with Mary. He could never escape that woman, even when he severed ties with her. But how he had wanted to, especially with you. Yes, it was true, he had loved Mary. But now he loves you. He needs you. His idea of the rest of his life always includes you, laying in bed with him, gently stroking his chest, leaving him love notes in his satchel, telling him what happened in the camp while he was gone. He always listens, always wakes up smiling with you tucked under his arm.

“I remember just fine,” he grunts,

“Good, because you’ll forget about her soon enough. Month from now, I suppose. Where are you going to tell her?”

“Where? I didn’t think we was gonna go nowhere, just tell her when I was ready to…” he hadn’t even imagined a place when he first set out to do this.

“So you wanna propose; with Uncle standing behind her, drunk off his ass in just his soiled union suit?”

“I-”

“Take her somewhere special, somewhere to make her feel special! Women like to feel special, Arthur, you know that,”

“I do?” He says, with a sarcastic edge to his voice, though he tries on his attempt at sounding uninvested.

“You should. I didn’t do that enough. I should have before, well…” Arthur nods, bowing his head a little as if in remembrance. He hopes to always have you by his side. Otherwise he would be much like Hosea: carrying a torch for a woman who passed through his life too quickly.

-

He starts his journey looking for something special. Special like you are. Keeps his eye out, marking potential things in his map, and makes a list in his journal. Aurora Basin maybe, a pretty lake deep in the forest but getting attacked by bears doesn’t sound romantic in any way. There are some sweeping vistas overlooking the San Luis River in Rio Bravo. He isn’t quite sure about anything though, thinking it over deeply. He just wants things to be perfect.

He’s still thinking about it when he comes back to camp, close to Lake Don Julio, sighing. Thinking much too hard obviously, he doesn’t notice that you’re sitting on his bed, biting your nail nervously until you see him first. You look worried, happy to see him but worried. You stand, hugging your arms around yourself and then placing them on your hips to make you seem more upset but you just drop them when he’s close enough.

“Hey, darlin’,” He utters, opening his arms to give you a hug but you just look up at him. He drops them, mentally kicking himself before taking his hat off and sitting down on his bed.

“Arthur, you’ve been gone three days,”

“I know,” you’re disappointed in his answer. You take a breath and a pause, looking off to the right. He stares down at his scuffed and weather worn boots. He hates to disappoint you, hates when you’re upset. It takes a lot to get you there, too. You’re a forgiving soul when he knows he doesn’t deserve forgiveness. He looks away, like a dog who knew he shouldn’t have chewed those leather boots up to bits.

“You know. I asked everyone where you were and they didn’t know,”

“Honey, I ain’t gonna leave you, I’m not-”

“You leave other men out of this, Arthur,” you already predicted he’d bring another man’s failings to make up for his own. Maybe bringing up John’s shortcomings while you’re upset is a little below the belt but it worked better in his head. He puffs some air out in a laugh. God, he just can’t seem to find the right words to say.

“Is something funny? Is how much-how much I worry funny to you?” You look like you’re gonna cry, squeezing your arms tight around yourself. Your eyes flick around, thinking of all the people watching, never any goddamn privacy in this place. You start to back up, looking for a place to hide your tears.

“No, no, I- I’m sorry, don’t go walkin’ away,” You let him pull you back. Let him tug you into his lap. You sniff and tuck into his neck. “I’m sorry,” he says at least 5 more times. His hands pet down your hair, holding you. He hadn’t wanted to come back to such a harrowing fear in the pit of his stomach, the thought of you walking off without him. He thinks himself lucky that you haven’t had enough of him and decided to leave already.

Arthur pulls you in real tight, doesn’t let up til’ you start to calm down a little. “Shouldn’t cry for me, sweet girl, bastard like me ain’t worth them tears,” he wipes a few away. Seeing you like this could make him cry if he thought about it too much, how he had let you down. His nerves almost make him tremble, the slightest shake in his fingers when he brushes them under your eyes, shiny with tears. If anyone else made you cry, he’d knock their teeth out. But what is he supposed to do when it’s him? Sickness roils around his abdomen.

“Where were you, anyway?” You shake your head at his words. “Mac and Davey said…” he perks up at that. Those boys are a terror. His face screws up in an anticipated anger. He’d be angrier with them, they’re the ones who need to see it, not you.

“What’d they say?”

“No, they were just messing with me. I don’t think it’s true,” You look away. But he knows exactly how nasty those boys can be. He gives you a look and you give him a defeated one in return. An embarrassment leaks into your words. You can’t meet his eyes, twiddling your fingers.

“They said you were at the saloon in town. They said things that aren’t true and I know it but it isn’t nice to leave me here with nothing to say about it,”

“I know, darlin’, next time, you’ll be the first to know where I’m goin’,” You nod and wrap an arm around his shoulder while he pats your back, grabs your thigh so he can pull you to sit across his lap fully.

“Are you gonna answer my question or should I take their word?” you tease and he reassures you about those boys. They’ll be hearing from him soon enough.

“I’m gonna have a word with them, don’t worry about it,” he scratches his beard. How is he supposed to say that he went riding around looking for a place to take you so he can ask you to take his sorry hand in marriage? He had already disappointed you and saying it’s a secret is a laughable idea.

“Well, I was out, uhh- huntin’?” You frown and lean away.

“Arthur, you’re an awful hunter and an awful liar,” you look really hurt. You almost stand but he pulls you back. He needs something to tell you and fast.

“I was out lookin’ for somethin’ real special to give you. It’s supposed to be a surprise…but well, I can’t keep no secrets from you, sweetheart,” You fuss a little, a wariness in your posture. You study his expression. It isn’t a complete lie, makes it a bit easier to pull off. He really does have a surprise for you. He tries to keep his face neutral, but his lips twitch up when yours do to, a small smile shining through the clouds of your emotional turmoil.

“What surprise?”

“I didn’t find it, guess a surprise, it’s gonna have to stay,” You pout and wiggle, a soft chuckle rumbling in his chest.

“Ok, but once you find it, you better take me to see it right away,” You kiss him, soft and sweet, holding his prickly jaw in one hand. He can feel how your pout gives way to a smile. The feeling of your soft lips on his is one of those things he’ll never get sick of, never get over.

“I will, promise,”

-

He’s found the perfect ring, really, by chance. It’s a little thing but it’s the right color, goes well with you. The rock on it isn’t very big but he saw it in a window while in town. Some big fancy jewelry store, showing off all the finer things that he never paid any mind to. Unless it was to steal it of course. But he had bought it. With money that may have been also robbed but it was from hitting a Del Lobo stash. A good deed, probably in a backwards sense.

The girls had ‘oohed’ at it, Mary-Beth had an excited tiny clap and Tilly rejoiced. Jenny nodded with a small smile.

“We’re happy for you Arthur! Oh my god, Arthur Morgan, gettin’ married…” Tilly giggles, putting her hands to her cheeks and clasping her hands in front of the skirt of her yellow dress.

Karen laughed. “Never thought I’d see the day,”

“Don’t listen to her, I mean we was hoping when we saw you two huddled up all the time,” Mary-Beth takes the ring from him, holding it closer, so that Jenny and Tilly can get a closer look.

“Hey, be careful with that,” he murmured, trying not to sound too desperate. He scratches his neck instead of snatching it back like his instinct wants him to. Evening is coming soon, purple dusk and soft coyote yipping and howling far in the distance marks the sun's descent. Meaning you’re probably finishing up whatever it is you’re doing. He hopes you don’t come around the corner at an inopportune time. Arthur turns his head this way and that.

“Where’d you get it? Looks new, ain’t scuffed to high heaven like everything else around here,” Jenny points out and the girls nod.

“Bought it in town,” playing it off doesn’t work so well.

They ‘ooh’ some more. “Fancy. Only the best for Arthur’s sweetheart,” Karen coos teasingly.

“Gimme that,” grumbling, he takes the ring back, bowing his head so they can’t see the embarrassment plain on his face. He meanders off after asking how things have been. Of course, they only give him updates about you, Karen jokes that that’s all he wants to hear about anyway. He scoffs and wishes them a good evening.

But the perfect spot is yet to be discovered. Evades him like just about nothing else. He almost gives up on the idea. He’s been taking you out, trying to get you in the almost perfect moments. Taking you out on the town in Blackwater was a good time, he bought you dinner and took you on a stroll down the cobbled streets, watching your face light up when you saw something pretty in a window, clutching his hand and pulling him in more. He almost proposed on the veranda at the Blackwater saloon. Only for a fight to break out at the poker table to interrupt.

Then he took you out to see the poppy fields in Great Plains. But he had let his anxiousness and his nerves overtake him. He had tucked the ring away. You had looked so beautiful standing among the flowers, it was perfect but he just…couldn’t. Instead, he wrote in his journal about his own cowardice. Wrote about if he should lock you to him for the rest of your life. If he’d end up leaving you a widow. Or if you were to be taken from him like Annabelle and Bessie. Leaving behind lonely men who longed for a woman gone from this world. Then he scribbled pictures of you, trying to draw the motion in your hair and in your dress and the beaming most enchanting smile he had ever seen.

Boadicea munched on the long wheat grass, waving in the wind while he kept a watchful eye on you, picking flowers in your pretty dress fluttering against the bright blue of the sky. You have a bunch of candy orange poppy flowers held together by your palms, a bright smile on your face. You walk to where he sits, leaning against the tree, next to a small broken down stone fence. Your smile falters when you see his pensive expression. You come close enough to touch. You dangle one flower above him before you tuck it into the frayed ropes banded around the crown of his hat. He lowers his head while you fuss. Smiling like a fool. You smile again too, sitting beside him. You both listen to the sound of the quiet plains, breeze in the branches above him. The shade is cool, light filters beautifully over your features, speckled like the back of a doe.

“Something has been going on with you, Arthur,” you state as pure fact, knowing him all too well. You had only really known each other a year and have only been together as a couple for six months but you knew him better than anyone else. You had let him be himself, let him just…be. He didn't need to say anything for you to understand him.

“I’ve just been… thinkin’ bout some things,”

“Really? I thought you said you weren’t very good at that,” you smile a little, nudging his shoulder. Hoping to lift his spirits with his similar brand of humor but when he hardly huffs a laugh, you frown. “Is it about you and me?”

“Yeah, in a way,” he says, unable to hide anything from you. Why should he bother? Saying no would make you more suspicious. Arthur closes his eyes and can feel the panic rising in you. He could have been better about saying it but he’s quick to deflect it away from his secret. “You happy with me?” low and grumbled, the severity makes his tone go way down.

“I don’t understand. Do I not seem happy? Arthur, I’ve never…I’ve never been happier than I am with you. You’re the kind of man any girl would be lucky to have,” You smile, leaning to face him. Softening up, your eyes track over his face.

He wanted to ask you right then and there. Tell you just how much you complete him. How lucky he was to have you, how there never was a happier time in his life. He doesn’t believe in that sentiment you have, he had failed the women in his life. But he had wanted to make a vow, to never leave you alone. It’s his own nerves that wrap tight around his hands, don’t let him reach in his satchel for the little treasure that will be your wedding ring.

“No, I just know I been gone, I don’t wanna ignore you. I just been busy,”

“You have things to do,” You sigh heavily. “I wish the other men would be as helpful as you. Sometimes, I watch Sean, Uncle, and Bill lay around all day while you’re out working. It doesn’t seem fair,” Your brows pinch in a small dissatisfaction with the idea. He smirks.

“I don’t know how much I trust Sean to get things done right. We’d probably eat nothin’ but leaded rabbit meat and whiskey if we left it up to that boy,” You giggle and nod. Happy to see him back in his joking mood.

“Arthur… You know I love you, don’t you?” God, those words make him shiver. Make his heart rattle in his chest. Could swear his insides turn about 3 times. So sweet, you look at him, hands on his thighs, leaning into his side. He opens his arm for you to tuck into, grabbing your waist to pull you close.

“Yeah, I do. Love you more,” he can feel heat flush up his neck and cheeks but he doesn’t care if he looks like a lovesick idiot. Your joy is worth it. The wind blows your hair over your shoulder, you let him sweep it back some more. Your pretty laugh when he bows over to lay you down on the grass makes him chuckle.

-

He’s finally found it. Montana Ford. A shallow spot in the river he discovered, looking for a short cut trying to cross from New Austin into West Elizabeth. He hated riding through the Del Lobo populated Thieves Landing, especially after they were catching on that it was Dutch and his boys robbed their stash two weeks ago. He sighed and then he veered off the road, looking for somewhere to cross. And the shaded river was perfect.

He stays there a moment, looking at the pretty grass growing alongside the water, the light glittering over the surface. The sound of the river rushing by fills his head pleasantly. You’d love it, you’d toss your boots aside and wade into the river, lifting your skirts high enough to hopefully not get wet. But you’d be wet anyway. He’d do it too, you made him feel like he was twenty despite his thirty some years on this earth.

He decides to sit and sketch it and write about you. Just how excited he was at how everything was coming together. He feels like a kid, sappy but too devoted to care very much at the small heart he puts on his map. He’s almost embarrassed of himself. Even with no one to see. He folds his map up and stuffs his journal away, whistling his horse over. With a soft word or two, he mounts up and continues on to his destination.

-

It's been three days since he found the spot he would take you to and he’s had a ring in his satchel that glares up at him every time he opens it to pull out a cigarette. Of course, just as everything comes together, Dutch insists he go scouting for some new venture, looking to follow a treasure hunter so they could rob him. It ends up being a whole lot of nothing from a bad tip but Dutch has a ‘nothing ventured, nothing gained’ speech to try and lick his own wounds at Arthur’s expense. Arthur rolls his eyes. Feels his hands knot into fists.

“Maybe next time, it’ll be you runnin’ all over New Austin on some wild goose chase! And I’ll give you this bullshit. Wouldn’t that be just fine, wasting your goddamn time-”

“Arthur, calm down! I don’t have time for your complaining. Where is that girl of yours? Why don’t you blow some of that steam off with her? It’s obvious to me-”

“Dutch…stop pushing the boy,” Hosea remarks from where he’s reading a book nearby. Arthur postures to continue arguing and Dutch shoots a glare before waving him off. He looks to Hosea and backs away, huffing. But before he can go for a smoke to hopefully calm himself down so he could be with you, Hosea calls him over.

“So… have you popped the question?”

“No, I ain’t got time most days,” He sighs in defeat, dropping his weight on the seat next to him, resting on his knees, leaned over. He takes his hat off to adjust his hair before putting it back on. He hadn’t seen you in another two days on account of this stupid ploy to rob a treasure hunter who didn’t know left from right and east from west. What an idiot. But not nearly as foolish as he.

“Tomorrow, I’ll tell Dutch to leave you out of these plots of his. I’ll even tell Miss Grimshaw that she’ll be gone. Take her and ride away for a couple of days. I hope to see a ring on her finger when you get back. In fact, I’ll be expecting it!” Hosea has a smile on his face, the excitement is genuine. Arthur nods.

“And what if she says no?”

“Well you keep at it. Perhaps a little persistence is all you need but why do you insist on imagining the worst?” It’s as if after asking, he considers why Arthur might not want to change things irreparably, might have already put his heart on the line and had it thrown away before.

“Arthur, the sting of rejection must be pretty…pretty lamentable. But you wouldn’t be trying this hard if you really thought you didn’t have a good chance,” Hosea sets his book down. “Go get some rest… leave first thing in the morning,” Hosea pats Arthur lightly on his shoulder. Arthur looks up as Hosea wanders in the direction of his tent.

His heart does yearn to see you at his side, wearing his ring on your finger. To hear you referred to as Mrs. Morgan. But all he can see is an incredulous look on your face. ‘Marry? Me? Arthur, you must be joking,’ you laugh and laugh. You’d never be so cruel but whatever part of him hates his own guts imagines the scenarios with great fervor. The anger from the rest of his day and the anger at himself grit against each other. He growls low before marching off to his tent.

You’re already inside, looking very lovely, one of his mended shirts serving as something of a robe to wear over your underthings. You look up and smile. He could forget the whole world just by looking at you. You hum, scooting over in bed.

“Arthur…” the way you call his name, you hardly need to give him any pet names, just Arthur will do.

“Come out with me tomorrow. First thing in the morning,” He states. More like a command, the residual anger drips off his words. You look at him strangely.

“Alright but I’d like to know what all of this is about first,” You set whatever you were working on, perhaps brushing your hair as you set a horsehair brush aside. You give him a concerned look.

“Found that surprise,” he grumbles, sitting down and tugging his boots off. “Hope you’ll like it but…” he stops to tug his gun belt off, his suspenders too. Arthur rests his hat gently on the side table. “Can’t be too sure til I show it to ya,” You smile softly.

“I think if you think I like it, I’ll love it,” God, he hopes so. Anticipation bounces around in his head and in his lungs. He’s practically short of breath. How he’s going to sleep, he has no idea.

“Yeah?” you hum in agreement. Looking sleepy, he’s endeared by how your eyes blink slowly, how you wiggle onto his chest the second he lays down. Your hands rub down his chest and belly. You’re asleep in a matter of minutes. He almost wishes he had you for company still but he’d never wake you for something so selfish. Instead, he pets down your hair and listens to your breathing, the natural hush that covers the camp once it’s too late for much of anything but small chatter.

-

Like clockwork, he wakes early. He can’t remember falling asleep but you're softly murmuring, you won’t wake unless he expressly wakes you. He gives himself time to put on that shirt he bought and rub his hand over his face at how nervous and silly he feels buttoning it up. He pulls a jacket over it to hopefully hide how ridiculous he looks. The morning is a pale blue when he steps out, thinking to bring you coffee to wake you.

You dress, half asleep, when he comes back to you, humming into the cup he brought you. You wear something nice but not overstated. You put kisses on him to wish him a good morning after you’ve decided you’re cleaned up enough.

He helps you up on his horse, Boadicea already very used to you. The ride isn’t too bad and you certainly make it better, he’s quiet with nerves, responding as much as he can without getting lost in his thoughts. The sun has climbed up and blazed down on you for a while by the time you get there. But your face when you see his surprise is too precious, eager to slip off the back of his horse.

“Arthur, it’s so beautiful!” The summer sun is high in the sky, perfect for your plans as you tug your boots off. He ambles after you, hitching his horse to a tree. You’re already sighing and knee deep in the center of the river. Your stockings lay haphazardly tossed over your boots. You’re some fabled creature, come from somewhere else. He could see it. No woman shined like you did, at least not how he saw things.

Just like he imagined, he rolls his pants up and tosses his boots aside, the spurs jingle when they hit the ground. The light catches the river’s surface, shades of yellow and green, the earth's gentle brown. You’re excited to see him join you, taking his hand that he holds out to you, pressed to his belly and chest, just where you belong.

“You like it, sweetheart?” He mumbles, really fishing for compliments. He knows you do but he’d love to hear you say it.

“I love it, Arthur, how could you say I wouldn’t? Sometimes, you’re a silly man,” you laugh, sway with him in the river. Birds sing, the water is cool, it’s perfect. He pulls you up to a shallower part of the ford, the sun forms a halo around you, reminds him you’re pure heaven and he couldn’t let you go.

“I have something else for you,” his voice is shaky instead of the easy confidence he likes to portray himself as. You look up excitedly but the dazzling smile slips off your face, you're shocked as he pulls a ring from his satchel and kneels down in the river.

“I-uhhh…I-“ he had really planned all of this and didn’t think of a single word to say. He can't bear to look up, he’s sure he’ll lose his nerve. “I haven’t loved…anyone like I love you,” the ring looks tiny and pathetic in his fingers. They’re also calloused to hell but he continues anyway. “There ain’t anyone else for me in this world but you. I just wish I was a better man, you deserve more than I can give but… if you would have me,” he looks up and your hands cover your mouth and tears leak over your fingers.

He really had ruined everything, hadn’t he? How was he supposed to go on living with you? What would he tell Hosea? His face falls and his heart cracks but he’d be glad to take you back home and disappear for a few days.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, don’t know what I thought,”

“Arthur, just please…” you hold out your left hand. You wipe your tears, trying to compose yourself and when he sees your smile, your hand over your right cheek, he lets himself ease. “Nothing would make me happier than to be- to be your wife, Arthur, you are…you’re the best man I know,” you wiggle your fingers excitedly and he slips the ring over your ring finger. He stays stunned, kneeled in the water, his pants soaking it all up but he couldn’t care less.

The ring looks so perfect on you. He holds your hand, kissing it like a knight of old, looking at him down on his knee, still crying but that brightness in your eyes is all he needs. Your giggle makes him smile at you too. And you drop to embrace him, tucking into his chest, arms around his neck. You murmur his name, rub his back. Tangle your fingers in his hair. He settles with you, surrounded by your unmistakable presence, basking in it. Holds you tighter, trying to not squeeze the air out of you. He breathes you in, holding you through your overwhelmed clinging, wiping your tears on his shoulder.

You pull back a little, enough to kiss him, his relief is groaned into your mouth. He loses track of himself and slips, sitting in a river with you in his arms, giggling more into his kiss.

You sit with him on the banks, trying to dry out after he tipped over. So much for his fancy shirt. He thinks the both of you will look half drowned by the time he brings you back to camp but he isn’t sure he wants to go back. Just you and him for a few days sounds rather enticing. You keep looking at your ring, leaned into his shoulder. A pleased little smile blooms over your face. How can he not smile at how beautiful you look, hair wet at the ends, warm light casting its glow over you.

You look up at him, with a look that says you’re gonna cry again but you just give him a teary smile.

“I’m a lucky bastard, get to call you mine,” You wrap one tiny hand over his neck when you kiss him slow and deep, letting him consume the very air in your lungs, grip over your body to feel it. You moan just softly enough to pull on his need for you. But you part ways for you to continue.

“Did you really think I’d say no?” you give him a sad frown. As if upset that he would think such a thing of you. You brush your fingers against his skin. He looks away.

“You wouldn’t have been the first,” you sigh.

“Who could say no to Arthur Morgan?” You ask no one in particular but he huffs a small laugh.

“Many people,” a joking tone tinges his words. But then he dips towards the sentimental. “Don’t even remember, really, all I think about is you, darlin’…” You laugh before coming closer, unable and unwilling to part from him. He knows he’s a hundred and one percent sap but he lets himself melt in your presence.

“Well, it certainly wasn’t me,” you wiggle your left hand in his face. He chuckles a little at your cute little fingers. “I’m glad…it means I get you all to myself,” The joy is boundless in his chest, he could light the night like a lightning bug with the flame in his heart.

“Arthur, I… I… sometimes I don’t have the words to tell you how much I love you,” you lean onto him. He shakes his head with what he’s sure looks like a stupid grin on his face. He wasn’t sure this would be in the cards for him but here he is, with you.

“Every part of me loves you, honey,” is all he has to say, paling in comparison to the pure power of your own words over him. They tumble clumsily from his mouth but you pull him down for kisses anyway. Your teasing ‘do you?’ has him nodding between your giggles and wet kisses.

-

Thank you so much for leaving me this request, I loved writing it!! It was so much fun and I really had fun including some parts of rdr1 map that were really special to me and brought me back to when I was a kid playing that game 🥹🥹🥹🥲🥲🥲❤️❤️❤️ any feedback is appreciated and thanks for reading 🥰🫶

[redwiddershins]

Chapter 2 of "Brought to Light" out now!

[lets-just-daydream]

Hello! If it’s not too much trouble I would love to request an Astarion x reader. Maybe just after he has confessed his plan that fell apart and his feelings for Tav, Gale tries to show her a magic trick. A lot of us have experienced this playing the game, but Tav doesn’t really understand what he’s getting at so she agrees. Then ensues protective and angst and hurt/comfort.

WE LOVE A JEALOUS KING (well, I do anyway)

I took some liberties with the confession for ✨funsies✨

It had been a LONG day of checking through Moonrise Towers. You met some very interesting people but now you were settled in camp and ready for a feed and some sleep. 

You sat outside your tent, pulling your boots off and stretching as you looked around. You had certainly camped in prettier places but dark, dingy and safe was better than nothing. Your eyes landed on Astarion who was pacing back and forth in front of his tent, looking uncharacteristically stressed. You watched as he stood up straight, gave himself a resolute nod and turned in the direction of your tent. His eyes widened when he saw you were already looking his way and he gave you a nervous smile. You returned his smile with a blush and as you were about to look away, he beckoned you over with a wave. 

You wondered what he wanted to talk about. Maybe he wanted to talk about the odd drow woman who wanted him to bite her. You stood with a shudder as you recalled him saying that her blood smelled foul. Admittedly, the potion she offered would have been incredibly useful but you'd rather not have it at all and defend Astarion's decision instead.

You approached him and he gave you a smile while he greeted you. "I wanted to thank you for earlier," he began. "With that vile drow."

"Oh, it was nothing at all," you replied. "I'm sorry she kept asking and wouldn't take your no as an answer."

"Yes it was upsetting at the time and… I'd gotten so used to doing what I was told without a care for what I wanted. It was nice to even be able to say no. And… I'm grateful that you stuck up for me. You didn't have to do that. I know that potion would have been worth a lot."

You smiled and stepped forward, shaking your head slightly. "Nothing is ever worth you doing something you don't want to do. I'll never ask you to do that." 

Astarion sighed. Gods you were so nice. Why were you so nice to him? This is why his whole plan fell apart in the first place - because you "genuinely cared about him" or whatever. Well now the stupid feeling was becoming mutual and he wanted to tell you. 

"Anyway, there's another reason I asked you over," Astarion said, his voice slightly hushed as he swept his gaze over the camp. 

The rest of your companions were either at their own tents or chatting around the fire. He noticed that Gale was watching the two of you intently and it took all of Astarion's self-control not to sneer at him. Nosey bastard. 

You waited patiently as Astarion got his thoughts together. It was nerve wracking - he'd never done this before! And really, he didn't know how you were going to take the initial news that he had been manipulating you. You might slap him. He'd probably deserve it, he thought. 

"Anyway, I suppose I should start from the beginning. At first…" He hesitated, looking down at your smiling face. Oh, you were so pretty. "I-I had this plan, okay. It was out of pure self-preservation, nothing personal of course. I just needed to get you on my side and sleeping with you, calling you cute names and all of that nonsense is how I'm used to getting my way."

Astarion watched as your face fell, you looked down at the ground and he swore you were starting to tear up. He reached out for your arm and drew your attention again..

"But then I got to know you, fought by your side and stood by your decisions whether I agreed with them or not. And that's when my little plan fell apart. I've grown genuine feelings for you," Astarion mumbled the last part as he pulled his hand back. 

You looked up at him and gasped lightly. "Are you serious?"

He nodded. "Using sex and your feelings as a way to manipulate you was awful, and it's a poor excuse but it's… all I knew. Two hundred years of instinct that I'm now trying to shake, you showed me that there's more to it than that. But I understand if this is where you draw the line."

Astarion gave you a little pout and you felt like your heart could burst out of your chest. You stepped forward and pulled him into a hug, nuzzling your face into his cold chest. He stood there for a moment, not really even sure what to do. He hadn't felt a real hug since turning and this felt so nice. He wrapped his arms around you and pressed his cheek to the crown of your head. You let him hold on for as long as he needed and when he eventually let go, you saw the sweetest smile on his face, fangs bared and laugh lines deep. You were so smitten with this man. 

"I care about you, Astarion," you said just above a whisper. "And I know confessing this took a lot of courage."

His smile stayed and he turned slightly giddy. "I'm so… happy to hear you say that. I've never done anything like this before, this is all so new to me and I don't know what comes next, but this is nice. This is what I want," he breathed. 

You gave him a smile and he reached his hand out to you, you placed your hand in his and his stepped forward, leaning his face down but someone cleared their throat behind you. 

You jumped slightly and Astarion looked at the intruder behind you, his eyes turning from soft into a hard glare. 

"What do you want, boot muncher?" Astarion asked. 

You turned around and saw Gale standing there, arms crossed as he brushed the snide comment off. "I need to talk to our friend, here." 

You felt Astarion's grip on your hand tighten but you looked up at him with a soft smile and he nodded, letting your hand go. You loathed to leave him after having such a deep moment but you had other friends who also needed your help. 

"I'll be right back," you whispered before following Gale over to his tent. 

You stood there as he clapped his hands together with a grin on his face. "I've been meaning to ask how much you know about the Weave." 

"The Weave? Just that it's linked to magic," you replied, raising a brow. 

"It’s an incredible feeling and I just learned how to share it, if you want to feel the magic of the Weave,” Gale said, his voice dropping. 

You felt eyes boring into your back and you glanced over at Astarion who held a book in hand but was staring at you intently before averting his eyes back down to the page. 

“Well?” Gale asked, pulling your attention back to him.

“Sounds like fun,” you said with a shrug and grin.

Gale smiled back at you and straightened his back, telling you to do as he did. You watched his hands intently as he did a quick and smooth flourish that caused purple sparks to fly in front of you. 

You stared at the space where the sparks disappeared and then gazed back at Gale’s hands, recalling his movements as you copied them as best as you could remember. Purple sparks also flew out in front of you and you laughed, hardly believing you pulled it off. Your body felt like a warm blanket had been wrapped around you and you glanced up at Gale who was already grinning down at you. 

“Nice work,” he praised. “Now repeat after me and picture harmony…”

He said some magic words slowly so you could follow, which you did and tried to picture what harmony even was. Your mind wandered to Astarion and the calm you’d felt when you shared a hug not long ago. Soft, warm magic suddenly erupted around you and you let out a half sigh, half giggle that you had done it! Gale looked down at you with a smile and you felt a shift in the energy surrounding you when your eyes met. He stepped closer to you and reached to cup your cheek in his hand. 

At that movement you gasped slightly and stepped back, the magic around you falling as you were embraced by the cool breeze of the night once again. 

“Oh, I… I see,” Gale murmured. “I misunderstood, I thought…”

You offered him a sympathetic look and bit your lip. You did feel a little bad but you just didn’t feel that way about him. You turned once again to Astarion but he wasn’t looking at you, he was staring daggers into Gale, his hands and jaw clenched. This was certainly a ‘if looks could kill’ moment and you rubbed Gale’s arm comfortingly before he excused himself into his tent. 

Your stomach twisted uncomfortably as you turned away from his tent to approach Astarion’s but he was already stalking over to you. He wrapped his slender fingers around your arm, pulling you away from Gale’s tent, a scowl on his face. 

“Sleazy, little good for nothing…” Astarion fumed as the pair of you made it back to his tent and stepped inside. “What was that?!” 

You looked up at Astarion’s stern face and shrunk back into yourself slightly. “I- I don’t know he was teaching me how to use magic and then, well you saw what happened.”

“I knew he was up to no good when he came by.”

“Well, anyway,” you said. “I rejected him. So you don’t have to worry.”

Astarion sighed and rubbed your arm, his other arm coming to wrap around your waist. “It’s not you I’m worried about,” he whispered.

“Are you okay?” You asked. 

You nodded. You could understand, he had just bared his feelings for you and someone else had made a move on you only moments later. You each let out a soft sigh and Astarion leaned down and touched his nose against yours, inhaling your scent and rubbing against your skin softly. You leaned up and gave him a soft kiss, his lips pressing harder against yours as his eyes slipped closed.

His grip around your waist tightened and you scrunched your hands into his shirt, a soft moan escaping your throat. You could spend forever pressed against his body like this but he eventually pulled back, and gazed at you with dilated pupils. His expression seemed like he was at odds with himself. He wanted to claim you as his, right then and there on the floor of his tent - to have you as he wanted because you were his heart’s desire. But on the other hand it was still so new to be vulnerable and he didn’t know if this was the right thing to do. If there even was a “right” and “wrong” way of navigating this.

Astarion’s hand slipped from your arm down to your hand and he laced his fingers between yours. “This is just so new to me I don’t know what’s normal… what I’m doing,” he said softly.

You laughed softly and stroked his hand with your thumb. “Just do whatever feels right. You’re your own person and I care so much about you,” you said. “We can take this as slow as you need us to.”

Astarion let out a sigh of relief and pulled you against him in an embrace. He truly believed he would never get enough of feeling your body pressed against his.”Would you like to spend the night with me?”

“Of course,” you breathed, stepping back and sitting on his bedroll. You pulled him down with you and he huffed out a laugh as he landed next to you. You recalled the day you had and you smiled, remembering Astarion’s confession and then your heart dropped as you remembered the moment you shared with Gale and how utterly dejected he was. You hoped it hadn’t impacted your friendship too badly and you certainly hoped he would leave the camp because of it. 

Astarion sensed your change in mood and asked you what was wrong.

“I’m just worried about Gale,” you said. 

Astarion’s tone hardened. “What about him? He’ll be fine.”

You sighed as you hoped Astarion was right. 

“Now, what do I need to do to get him off your mind and get me into it?” Astarion asked as he laid you back and cradled you in his arms. 

“Nothing,” you said with a slight laugh. “Earlier, he asked me to picture harmony and damned if I knew what the hell that meant. But then I started thinking about you and that’s when you saw that burst of magic.”

“Really?” Astarion asked, peering down at you. 

You nodded your head and he pulled you into his chest, his face in your hair. “So don’t worry, you’re already on my mind.”

[thelilreddragon]

I feel so accomplished: posted a few chapters to The Things We Left Unfinished and Ethically… I Hate You! (?), as well as replied to all (I think) of the comments I haven’t replied on yet!

[redratt]

I've got three Requiem for Rome girlies and they're all wretched

Sabina-- Daeva of the Senex. Wretched in a sopping wet, nervous sort of way. A natural blonde with heterochromia. Was called "a striking specimen" by some Julii. She was just a guy, a baker. Now she has to handle... this.

Canem -- Gangrel Augur. wretched in a self-serving but truly devoted sort of sense. Obsessed with fire and the sun. Actually genuinely has visions. It's very easy to forget that she is a Gangrel. Don't forget.

Akatos -- Nosferatu of the Collegia. Wretched in a rattish scoundrel way. Sold to a rich patron so her parents could survive. Taken as part of the blood dole. Alive, somehow, after the end of it, wedged between corpses. Her Sire, kneeling, whispering-- "women in Rome always wind up in the dirt." Embraced. Remade. Angry. Believe her smile. Her harmlessness. She wants to see the Senex bleed. She wants to fill the Necropolis with fire. She serves as Lar to the family she lost.

[seeyoulbleed]

An Ocean Between Me and You

Pairing: Okkotsu Yuta x You (gender neutral reader)

You love him. You love him dearly. You just never thought he'd love you too, not the way you wanted. Scared to mess it up, you confess one night when you think he's asleep.

He isn't.

warnings: slight Yandere!Yuta at the end. But can be read otherwise.

🦇🩸First fic on here! People seemed interested in my napping with Yuta post so I decided to take a crack at it. Lowkey self-ship coded.🩸🦇

Life with your best friend is easy most days.

Yuta has an energy to him that calms your racing thoughts, his presence pulling you back down to earth and grounding you when all you want to do is fly high. He's a steadying hand in a life of uncertainty, always there, always ready for whatever comes at you next.

"We'll take it on together," Yuta would say, his smile tired but sincere. "Me and you."

It was no wonder you fell in love with him. It was all too easy, honestly. He's an easy person to love. Sometimes it was even easier than breathing.

The rain outside carries on, a storm brewing on the horizon and crawling across the earth in a slow drag. You've been restless all day, the gloom a nice break from the searing sun of Japan, but you want to do something other than watch a movie. So when it's finally bearing down on your apartment, you give your roommate an impish grin.

"Yuta."

"Hmm?" He asks from the other side of the couch, his hand resting on your ankle. His thumb brushes the delicate bone there through your obnoxiously colored socks.

You roll off the couch with a grunt and spring to your feet, ignoring the rushing of blood that makes you momentarily dizzy, too busy grinning and running to the door like a child. You forgo your shoes and a jacket, ripping open the front door and running through it with a cackle. It's imperative to get to your destination before he catches you. His mother-hen tendencies will ruin your fun if he does.

"Hey! What are you doing, you're going to get sick!"

You don't answer, running down the apartment stairs. The rain has made the steps slick and you nearly slip and brain yourself against the rails. It only spurns you on, your giggles wild. A glance behind you shows Yuta on your heels, his shoes only half on.

"Come on! Let's play in the rain!"

"It's too cold, let's go back inside!"

"If you really didn't want to, you would have caught me already." You take the stairs two at a time now, delighting in the exasperated huff you feel across the back of your neck.

He's so close. Damn him and his stamina. But you are flooded with the sudden need to be in the rain. If it's to wash away your restlessness or if it's an excuse to regain his attention, you don't think you want to know. Not now, when he's so close behind you. You reach the bottom of the stairs and spin out in the middle of the grass.

You're both growing up so fast. Already adults and forced to make your way out in the big wide world, beaten down daily by its trials and tribulations. Truly, what is the harm in indulging in childish happiness when you can?

He catches you around your middle mid-spin. You squeal before leaning back into his chest, the noise tapering off to delighted laughter. You always get him to play your games in some way. Moments like this, where he turns you around in his grip, his smile heartbreakingly soft and so, so fond...you think he could love you too.

Yuta looks at you like you're the center of his world. It's a heady feeling, tangible like an embrace. You start to hum a long-forgotten melody, swinging the both of you back and forth in a mockery of a dance. Yuta laughs gently, giving in.

"Okay, okay. Not for too long or you really will get sick."

"What, don't want to take care of me?" You bat your lashes and feel rewarded when he smiles.

"I already do that, don't I?"

"Oh, whatever." You twirl him and watch as his hair plasters across his rain-slicked skin. Your fingers twitch with the need to push it out of his face but you hold steady, focusing on a song only you can hear.

It's too easy to love him, you think, especially when he's like this. He's beautiful.

Your chest aches.

Eventually, you have to go back inside. The rain has soaked you both down to the bone and shivers begin to wrack your body. Yuta takes note of your sheepish smile and lets out an amused huff of air before gesturing for you to get on his back.

He's warm through the wet fabric of your clothes, goosebumps erupting across your skin. You sink into the warmth, pressing your nose into his hair, an animal seeking heat. The ride back up to your apartment is slower than his usual pace, his hands firm on your thighs as he carries you up.

"You're ridiculous, you know that?"

"And yet you're stuck with me."

"And you're stuck with me." You both laugh.

Despite how much you wish the ride up could last, nothing good ever does for long. You both reach your door all too soon and you slide off his back, your body still pressed against his for the briefest of moments in a moment of weakness. Yuta shudders and you pull away with a flush.

"Thanks," You mumble, patting his shoulder as you walk past him into your home.

Yuta kicks his shoes off and disappears for a moment, returning with two towels. "Let's get you dried off."

Your breathing and the sound of water dripping onto the floor are the only noises in the quiet home. It makes sense for you both to have moved in together. You did almost everything together, so why not just live with your best friend while you're at it? It'd save you both the trip. Plus, it allows you quiet moments like this, the both of you damp from rain but content all the same.

It's so easy to pretend in these little snippets of time that he's all yours. That the room you'll shuffle back to is one you share and that you won't have to crawl out of in the morning before he wakes up. A lump forms in your throat as you break away from each other to head to separate rooms to change.

The best you can do is take what he gives you. Sometimes you get to flop into his bed for a nap- if he takes pity on you that is. He's always been cagey about sharing his bed in a way you don't quite understand. On the couch, he's never far from you. But maybe the bed is too much, too far past the boundary of friendship for him to be comfortable with. Though there are rare exceptions where he drops the invisible line and lets you snuggle into his sheets that smell so strongly of him.

Like today. You bite back a smile as you poke your head into his room, now in dry clothes. Yuta sits on the edge of his bed, looking at his hands with an unreadable expression. It's enough to pull the smile off your face.

"You alright?"

Yuta jerks up and gives you a shaky smile. "Yeah. Just tired. Want a nap?"

"I was hoping you'd ask. I think I might fall asleep standing if I don't lay down soon."

"Can't have that, can we?" He asks softly, laying out on his bed and patting the space next to him. It's the same place you lay each time, to the right of him next to the wall.

You slip into the room and crawl across the bed, grinning at him. Heavy-lidded eyes track your movements, the whisper of his clothing rustling against the blankets beckoning you closer as he makes room. Your heart is hungry and you take the invitation readily, pulling the blankets over your body the second you lay down. The gap between you both is humbling. It's ocean-wide despite how he's not even an arm's length away.

It's still too far and yet all too close. This close-up, you wonder if he could read you. Can see your feelings for him and how strongly even something as lying next to him affects you. You grip the sheets tighter to keep from gripping him. Yuta flicks the lamp off and rolls onto his side, his back facing you.

For the next twenty minutes, you're convinced this is agony. So close and yet so far- the irony is not lost on you. He's the refreshing drink just out of reach in the middle of the desert. When you think the coast is clear, you inch your way forward with closed eyes to press your forehead between his shoulder blades. You rest it there, muscles uncoiling as you breathe him in.

"You know, I wish you loved me like I love you. I'm sorry for it.' You whisper, burrowing further into the line of his spine. "I really am."

It's not quite a kiss you press to his back but more of a touching of lips. It's brief. It's chaster than the searing hunger in your chest desires. But you eventually force yourself to roll onto your other side and succumb to sleep, broadening the gap between you both once more.

You wished he loved you. That he saw you the way you see him. He's the light on the porch when you're coming home, the hand at your back when you ride the train together, steady and comforting and safe. He's the rush in your veins and the craving that makes your teeth ache for a bite of him.

Yuta is everything to you and loving him hurts in the most beautiful way. But at least you have this.

It is enough.

No it's not, your heart weeps. It'll never be enough.

You're fast asleep and you don't notice the way the bed dips beneath your still body. Yuta's stare is heavy on the wall before he cranes his head down to look at your sleeping form, his denim-blue eyes wide.

You love him?

Him?

His hand shakes as it rests on the back of your head, his fingers trembling. Your hair is still damp from the rain but he doesn't care, he runs his hand over it all the same with a reverence that would shake your bones. Warmth blooms in his chest and Yuta smiles.

"You love me," Yuta breathes. "You love me."

His grip tightens on your head. The corners of his smile twist a touch too wide. Your words echo in his head over and over again, a song that will play on repeat for the rest of your lives. You love him, and he loves you. It's all he could have dreamed of. It's all he's ever wanted.

Yuta knows then that he could never possibly let you go. The hunger in his heart outmatches yours easily, a hurricane to your summer storm. Even now, with his hand on your head, it howls for more.

"Sweetheart," He whispers back, his hand trailing from your head down your side. "I'm going to make you the happiest person alive. You can count on that."