#and i've always had trouble letting go of things

[x4az]

𐂅 — [TFP] Various! With A Carthetyia! S/O Who Had An Alternate Form Like Fleurdelys From Wuthering Waves.

— Reader: Carthetyia! Reader, GN.

— Warnings: A little few suggestive stuff that isn't obvious Nsfw! Reader is a Cybertronian that had a similar alternate form like Carthetyia! Reader, My bad at cybertronian anatomy 😭

— Characters: Megatron, Optimus Prime, Starscream, Soundwave. [Transformers Prime]

#TAGS: Headcanons, Fluff, Romantic but can be interpreted as platonic, Potential OOC, Potential Subject would be changed in the future.

— Important Note: I had intentionally changed the original work into this because I've lost interest to Castorice so I rolled with this idea because it's more relatable to write, 😭 Due to the incomplete official canon of Carthetyia's backstory, I didn't put it all fully because the patch is still incomplete so I had to wait for more and cut the headcanons a little bit in half. (Special shoutout to my goat @soundwavesconjunx for giving me ideas 🙏)

— Megatron

— Finding out you have an alternate form? Oh, it'll definitely take a toll on him. Why didn’t you tell him earlier, right at the start of your relationship? And once he realizes how powerful you really are—expect some interesting changes.

— At first, he’s a little intimidated. What the frag do you mean you can slice the ocean with your blade? Potentially continents too?? AND SPACE? (Yes, Megatron. The ult had the longest range, and it aligns perfectly with the lore.)

— The more he processes it, the more it clicks. Yep—you’re the partner he deserves. He sees the resemblance: strong, commanding, powerful. Though… you might just be way taller than him, especially in your full chassis height.

— Suggestive part — Since you're potentially taller than him, he'll try to act like he isn’t constantly staring at your Fleurdelys form… but he absolutely is. You’ve definitely caught him more than once. He looks away and denies it every time.

— You wanna know why his optics don’t always sit straight? Because one’s tracking your movement, and the other is locked square on your chest like the down bad mech he is. 😭

— He would love to spar with you in your alternate form. A proper 1v1—Dark Star Saber versus your divine blade. (You both would have aura moments type shi) and going head-to-head until the match ends in a stalemate… until you activate all three Swords of Divinity. Then? He’s cooked. (But he’d enjoy it, not gonna lie.)

— Optimus Prime

— If you want to include where you like playing puppets the same way carthetyia does, He finds that adorable. He’d absolutely melt if you made a puppeteer version of him for your story scenarios. <3

— Even though your servos are larger and more structured than his, he loves holding them. He loved the feeling of holding yours when you let him, like pressing your palms together during quiet times whenever you are both alone, appreciating the different textures of your gloves that wielded your divine blade with might, Somehow, his gentle grip always finds a way to intertwine with yours.

— Intimate pressing helms together even though it may be awkward because of your horn so he goes a little under it and make it work by tilting his helm against yours so you can resonate with him, your tacet mark glows without any trouble and then closing your optics together as your resonance intertwined with his EM field, that is your language of "Forever." <3

— You two have definitely tried dancing before. At first, it was awkward—missteps here and there—but eventually, you both got the hang of it. Now it’s become a regular thing whenever you’re both free. Moments like these are considered dates in their own right.

— He’d absolutely want to learn more about you and your lore. Being isolated for 20 years before meeting him? That means you’ve got stories— a lot of them. He’d sit and listen without complaint, always attentive. Your world fascinates him, especially its cultural diversity. Rinascita, your homeland, would capture his interest the most—particularly the 'Echoes' that surround Whisperin Heaven. :D

— Starscream

— Oh, this backstabbing little slabber. At first, he just thought you were small... until you proved him completely wrong. 💀

— He was definitely intimidated at first—but slowly, it started to turn him on.

— Like Megatron, he stares. A lot. Especially if you’re towering over him in your alternate form. He tries not to stare down your chassis, but you always catch him doing it.

— He’ll never admit it, but he likes it when you hold him like that. It bruises his pride, sure—but he never resists. Let him rest his helm against your chest when he’s tired; he won’t say it, but that’s his safe place.

— He can somehow relate to your appearance in terms of your horn, in which you sometimes would bump it into his red one as a gentle nudge during times whenever you both tease each other.

— He’d lose his shit when he finds out you can walk on water. But even with all that shock, he never looks away. And when you try to dance? He’ll act like he’s going to laugh—but secretly, he finds it endearing as hell.

— Soundwave

— Soundwave had your frame recorded in 100x detail the first time you transformed. You may not have noticed, but he absolutely stored that footage in his processor. He won't admit it, but he is interested in every detail of your framework and how it functions.

— Same goes for holding servos—except with his datacables. They wrap gently around your wrist and pull you just a little closer. Just enough for him to feel the texture of your hold, syncing with your energy through physical touch.

— Laserbeak? Obsessed with your thorned crown. It's basically his favorite nesting spot now. Wherever you go, he’s chilling up there. You’re basically wearing a living hat.

— He’s relentlessly protective. Even though you can handle yourself, he needs to make sure you're safe. That means monitoring you when you're outside—or discreetly sending Laserbeak to keep an eye from above.

— He's fiercely defensive of your space and your image. If someone insults you—or questions your divinity—expect that person (or bot) to mysteriously disappear the next day. (Starscream is sweating oil by now.)

— Much like Optimus, Soundwave would quietly research your origins—if you permit him. He’s deeply curious about how you came to be the "Blessed Maiden," and your ties to the Imperator and the Leviathan. This is his way of loving: silent, observant, devoted. He stores it all in his private database—never sharing a single detail. Your story belongs to him and him alone.

— And you can't tell me that Optimus, Megatron, Soundwave, would definitely carry you like this if you are Fleurdelys! Reader lmao

©x4az 2025 — Do not feed my work to AI or repost them.

[stellargh0ul]

I've been thinking about Copia and Perpetua giving each other nice gifts for their shared birthday. If you wanna write something like that, it'd melt my heart, thank you <3

oh this is such a cute prompt!! thank you for sending it, this was really fun to write.

-

his birthday is, all things considered, an awful occasion. it’s not something to look forward to, nor something to be celebrated- in fact, if everyone forgot all about it, Perpetua would be far happier just letting it pass in quiet mundanity.

but he’s Papa now. so that doesn’t happen.

Haze knows his preferences, of course, so her gift- a hand-crafted mirror with a spelled backing that will let him see himself and make putting his paint on easier- is given to him in the anonymity of his bedroom.

but that’s the only peace he’s afforded, because a Papa’s birthday is a special occasion that the whole church needs to celebrate. there’s a party planned later that he needs to preside over, and a ritual sacrifice of some of the unholy goats they keep, and the whole thing just makes him want to go back to bed and miss it all.

his birthday was never celebrated in the orphanage. and when it was, it was the older children mocking him for ever thinking someone would go through the trouble of getting him a gift.

so there’s really only one reason Perpetua hasn’t put his foot down and shut himself in his chambers, and it’s the fact that it isn’t only his birthday.

he’s standing in front of Frater Imperator’s office with a small wrapped package in his hands, having knocked at least a minute beforehand and gotten no reply. hesitantly, he knocks again, a bit louder.

“Frater? do you have a moment?”

there’s another long pause. Perpetua is sure he’s in there- he can hear the scribbling of a pen across paper and someone breathing- but perhaps he’s too busy to take a visitor. or he just doesn’t want to see this particular one.

both seem equally likely.

he’s turning to go when Copia’s voice comes from inside the office, barely audible.

“come in.”

Perpetua pushes the door open and enters, noting that his brother looks like he hasn’t slept in a few days. there’s dark circles around his eyes that rival those of his facepaint and a specific sheen of grease in his hair that means it’s been a while since Copia had a shower.

he knows because his own hair does the same thing.

“forgive the interruption,” Perpetua says, and Copia looks up at him with a start, as if he hadn’t realized who had entered his office until that point.

“it’s you.”

“…it’s me.”

they stare at each other for a long moment.

“I thought you would be celebrating,” Copia says eventually, glancing away.

“I could say the same of you.”

“bah-“ his brother tosses his head. “too much to do.”

Perpetua chuckles.

“always.”

silence between them again. Copia’s gaze falls to the wrapped package in Perpetua’s hands and he squints.

“is that…”

“it’s just a little thing” he hurries to say and goes to put it on Copia’s desk. his brother reaches out for it after a moment, as if it might bite him. when it doesn’t come to life, he takes it in his hands and carefully undoes the wrapping.

the wooden box inside opens to reveal the head of a cane: a rat with teeth bared, carved from wood, with eyes inlaid with star sapphires.

Copia just looks at it for a long moment before he looks back at Perpetua, face unreadable.

“…it’s lovely.”

he thinks there’s a note of genuine thankfulness in his brother’s voice and feels a smile break out across his face.

“i’m glad you like it. I won’t keep you long, we’re both… busy.”

Perpetua turns on his heel towards the door, nearly back out into the hallway before he hears Copia call out after him. he stops, looking back at his brother, to find that there’s yet another plain wrapped package sitting on the desk.

“…Frater?”

“it’s just a little thing,” Copia mumbles, looking away again. Perpetua has to stop himself from running across the room to take it.

inside is a bottle of lotion, expensive looking, with a label in french that he cannot read. he looks up at Copia, questioning.

“it’s for your skin,” Copia explains, unable to look Perpetua in the eye. “the paint, it… dries out your skin. if it’s- if yours is anything like mine, anyway. this is what I use. used.”

“thank you, fratello.”

he can’t stop the word from crossing his lips, though it makes them both flinch.

is this what it was to have a brother? someone whose hair greased in the way yours did when they went too long without a shower? someone who wondered if you had dry skin after painting your face night after night?

someone to get you a gift on your birthday?

Perpetua wouldn’t know. he’d never had one before.

but this was nice.

[howlett-n-morgan]

Take Me Home

8. Time Of Need

Arthur Morgan x Texas Red!Reader

A/n: here it is, guys. i apologize in advance for this very hard read, it was mostly just a way for me to vent out some frustration that I've been having recently with things that have resurfaced in my life. if anyone has ever gone through something like SA or similar to it, please know you can always talk to me. I understand, and i am with you guys.

Summary: With John back in the camp, things go back to normal, until a town excursion with a few gang members leads to a terrible tragedy.

Warnings: literally everything holy shit- Sexual Assualt, Gun Violence, mentions of blood. Mentions of pregnancy and miscarriage. mentions of mental illness and depression. PTSD. mentions of dismemberment and other acts of physical violence.

WC: 20k (yes, you read that correctly)

“Oh,” you smiled, trying to be decent with someone who has potentially seen you before… although you aren’t sure how. “I know a lot of people.”  “His name was Christopher Mathis,” the man’s voice changed, and turned cold. It sent a chill down your spine immediately and you sensed that you were in danger. “You shot him dead right in front of me.”  And it was only then when he was before you that you assessed his nature. He was a threat, because he knew who you were. No one has ever recognized Texas Red outside of his facade.

There will come a time of need, and when that need comes, there is no better man to have in your corner than Arthur Morgan…

-

John has kept to his word, showing just how much he cared about his family. It was a slow process to reintegrate, and to start taking on responsibilities, both for Jack and Abigail, but he was doing it. You saw with your own eyes just how much he was trying. 

You were also experiencing something over the past week that you thought was impossible. Dutch started favoring you. 

He even let you lead a job for the first time since your accident on the train a while back. It was a small job, that was for sure, but it felt good to have the balance of before, of Charlie Brooks and Texas Red. It may not be your true origin, but after years of wearing the name and the talent that goes along with it, it’s becoming who you are. 

You’ve been wearing dresses around the camp again. Although you still kept the look of a young man to fool the people in town whenever you could. It was easier that way, making sure no one saw resemblances. You remember back in Agua Fria how there had been wanted posters with a masculine outline of your face on it, Texas Red being the name in thick letters above the drawn lines. It was easier to confuse people there when they had a face on paper, not just in their heads. No need to put that face on top of a girl wearing a frilly dress.

It’s been a good week, you’d like to think. The camp seems to have completely forgotten about your troubles, and moved on with eloquence. It most likely has to do with the fact that you brought John home, and no one was as upset about it as they originally thought. 

Sitting with your back against one of the desert trees, you scribbled away on a ledger that you were working on, face completely focused until a radiant, sun kissed figure appeared before you, kneeling down. 

You pretended to ignore him, rereading the list you made a few times over. He knew it was a farce, but he loved playing these games with you. They seemed to intensify with every interaction. He was trying his absolute best to work himself another opportunity like he’d had around the campfire the night of John’s return. 

He huffed an amused scoff, shuffling around on the dirt until he was sitting with his back to your outstretched legs, faking a wide yawn and laying backwards onto your lap. You couldn’t hide your smile if you tried, peering over your book to greet him. 

“Hello, Arthur,” you spoke, holding back a giggly grin. He’d now taken to ignoring you, crossing his arms over his chest and closing his eyes as if he were napping. 

Two can play that game. You set the pencil back down into the fold of the ledger to free one hand, letting it card through the strands of his hair. It was getting longer again, the pieces in the front framed his face how you liked it.

“Keep that up and I’ll fall asleep for real,” he uttered, his own smile spreading gently at the feel of your fingers. 

“Can’t have that, you’ve got a busy day ahead.” 

“I do?” He peeked with one eye open at you, with confusion woven through his furrowed brow. 

“I don’t know. That’s how it usually goes,” you shrugged, continuing to rake your fingers through his hair despite the threat of him falling asleep. 

“I think for once I’m gettin’ an easy day. The question is, how should I spend it?” 

You could think of several things, but of course you wouldn’t voice these things aloud. You were certain of Arthur’s feelings by now, but even with the assurance that your adoration is returned, you’re both still on the precipice of changing the dynamic, and ending the game. It’s fun, and it makes the tension thicker with every encounter. 

“I say you should help me with my busy day,” you replied, taking up the pencil in your hand again and scribbling away the next part of your task. 

“Yeah? And what are we doin’ exactly?” 

He sat up from his reclining position on your legs to move onto the ground beside you, glancing over your shoulder. 

“I’ve been making a list of necessities we’re missing from the inventory. I guess Hosea’s gonna take a cart into town tomorrow for supplies.” 

“Ah, I see…”

He leaned close, watching you write each thing down as it was needed. With the budget for items, you were working hard to figure out what was needed more and how much of it. He liked watching you write, your handwriting was so neat and elegant. 

He sat there for a while, staring at the page, then turning to watch the camp. He seemed to be enjoying himself until his restlessness caused him to fiddle with the outer skirt of your dress. You weren’t wearing the top of it today, just a corset and chemise because of the heat, but the light blue skirt had some holes in it, too big for patching or mending in his opinion.

“I’ve been meaning to buy you a new one.” 

You let your pencil fall to the page, turning your face to see his eyeline reaching the holes in your skirt. “You don’t have to buy me anything, ya hear? Besides, s’just a few little holes, no one’s gonna know.” 

“I bought you this one, already,” he reminded, trying to get you to concede, but of course you were stubborn and hard-headed. 

“And it’s my favorite thing I own,” you defended it, although it was falling to pieces every day you wore it. 

“Besides your gun…” he corrected.

You sighed, needing to admit it was in fact second to the pistol that you depended on. 

“Besides my gun…” you nodded along.

“I like gettin’ you things,” he shrugged, leaning a little further into you when he reached for the other side of your skirt hem. “If your skirt has holes I’ll buy you something new.”

“Half the girls in camp have holes in their skirts, Arthur.”

“They ain’t you,” he spoke firmly. He started standing to his feet, dusting his pants off and shaking his hands after. “If I don’t find something else to do today, I’ll go into town and get you a nice one.” 

“Arthur-“ 

“Nope. I won’t hear it,” he shoved off your reply, keeping any further protesting from reaching his ears. 

You huffed a breath out, rolling your eyes before letting a smile across your lips. He was so stubborn, but you couldn’t deny you loved how much he wanted to do something for you, wanted to provide for you.

The day went on until about noon, and Dutch called everyone to the center of the camp when the sun was right overhead. Everyone was hot and sweaty in the midst of the heat, but they listened to the speech anyway. 

Apparently, there was a Grand Marquis passing through the town, only making a stop to tour the mountains. It was highly unlikely that someone of such status would linger for longer than they had to, and Dutch knew it. He wanted a select group to go into town this afternoon and scout out the area around the Inn that he was staying at. 

The special list of people included: Arthur, Javier, John, Mac, Karen, and You. 

You weren’t necessarily sure how he came up with the list, but you weren’t complaining, you were just glad to be back on jobs again. So was John, funnily enough. 

Sean asked what the rest of them were to do in the time being, and Dutch had a spooky little answer of: get ready…

You weren’t sure if he already had a plan in place, or if he was waiting on the intel you all would bring him, but you imagined the job was going to be huge. You hadn’t been on such an expensive job since the train, but you were ready to prove yourself this time. Whatever happened, you would not be the reason this job goes south. 

You started heading towards your tent to change, but then Dutch stopped you, a hand on your shoulder. 

“Maybe it’s for the best on this one that Texas Red isn’t recognizable,” he said in a concerned manner. At first you thought he was being over cautious, but on second thought, you remembered just how much of a ruckus you’d caused when you dueled a man outside the saloon. Even the shopkeeper is afraid of you, now.

Dutch was right, it’s for the best that no one knows. 

So instead you grab the holster meant for your lower thigh, strapping it on and setting your beloved pistol into place. It was all you really needed for a small reconnaissance job, and it wouldn’t even be drawn. 

Arthur catches you with your foot up on a barrel, the exposed skin of your leg on view for him to see. He leaned against his wagon and whistled out in a low tone, grabbing your attention. 

“Arthur Morgan,” you scolded playfully, dropping your skirt and putting your foot down to the ground. “Don’t you know it’s bad manners to stare at a lady without proper apparel?” 

He stopped leaning on his wagon, taking slow strides towards you with his hands on his belt. 

“I’ve seen you in less…” he trailed, raising a brow and tilting his head. When you saw the smirk on his lips you scoffed. The devil himself, but he was still so handsome. 

“Only one time, and I was bleedin’ out,” you remarked, arguing with his naughty sentiments. 

He scratched the back of his neck, nodding in agreement. He was almost too timid to say his next line, but as he began to take his leave, he turned around, walking backwards to keep you in his eyeline a moment longer. 

“I’m sure it won’t be the last…” 

With that, he turned back around, avoiding the aftermath of his comment that left you completely speechless. Your eyes grew wide, and it took you a moment to process what he was really saying. Arthur Morgan is thinkin’ about taking my clothes off. 

You shook your head to try and get refocusing on the job, but he stayed within the confines of your mind. 

-

Standing in the middle of town beside Karen, you looked around the Inn. Arthur had already gone down another path and taken Mac with him. The two were trying to examine the exit through the back. 

You had just been lingering around the front of the establishment, but given that it’s a bigger, slightly wealthier Inn, you figured the terrace might be the best way inside. You looked to the left and right, listening to Javier and Karen squabble about the Marquis himself before you decided you wanted a new perspective on the building. 

“I’m gonna try and find a way onto the terrace,” you nudged Karen, hearing a vague response before they were back to arguing. 

You took your time, trying to act as inconspicuous as possible, going down one alley, then the next, trying to find a point of entry to a neighboring building. If you could just get to a nearby roof, it would be easy to climb over the railing of the Inn’s terrace. 

You finally found a spot nearby, where some carpenters had been taking a break, setting their tools down and throwing down their gloves. When they left the area, you nearly cheered. There was a maintenance ladder, perfectly placed by the building three doors down. 

You minded your own business, continuing to walk through the alley, looking left and right before scaling the ladder. Once on the rooftop, you were able to inconspicuously walk along the edge of each rooftop until you reached the terrace. You didn’t bother making a spectacle of yourself to actually climb over, but just made mental notes on the small distance and where the windows were placed. 

Overall, it looked like the easiest way inside, never mind the fact that no one knew which room belonged to whom. 

You leaned around the side, making sure you were still relatively hidden before descaling the buildings. You realize only now that another hole in your skirt was made when you went down the ladder. The worn fabric caught on a steep splinter in the wood. 

You huffed out a sigh, knowing that if Arthur already checked out the building, he was likely at the general store now. 

“Excuse me, pretty miss?” A voice erupted from down the alley, further away from the street. 

You turned and were met by a man, likely a towns person who was unsure of why you were climbing ladders in a back alleyway. Curiosity killed the cat.

“Yes, sir?” 

“My name is Earl Hayes,” he began speaking gently. Holding his hat in his hands before taking slow steps towards you. “I believe you knew one of my friends…”

He looked cordial and timid, likely a farmer from the attire he wore:

“Oh,” you smiled, trying to be decent with someone who has potentially seen you before… although you aren’t sure how. “I know a lot of people.” 

“His name was Christopher Mathis,” the man’s voice changed, and turned cold. It sent a chill down your spine immediately and you sensed that you were in danger. “You shot him dead right in front of me.” 

And it was only then when he was before you that you assessed his nature. He was a threat, because he knew who you were. No one has ever recognized Texas Red outside of his facade.

“I’m sure you’ve got me mixed up with someone else…” you trailed, taking steps backwards until your back hit something. Turning around, you were face to face with two other men, taller and stronger than you if you had to guess. You couldn’t take either of them if you tried.

“Grab her hands,” Earl said, his tone firm and his words fast. You didn’t even have a chance to reach for your gun when they got you by the arms, taking you to the brick wall behind you. You notice immediately the black ink tattoo that’s right by your face, keeping you in line.  “Hold her still.” 

“Let go of me!” You jerked around, feeling as though another brick wall was holding you down. You started screaming, but before the breath in your lungs could even carry it out, Earl placed a dirty hand over your mouth, the harshness of it had slammed your head into the wall. The dizziness was almost a comfort when it distorted your vision, but it didn’t last long, and you were again met with the demon eyes of the man you thought was a timid farmer.

Earl reached beneath your skirt, drawing your gun and holding it in his hands before tossing it to the side. “Can’t let her get her hands on this. We’ll all be dead…”

“We gonna kill’er?” One of the men spoke, his tone conveyed just how dull minded he was, probably convinced into this situation by the lunatic who’s hand is over your face. You have no idea how he was sure about you, but you didn’t care, you just wanted out of here, wanted to be back with your family. Back with him…

You tried to kick at the man in front of you, but it didn’t do much. The men holding your hands down each picked up a leg, spreading them apart as Earl stepped between them. 

“Not yet,” he muttered darkly, gathering up the skirt and petticoat you were wearing. You started thrashing around even more, but their hands were just too strong, and too determined. “She is a pretty little thing…”

No, this wasn’t happening. You weren’t stuck here, with no one around… this couldn’t be happening, right? Someone would come and stop them, they had to. Someone, anyone. 

As the men were able to get your skirt and bloomers to the ground, they struggled with the petticoat, so you broke your mouth free of the man’s hand for a long enough second to scream the only name that came to mind. 

“Arthur!”

-

John came back to Javier and Karen, holding a piece of paper in his hands. 

“I got something good. Take a look,” he opened the folded page, showing a floor plan of the entire top floor. Not only did it have the complete design, but also a room number. 

“Is that where the Marquis is?” Javier asked, drawing a finger over the biggest suite.

“I’d imagine so. It’s the most expensive room they got,” John reasoned, refolding the paper and shrugging his shoulders. “Now we just need a way in.”

Right then, their heads turned in every which direction, hearing a scream that was foreign yet somehow familiar.

“Did you hear that?” Karen’s voice perked up. She looked every which way, but standing where they were, they couldn’t determine where the sound was coming from. 

“It almost sounded like…” Javier trailed, his train of thought being silenced for a few seconds as they listened for it again. 

The air was stiffly quiet, and their hearts raced in their chests in the hushed moments, unsure of what to do, yet. 

It wasn’t until the blood curdling call of their enforcer came that they realized the situation at hand. 

“Arthur!” It rang in the air, and they now had a general direction of where it came from. 

“Shit, it’s Brooks…” Javier breathed out, his hands getting clammy from just the thought of one of their own being in trouble. “John, go find Arthur.” 

And as soon as the instructions were given, they all split up, John running towards the last place he saw Arthur, and the other two running towards the sound of the screams. 

They looked down every road, checked every nearby building with an open window. They went at a panicking speed, and still it wasn’t fast enough. 

Javier was the one to find you… and he nearly doubled over and emptied his lunch onto the ground. There were three men, and there was you, and you were completely at their mercy, a hand over your mouth and overflowing tears running down your cheeks as one man pounded you against the wall. 

He intervened immediately, pulling his gun and rushing into the scene with a yell. 

“Hey!” He shouted, his gun about to be unloaded into someone’s head. 

When they knew they were caught, they tried to scatter, dropping you to the ground without regard. Earl and one of his men got around the corner before Javier could do anything, but he shot one man in the leg, tackling him into the wall the next second. This man was bigger than he was, but he was putting up a fight to keep him down.

You never stopped crying, and how could you? Your hands shook, and your body was aching with a pain unimaginable.

“Karen!” Javier shouted, and within a moment, the woman rushed down the alleyway. She froze at the sight, her hands going over her mouth as she slowly approached. “Get the others over here.”

Hearing the command was not exactly a comfort. You didn’t want anyone to see you like this, and in this moment you just wished the earth would swallow you whole. Everything was happening at you and around you so quickly, you were trembling at every thought.

Javier was still struggling to contain the man he’d caught, the sheer size of him becoming a hassle. But he couldn’t let him go. He knew Arthur would want a say in the matter. Arthur had strong hands, and a gruesome temper when it was brought about. He’d make quick work of dismantling this man.

-

Arthur had long since ditched the idea of recon, nearly the moment they arrived. He said he was going with Mac to check out the back entrances, but once he got there he let the younger man take the lead on it, and headed directly for the general store. 

He’d made a promise he intended to keep, stepping into the establishment and going to the counter. He’d looked at a few trinkets on display, noticing some of the old and cheap pieces of jewelry they kept in the case atop one shelf. There was a ring inside, small, and nothing extravagant, but completely and totally fitting of an outlaw. The stone was not a diamond, but instead a small, dirty turquoise. He knew he could shine it up nice and pretty, so before he even got into the catalogue, he asked the shopkeeper to open the small case for him. 

He plucked the ring from the bunch, and the shopkeeper looked appalled at his decision, but there was only one thing that Arthur could think of. She’d love this…

And that’s the thought that possessed his next decision. “How much?”

“This old thing? Can’t ask for more than a dollar…” he shook his head, seeing as though this customer was extremely lacking in good taste, his opinion on the matter, anyway. 

“Sold,” Arthur joked, laying a bill on the counter and pocketing the ring. He didn’t quite know what he planned to do with it yet, but he figured he had time. 

He took a while browsing the catalog, looking through each dress in the book and making notes on the things he remembered that you liked about the first dress he bought you. It’s not too long, and easy to clean the hem. It’s lightweight cotton, and keeps you cool in this treacherous weather, supposedly springtime in the desert. It was easy to put on, minus the few buttons at the back. It had shorter mid-sleeves that accommodated your work.

All of these things he was taking into careful consideration before the door of the establishment burst open. Arthur turned and saw John, a look of fear on his features. 

“Arthur,” he let out, taking a quick breath. “It’s Charlie.” 

And then every muscle in Arthur’s body tensed, his mind immediately going to the worst case scenario. There was a duel, and someone was finally faster. It’s the only thing he could think of, but he didn’t ask. He just dropped the catalog and ran from the store with John, following him back into the square when they saw Karen. 

“We found her,” she said, shaking and crying with every step. 

“What happened?” Arthur asked angrily, but she couldn’t answer him. He would have to see it for himself. She choked out a sob and led them to the alleyway, nearly stumbling over her feet in her distraught manner.

Arthur could see everything in slow motion when he turned the corner. He froze in place for only a second or two, but with each beat of his rapid heart, he could see and feel everything that had happened. It was like the strongest dead eye a man could have.

You were on the ground, huddled against the wall. Your skirt was torn and puddled in the dirt next to you, holes be damned. Your petticoats were shoved up in a bunch, and he could see that there was blood on them, and running down the inside of your legs. You were completely disheveled, the dirt from the wall stained your skin, and your hair was a mess. When he saw your bloomers hooked around one ankle, stuck on your boot, he broke from the trance. It had only been a moment, but he feared it had been too long. 

He ran to you, kneeling down on the ground and trying to figure out the best way to touch you, if he even could. The sobs that erupted from you had broken him in a way he doesn’t think he could ever recover from. Not his Red… no.

He placed a hand at your face, as gently as he possibly could, and wiped away some tears with his thumb. More fell right after, and as he met your eyes, he couldn’t see the usual glint in them. Even when you were angry with him he could normally see it. It scared him half to death to find it gone… you weren’t even there. 

He finally turned from you, seeing how Javier had just about wrangled a man to the ground, and Arthur took one look at the man before his vision was clouded and his physicality took over.

He doesn’t even care to hold back. He moves Javier out of the way, and starts beating the man senseless. The man is begging, pleading for mercy, for forgiveness… but Arthur is an angry animal. His punches only get harder, and he can’t stop himself. He wonders for a moment if you begged and pleaded for this man to stop, and that’s when he starts to hear and feel the cracking of bone under his fist. 

He momentarily notes how John and Karen are talking to you, hearing the sobs continuously over it all. It fuels his rage, the blood dusting his fingers barely becomes a consequence. 

He cares about much. The camp, the members within it, his family for as long as he can remember… it’s all he’s been able to focus on since his last love broke his heart years ago. But then you came along. You had shown him up, you had impressed him, you had angered him, and most importantly, you had intrigued him. 

When he first began teaching you, he’d grown a fondness, something the likes of a good friend. When he was the only one who knew your secret, it became more protective, and those feelings turned into something stronger. Devotion. He wanted to do anything he could to help you, to shield you from harm. When the camp found out about you, he’d been scared. Not knowing your fate that day made him contemplate something he thought he’d never do. Leave the camp, if you’d been kicked out. His loyalty to Dutch was strong, anyone could see that… but after waiting years for the right person, his loyalty to you was now stronger.

It was then he knew his heart had been mended. He no longer feared the loving touch of a partner, he craved it. He craved you, and everything that came with it. The ring in his pocket weighed heavily, and the strain on his mind came quickly. 

He hadn’t been here, and he failed to do the one thing that had been in him since the very beginning. He didn’t protect you. He left you alone and you went through hell without him. 

“Arthur…”

He’d heard the call of his name, but took a moment to come out of his own head. 

“Arthur!” He heard it loud and clear this time. Javier stood beside him, trying to pull him away from the bloody and downright destroyed body of the man he’d been beating senselessly. “He’s already dead.” 

It’s not enough, Arthur thinks. He should be obliterated. 

“We need to get her out of here,” Karen said, sniffling her own tears long enough to get out the words. “I have to get her somewhere I can check her, make sure she doesn’t need a doctor.”

And then Arthur was back to work. He’d only now noticed that Mac had shown up, being kind enough to lay his jacket over your shoulders. He was the only one stupid enough to wear a jacket in this weather, but Arthur was grateful you would have something to shelter yourself with.

“The Inn is just a few doors down, we can get a room.” 

Arthur let John take the lead, not saying a word as he knelt down beside you again, trying to find the best way to pick you up. You were sensitive to touch, but you held onto him when he scooped you from the ground. Your entire body shook, and he had to keep himself together for you, otherwise he’d be a mess. 

“I’ve got you,” he choked out, unsure of what else he could possibly say. 

John led the group towards the Inn, and Karen went inside first to get a key. It wasn’t long before Arthur and Javier were following Karen into the building, leaving the others outside. The Inn keeper would be very confused in a days time, but it was of little consequence.

The room was thankfully on the first floor, right next to a bathing area in case it was needed. Arthur set you down on the bed in the corner, and Karen had to literally shove him along to get him outside the room to close the door. 

He knew for propriety’s sake that he needed to wait out here, but he didn’t want to. He wanted to be by your side and do everything he could to make up for his time of absence. 

He paced outside the door for a few seconds before turning to Javier. 

“What the hell happened?” 

Javier was frightened, not of Arthur, but of recalling the events as they occurred. They’re going to be burned into his memory.

“We were scouting this place, and John got a lead,” he began, taking a deep breath and rubbing the back of his neck. “We heard someone scream, but we didn’t know where it came from…”

Javier was keeping his eyes away from Arthur’s, because he knew he wouldn’t make it through the story if he didn’t. 

“A few seconds later we knew it was her, because she was screaming your name.”

Arthur got a lump in his throat just imagining it. His heart had not stopped hurting in his chest since he saw you, but knowing you called for him was too much. 

“We didn’t hear anything else, but when we found her, there were three men involved. I shot the one, wrangled him down, but the others got away.” 

“There were more?” Arthur’s tone was still on a sharp edge, but he was trying to hold back from shouting when he knew you were right behind that door. 

“We’ll find them,” Javier assured, placing his hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “And we’ll kill them.”

And usually this sentiment would hold Arthur up for the time being, but right now, it was just another stab to his heart. The monsters that did this were still alive and walking. They think they got away with it. 

He turned his back to the wall, leaning against it before letting his body slide down until he was sitting. He tried to hold it back, he tried to keep himself strong… but that’s the love of his life in the room behind him, and he can’t bear the thought of everything you went through while he was off somewhere else. He will never deserve you after this. After what he believes he’s done. 

He drops his head, and Javier hears the faintest snuff. He’s almost shocked. He’s seen friends and family die in front of Arthur, but the man’s stoicism remained. He has never seen Arthur cry before. 

“You said she called for me?” His weary voice sounded faintly in the hall. 

“Arthur…” Javier knew him, and he had a good idea of what went through his head. He was a very self deprecating man, who didn’t think much of himself to begin with… but add a situation like this, where the girl he loves was abused? “You can’t blame yourself.” 

Arthur disregarded his statement, ignoring anything that might try and make him feel better. He didn’t want to feel better, he wanted to feel shitty, and let the guilt punish him.

“Did she sound scared?” He asked, knowing that he probably shouldn’t hear the answer.

“It all happened so fast, I don’t remember…” 

He was lying. The blood curdling scream still echoed in his head, but it doesn’t need to echo in Arthur’s too. Especially knowing Arthur would imagine it much worse. 

“When you found her… were they-?”

“Yes…” he cut Arthur short, not wanting to hear his question in full. “I couldn’t see everything, but her blood was on him.” 

Even just recalling the sight made Javier nauseated again. He slid into a sitting position with Arthur, head against the wall as he waited. 

Karen took a few more minutes before she came out of the room, looking directly at Arthur. 

“She doesn’t need a doctor for now, but that could change….” She shut the door behind her, not wanting you to listen in on the conversation, though the thin walls probably allowed you to, anyway. 

“Why? What’s wrong with her?”  

“She has a small tear that she’s been bleeding from… but I’ve taken care of it for the time being.” Her explanation didn’t put anyone at ease, and her next remark would do even less. “We’ll have to watch her real closely, and might even have to track her cycle.”

“Track her….” Arthur trailed, putting the pieces together in his head. He looked at Karen with an immense seriousness, his eyes wide. “You think he-?

“I don’t know. Given he was interrupted, I’m guessing not, but we still need to be sure.” 

Arthur couldn’t bear to think about what that would mean for you. What might happen if you were to fall pregnant with the baby of your abuser. He hopes it never comes to that. He hopes for the absolute best outcome for all these things concerning you, but he knows his forced optimism is probably misplaced. 

“Can I go in there?” He asked, taking his hat and holding it in his hands. 

Karen sighed out, her brows raising in thought. It’s not like he could do any harm. You trusted Arthur more than anyone. 

“I suppose,” she paused when he hastily reached for the doorknob. “Be slower than that, and be careful, ya hear?”

He nodded, his eyes closing for a moment as he took in a deep breath. 

He entered the next second, and tried to keep his reaction steady. He knew he’d be pained by the view, but he had to be beside you again. 

You looked much better than earlier, albeit slightly tired. Karen had cleaned you up, and laid you down, letting you rest amongst the sheets of the bed. They were comforting, and engulfed you in warmth and safety. As much as a piece of fabric could do, at least. 

When you saw him approaching, hat in his hands and head tilted downwards in sorrow, you tried to sit up a little, ignoring the pain between your legs in favor of seeing him face to face. 

He looked nervous to approach you, but he really shouldn’t have been. You wanted him near you. He was a source of comfort, and he was a safe haven.

“Arthur,” you spoke his name, and immediately he knew that he was in the right place. 

You didn’t look excited to see him, your face was too expressionless for that… but if he had to guess, you seemed a bit relieved when he walked in. 

“Red…” he took slow steps until he was at the edge of the bed, lowering himself as gently as he could. “I feel like a fool for asking, but are you alright?”

You huffed a breath, and it came out shakily. 

“I’m as well as I can be,” you told him, and though it was meant to make him feel better, he didn’t care to. He could hear the break of your voice. 

He nodded, dropping his head. He didn’t want you to see him cry. He wanted to be stronger for you, but he couldn’t be. 

“I think I’m still coming to terms with what just happened,” you explained, furrowing your brows and trying to continue. “It’s so strange… I don’t even remember most of it, just that I was really scared. I thought when they were done they would kill me.” 

You’ve almost never been afraid to die. From the very beginning of Texas Red, the mentality has always been ‘I’ve got nothing to lose.’

All of that changed in the alleyway. You had actual regrets, and things you’d wished to do. Things that you’d always been afraid to say because of how bad it may end up. Now you had everything to lose, and you’d been afraid you would. You’d already lost so much in that moment of time.

“They stole my gun, yknow?” You told him, curling in closer to yourself when you spoke. “I watched them take it and run.” 

You hated how much you were having to talk to fill the void of silence, but Arthur refused to speak, and didn’t look at you except once every so often. You wanted him to be here. You needed him to be present with you, to tell you that what happened wasn’t the end of the world and that you were going to be okay. 

You didn’t know what else to say to him. He was listening, that much you could tell… but you wanted him to say something, anything. 

You were already in a fragile state, but seeing him react like this was making it worse. You teared back up again, reaching your hand out. He gladly took it in his, wrapping his other hand overtop. You started crying more, and then in the silence, Arthur moved over, and wrapped you up in a cocoon of his embrace. It was so secure that you felt nothing could ever reach you. The only problem was, it already  had. You’d already been through hell in the span of an afternoon. Your sobs fell on the ears of the only person who could hear them to their fullest. He knows the depth and heaviness of each strained sound, because unlike the others, he knows what you lost.

Knowing that you were in his arms, and under his gentle touch, the thought came to your mind, the one that you’d been holding onto since it happened. 

“It was supposed to be you…” 

If Arthur hadn’t been sitting already, he would have sunk to his knees on the ground. He had known that already, but hearing you say it now made him feel lost somehow. He’d remembered your conversation from before everyone even came to El Paso. 

“I think I’m still gonna wait until I can give it to someone I love.”

He dipped his head. He definitely understood, and only wished he’d been wise enough to do the same. There was a time in his life before where he wishes he’d waited for a certain girl… but that was ages ago, and he knows his count is higher than it should be. 

“Do you think you’re close to findin’ that someone?” his voice was just above a whisper, now, and he knows that the question he’s asked is risky. He doesn’t know if he wants to know the answer, but without thinking, you give it to him. 

“Real close,” you told him, looking down at your hands when his dim-lit stare became too much.

He comes out of his memory and back to the torturesome present, his hands trembling the slightest bit from his internalized anger. It’ll never be shown to you, of course, but the rage he still feels having known this wasn’t over yet was stirring. He hates it all. He hates the men, he hates himself for not being there to protect you, but moreover, he hates that you hadn’t been Texas Red, the one time it mattered. 

He just wants to set it all right. It would be an impossible task, but he would try, starting with this moment. Keeping you in his arms for as long as you need, and heeding your every request when it is spoken. 

“I’ll never be able to tell you how sorry I am, sweet girl.”

You sniffled, pulling away from the crook of his neck for a moment to look at him. 

“If I had died today… and I never got to tell you…” Your words were still weak as you trailed off, so you took a deep breath to try and steady them.

“Tell me what?” 

You raised a hand to the side of his face, more tears coming to your eyes when you finally spoke the words of sincerity that you’d been holding back for so long now. Nearly since the day you met him.

“I love you, Arthur,” you let out with a shaky breath. “I only wish I’d said so before.” 

Guilt washed over him almost immediately, and for a second time, he’s absolutely taken aback by your words. He’s filled with the shame of knowing that those words had been uttered before in a different circumstance, and he never responded with the same sentiment. He’s angry now, because he had every chance to.

“You-“ He cuts himself short, shaking his head before dropping it. “You did…” 

Your confusion and curiosity outweighs your sadness for only a moment, and Arthur can see in your eyes that you’re searching for the moment it happened, but your mind turns up blank. 

“That night in the saloon,” he explained, his hands becoming looser on you. He recalls his mistakes, and feels unworthy to be holding you this tightly. “You were drunk as I've ever seen you, but you told me then… and I didn’t say it back to ya.”

His voice broke on his last words, and he took a sharp inhale afterwards to hold himself together.

“Arthur…” 

You don’t even know how to feel about it at first, but he doesn’t give you enough time to think about it. He wants to rectify everything. He looks you straight in the eye, with all the certainty he has.

“I do love you, Red. More than anything in this whole damn world, I love ya… and all this? It’s my fault,” he reflected, the dip in his tone echoing his guilt. She hated that sound, and would do anything to be rid of it. She’s already emotional over what happened, and she doesn’t want to hear him say things that aren’t true.

“No, Arthur, it’s not… I can’t let you believe that.”

He furrows his brows and averts his eyes from yours again.

“I might not be the reason it happened, but I should’ve been there with you. I’ve spent so long tryin’ to protect you, and I let it go to shit.”

You didn’t argue with him. Arthur was like an oak tree. He was strong, able to withstand any storm that blew his way… but he was also stubborn and unmoving, deeply rooted in the ground and needing the strongest of winds to even sway in the slightest. You weren’t going to change his mind, but in the future, you would try and sway him. Right now, though, you just rested in his presence, against the sturdy oak that kept you upright.

It’s quiet again, and you can hear his heart beating. It’s a welcome distraction, though it doesn’t keep your mind occupied long enough to forget about why you’re here in the first place. Earl Hayes. A man who’s voice will ring in your ears for the rest of your life. The one who took your innocence when it was meant for someone else. A gift that you can never get back. 

“Arthur, I wanna find the man that did this…” Your voice sounded, a bit muffled against his chest. “I want him to die.” 

“He will, I promise. I’ll kill him, and I’ll find your gun,” He swore, with no hesitation whatsoever. That had already been decided in his mind, so it didn’t hurt to agree with you.

“I wanna help you.” 

“I can’t let you near him,” he said sternly, but not necessarily in regard to you. Just the proposal as a whole. He didn’t like the idea of the man even getting to lay eyes on you again. He just wants to tear him limb from limb and leave nothing left. 

“You have to let me…” You argued, pushing away at arm’s length again to look him in the eyes. The glimmer has still not been restored to them, and he knows it’ll be a long road to get it back. You know it, too. It’s why you stay persistent. “I need this.”

He goes silent for a moment, considering it all. You have every right to be there when your abuser is dismembered. You’ve never been a bloodlusting outlaw, but you do have a knack for revenge, and he knows that watching the man who hurt you being tortured to death might bring some sort of peace. Knowing that he’d paid the price for what he did. 

“Alright…” he nods, his hand sweeping a strand of hair away from your face. “I understand.” 

He leaned forward, kissing the crown of your head and laying his hand ever so delicately at the side of your face before taking a deep breath. When he woke up this morning he had no idea that hours later he’d be here, tending to the girl he loves after a tragic event. 

“I need you to know,” he began, his eyes fogging up slightly from the emotion he felt. “from this day forward… I belong to you, ya hear? Anything you ever need of me, it’s done. I’ma take care of you, and be there when you need me.” 

You had a new round of tears springing about now, but for a better reason than the others came to be. He wiped them away before they could even really fall, catching them on your cheeks with the gentle touch that he reserved only for you. 

He helps to settle you back against the soft down pillows, feeling your body become tired against his own. He kisses your head once more, lingering a little longer this time, before standing up to return outside. He knows the others are probably waiting to hear something other than what Karen said.

“Arthur?” You ask gently, raising your head off the pillows.

“Yeah?” He turned around immediately, ready to stay planted like a tree until you’ve spoken what you needed.

“I don’t want everyone back at camp to know about this…” you shook your head, trying to keep your tears at bay.

He completely understood. You’d had a rough go of it with a lot of the camp members, and for better or worse, they always managed to be far too involved. 

“Then they won’t,” he nodded, “I’ll have a talk with the others, make sure they know.” 

Before he was able to get out the door, you spoke one more time.

“Thank you,” you muttered quietly.

“Don’t thank me.”

He didn’t want gratitude from you in any front. He’s going to have to work hard and long just to earn those two words from you. 

He left without another word, going to the hallway where Karen and Javier were still waiting. The group would be given specific instructions on what to do and say, and they would hold good on those instructions for Arthur’s sake and yours.

The return to camp is slightly awkward for those who actually came back. They witnessed something terrible in the daytime that they have to keep shut up about. No one else gets to know. Arthur’s orders. 

When Dutch sees the cavalcade riding in, missing two members, he immediately has suspicions. Not because two of them haven’t returned yet, but because of the specific two. He’s caught wind of something he dare not deny, and it almost irks him to have to ask. 

“Where’s Arthur and Brooks?” 

John looked to the others, trying to act natural and fill in the blanks. They had already been given a story to cover up any questions, yet somehow the others felt caught, and couldn’t answer. 

“They’re hidin’ out,” he began, pulling the piece of rolled up paper from his satchel, handing it over to Dutch. “I got this floor plan drawn up by the guy behind the desk. Told him I was scouting out a nice place for my boss to stay a couple days. He seemed to believe me well enough.” 

“This is excellent. All entry points were looked at, I’m assumin’?” 

“Yes sir,” John nodded, crossing his arms and trying to conduct himself in a nonchalant way. “Arthur and Charlie got eyes on the main entrance right now. We got a room on the bottom floor of the place, and we can watch everyone that goes in or out.”

“And the security measures?” Dutch asked with a narrow stare. 

“One man stationed at the door.” John is calm and collected over this ordeal, while the others stay silent. The job is in the back of their minds and yet they have to stand here and act like nothing happened.

“I believe we’ve got ourselves an ideal job here, boys,” Dutch replied, his intuition not picking up on the stiffness coming from the other three outlaws standing by. “As soon as that Marquis leaves his room for the mountains, we’ll strike.”

When everyone was dispersed, Hosea was the first to notice something was wrong. He sensed that John was the head of the cover up, whatever it was, and knew that he wasn’t a viable option for approach. 

He went for Javier instead, which was just as bad of an idea, only he didn’t know it. 

“Arthur and Brooks are still in town?” Hosea came up beside him, accidentally spooking him slightly. 

“Yes, that’s right,” Javier breathed out, but he was tense, more than the others. 

“Arthur always reports back to Dutch before a job…” the older man trailed off, brows furrowing over the matter.

Arthur was a loyal dog. He clung to the gang and his position within it. Any stray from tradition would indicate something more important coming to pass, and Hosea was dying to know what it was.

“He thought it would be best to keep an eye on the building.” 

Javier tried to busy himself after his reply, but it wasn’t enough to keep Hosea from coming to his own conclusions. 

“Something happened, didn’t it?” He asked solemnly. His hope was that the two outlaws left in town were alright. He knows they’re alive, otherwise the group that returned home would have panicked. Instead they were very calm, and secretive. They were hiding something. 

Javier looks over his shoulder to Hosea, a sigh on his lips. 

“I can’t tell you,” he whispered just loud enough for Hosea to hear. “He made it very clear…”

Javier is still reliving that moment in the alley over and over again. He was the only one who actually saw what those men did, and it’s a sight he wishes would leave him. The force of strength against a young girl, the blood on her legs and on the man who took advantage of her. The screams for help that never passed the dirty hands of a disgusting man. 

“I understand.” With a scratch to the bottom of his chin, the older man had to take a moment to gather his thoughts. 

Something happened to Brooks, he thinks.

Hosea has been witnessing it for some time now, the slow yet steady growth of affection between two outlaws in camp. One being the stoic brute with a soft side, and the other being the red haired firecracker with anger issues. 

Arthur is protecting her, somehow, some way. That’s why they’re still in town. 

He didn’t press any further, but he knew that whatever happened was still going on to some degree. There wouldn’t be any reason to lie about it otherwise.

-

You got past the job. Sort of. 

Arthur insisted that you and him be the ‘lookout’ on the bottom floor for the entirety of the time, and nobody bat an eye… but you didn’t do anything. You stayed in the room you’d been in all day, letting the others raid the Marquis’ room through the window of the suite. You’d been able to pass along the information about the ledge and the terrace. It hadn’t been worth it at this point, but Bill and Sean were grateful for it, given that they had actually searched the room. 

The job turned up around three thousand dollars in the end. Enough money for the gang to support its backend for a while. The Marquis never even knew what he lost until after he was gone from the town later that afternoon. No one was the wiser about the Van Der Linde’s being responsible, either. 

It was overall a clean break, minus one steep price, which was yours to pay. No one knew, no one needed to know. 

‘Act like you’ve forgotten about it’ Arthur had told those who were present, and they listened. You’d get the odd glance from Karen and John, looks of sympathy from Javier… but no one noticed and no one cared. It was back to business as usual, and you did your best to play the part. 

It felt weird, being in the camp afterwards. You stopped sitting around the fire for a drink at night, and you stopped socializing in the daytime with the other girls between work. You barely spoke to anyone who wasn’t Arthur, and that was because he always approached you first. The others tried to from time to time, but you didn’t give much effort to keep up the conversations. 

They all assumed you were just moody from the summer months setting in closer. 

Truth be told, it did have its effects. You’d find yourself overheated and overwhelmed several days, having to step back from camp with a wet rag and breath a little. 

The worst were the nights. Nothing to distract you, no work for your hands or distant chatter to eavesdrop on. Just silence, and a small closed off space in your tent on the edge of camp. You’d always been set up by Arthur’s wagon, just a few feet away. Since you were just Texas Red, he’s always been within arm’s reach. 

Sitting alone in your tent every night, he feels the furthest away he’s ever been. And it hurts you to feel that way. He’s given you an undying declaration of his devotion to you, and yet you feel distant from him. It’s a sad and guilty feeling, because you know you’re the reason for the distance. You could just ask for him and he’d be by your side, but you feel embarrassed every time you think about it. You’re tougher than this, tougher than needing to be coddled. So many women experience this same thing, and you know it, and you know that they’re probably stronger and more resilient than you. Arthur wouldn’t think any less of you, and you know that, but just the thought of groveling from what happened makes your skin crawl. 

You curl into yourself on your cot, sitting up straight and bitting your thumb to keep the sounds at bay when the tears start rolling. There’s still a few stragglers by the camp fire, and you know if you don’t keep quiet, someone will come looking… but when the fire goes out…

You let it loose, still small enough that the camp won’t be bothered, but just loud enough that the camp enforcer catches the tail end of a sniffle when he walks by behind the tented cloth. 

He ducks his head in immediately, face falling into a dim frown when he sees you curled against yourself like that. 

You don’t say anything to him, just turn your head away to try and save face before he rushes in. It’s his job, though. He’s already committed to it, and told you as much. He wants to be there, for all of it. He knows the reason for your tears, and he wants to hold you until you can feel the weight shift from your shoulders to his.

“I’ve got you, sweet girl,” he rushed to your side, laying beside you and making sure you were tucked closely between his arms. “You’re alright now. Ain’t never gonna let it happen again.”

Your body was shaking, which was a new occurrence. You didn’t used to tremble like this when you cried, and it pulled at his heart to see the effects you went through. 

“He stole it from me, Arthur…” you trailed, the quiet and hidden sobs breaking apart your words. “The one thing I had to give, and he stole it.” 

He didn’t want to be angry at you, because it wasn’t your fault, but he hated that you thought of yourself that way.

“Red, you gotta know you’re worth more than that.”

“I saved it all that time,” you shook your head, squeezing your eyes shut to try and dispel some of the tears. “all for nothin’, now…” 

He could admit, he understood your anger. Having waited on something for so long without any profit or satisfaction of payoff is difficult, especially something of such a high caliber. He’d do anything to return it to you, if it were even possible. This road you were walking was something he could probably never understand.

“I know,” he told you, “but he’s gonna die. Slowly.” 

“I just want it back. I want what he took from me,” you cried, clinging to him like he was your only vice. “And I want my gun. He took that away, too.” 

Arthur nodded, trying to soothe you as best he can. He’s never been good at this sort of thing. He would always turn heel at the first sign of tears in camp, knowing he wasn’t much of a consolation… but he’s trying his best for you. He is the only one who knows how severe the situation is, even among those who witnessed it in real time. He knows the aftermath of what happened has to fall on him.

“I don’t know who I am without that gun.” Your voice sounded hollow almost, and it scared him.

“You’re still you,” he immediately told you, his grasp becoming the slightest bit tighter.

“No,” you looked up at him through tear filled lashes. “You don’t understand. Without that gun, I’m not Texas Red, and I’m not Charlie Brooks, either. I’m just a scared kid that doesn’t know where to go or what to do. It’s what I was before I ever found it… and it’s what I am now.”

He doesn’t know what to say or do for a moment. He’s so taken aback by your admission that he really has to think about how to respond.

You’ve always been Texas Red to him. Always been cocky, somewhat arrogant, and full of the confidence that only comes from a gunslinger of your skill. He’s never known you without your gun, but he knows for a fact it isn’t some magical object that gives you the abilities you’ve been blessed with. Before you had it though? Well, he didn’t know you back then. 

“It’s just a gun, Red. It’s not what makes you special…” he trails. He believes it wholeheartedly, but he knows in this fragile moment that you don’t. You shake your head to brush off his words but he isn’t finished.

He reaches for his own gun, sliding it from the holster and into your hands. You barely grasp it at first until he wraps your fingers around the handle like it was meant to be there.

“If I put this in your hands, you’re still just as fast,” he says confidently, not a doubt in his mind. “If I give you a can to shoot and I fire off a round myself, your bullet still hits first.” He knew it was a while ago, but he thinks about that first moment a lot. The first time he’d been genuinely intimidated by another gunslinger. “You remember that?”

You sniffled, smiling with a nod. If anyone else had tried to make you see things differently, you doubt it would have happened. Arthur gave a perspective that no one else ever could. He knew you inside and out by now.

“I remember… it was the first time I’d been scared of someone in a long while.” 

He chuckled under his breath at your response, holding you close to him again and kissing the top of your head gently.

“If I’m scary, that makes you terrifying,” he let out. His hands never stopped caressing the skin they had access to, drawing invisible lines of light touch. His fingertips even held a great reverence for you.

He seemed tired, the longer he sat here in silence, and even though you wanted him to rest, you didn’t want to be without him. You knew that the second he was gone it would all unravel again, and the lonesomeness would feed your mind’s sadness.

“Arthur, stay with me?” You asked, clinging tighter to him in an attempt to show your need of him. 

“Of course I will.”

-

Some days pass, and slowly but surely, Arthur starts moving pieces of your camp to his. It’s only four days total until your cot is pushed up next to his, and your tent cloth is used to wrap around the perimeter of his living space, closing it in from the rest of the area. 

Rumors are big with the Van Der Linde’s, something you learned early on, but they don’t really have much to go off of when Arthur starts acting so… domestic. In their minds, the only explanation of him being so protective and acting in servitude is that he’s doing so for reason of family. Meaning, they think Arthur knocked you up. 

Abigail, who hadn’t really thought about it much until the rumors, was all too happy to approach you. She’s the only one with a right to do so, knowing how it had been when she was carrying Jack. 

When you’re by yourself after breakfast, she takes it upon herself to be outright, and confronts you with the question that made the most sense to start with.

“When’s the last time you bled?” She corners you, checking left and right to make sure no one else can hear.

It takes you a minute to fully understand the weight of what she’s asking. You haven’t exactly been focused on it, but you know that if you count back to the last cycle you had, you were probably late.

“I don’t… I don’t remember-“ your eyes widened, and your breath shuddered out. This wasn’t something you needed right now, on top of everything else.

“I knew it. I told Tilly just last week that I didn’t think Arthur was bein’ careful,” she shakes her head, placing her hands in her hips. 

She doesn’t know, and you can’t bring yourself to tell her about what happened, but now you have another heaviness on your shoulders to bear. You can’t be pregnant, you can’t be pregnant, you can’t be pregnant.

“Do you really think that’s what it is?” You ask, trying to prevent yourself from having a panic attack in the middle of camp. 

She shrugs, running a hand over her hair, trying to rid herself of some of the sweat gathered there. 

“We’ll know this time next month for sure,” she huffs, raising her brows and shaking her head again. She thinks it’s simply just a case of Arthur being irresponsible, but that couldn’t be further from the truth.

You nod to her, excusing yourself and walking speedily away from the camp. You know that if you encounter anyone else right now you’ll just fall apart. 

It wouldn’t be so bad if you had this kind of a scare with Arthur. You want everything with him. You want a life, a family… but one man with a need for vengeance has ruined all of that. He has ruined you. 

Arthur finds you behind one of the shady desert trees not long after you get to it. You assume he probably saw you leave in a hasty manner, and came as soon as he could. You hate to worry him, but it’s nice to know that he does. 

“Y’alright, sweet girl?” He comes up beside you, seeing as you were in a fragile state. Your arms wrapped tightly around yourself as you leaned against a tree, head down to hide the fact that you were crying at all.

When you shook your head, unable to look at him, he did the one thing he does best. Protect you. 

He stood in front of you, arms on each side of your shoulders on the tree to make sure if anyone came by, they wouldn’t see you falling apart. He didn’t try to touch you or make any bold moves just yet. He just let you get it out, and let you be.

 You probably wanted to be by yourself, having come a bit away from camp… but he wasn’t gonna let you cry alone. He’d just stand here and make sure you had some privacy from those who didn’t understand, and be here when you were ready to talk, or touch, or whatever else you needed of him. 

You lifted your eyes to meet his, the tears having come to a slight halt. You sniffed and let out a breath, trying to focus on his features. They have always calmed you before, and you see no reason that now should be any different. 

“Arthur, I’m scared,” you let out, hands trembling as you pull them tighter around your arms. “Abigail thinks I might be pregnant.” 

His face falls, but he tries to keep a calm about himself for your sake. He doesn’t know what to say or do. All he can think about is how his rage and thirst for revenge has not quenched in the slightest. Earl Hayes is the devil, and with or without God’s help, Arthur knows he’s going to send him straight back to hell where he came from. 

“Do you…?” He trails off, wiping a hand over his face to try and pull himself together. His other hand clenched into a fist on the tree. “Do you think she’s right?” 

You shrug your shoulders, furrowing your eyebrows as you shake your head in thought. “I don’t know… I’m not really sure what other signs I need to look for other than the normal.”

“The normal?” He asks, slightly confused. He knows well enough how a woman works, but all the little specifics, and whatever is deemed ‘normal’ is usually lost on him.

You find his eyes again before dropping them to your feet. Suddenly your boots are very interesting to look at. 

“I ain’t bled for a while,” you explained, the thought of Abigail being right somehow starting to solidify within you. It makes your stomach turn, but then again, that could just be another sign. 

“Shit…” he says under his breath. 

No matter what happens, he’s here. He’s always gonna be by your side, and he’s made clear of that fact several times. He just hopes that whatever happens, you’ll let him help. You won’t push him away or keep him at arm’s length. He longs to do nothing but serve you in the ways he’s always served the gang. A loyal dog, and a valiant soldier, Arthur Morgan is the most valuable person in camp. You know you’re lucky to have him. 

He’s the best of the men, you remember one of the girls saying. 

“I don’t want it to be true,” you shake your head, tears coming back to the surface as you tuck your head again. 

He can’t stand by another second without holding you. He knows you feel comfort by him, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t do the utmost to make you feel comforted in times of trouble. 

He thinks about the future for a moment, trying to put it all into perspective. 

In theory, if you are pregnant, he’s prepared to raise a kid that ain’t his if you tell him to. And even though he hates the bastard that did this, he knows he’d love the kid as his own because it would belong to you. 

On the other side of the fence, he thinks about the possibility of Abigail being wrong. If you’re not pregnant, then you both have years ahead of you to decide whether or not it’s a road you wanna go down. 

“You’re gonna be alright, ya hear?” He whispered against your hair, hand combing through the windblown strands. “I’m right with you. It’s gonna be alright.”

-

You didn’t mean for anyone but the few people who were sworn to secrecy to find out what happened that day, but Hosea had been rolling over his suspicions for weeks, now. 

Since the heist, you’ve been on zero jobs. You’ve refused to go into town unless Arthur specifically asked you to accompany him. You’ve been very quiet and timid, and he just knows it isn’t like you. Even after the Texas Red facade wore off within the confines of camp, you were rowdy. You were rowdy and you were loud. Pearson’s description of you was one of the easiest ways a person could get the jist of your personality in seconds. ‘The carrot top that keeps heads spinning.’

He knows that whatever happened on the day before the heist, it couldn’t have been good. It affected you even to this day. And he noticed it when the others didn’t. 

He knows he can’t go looking for answers in the few that were by your side that day, so he cuts the corner completely and just goes to you. 

You’re doing your weekly routine of cleaning the rifles and sharpening the hunting knives when he finds you, sat quietly in the corner of camp, focused on the task at hand. 

Even the way you attend to your chores looks different. 

“Afternoon, Miss Brooks,” he settles himself down a few feet beside you, a book in his hand that he’d been reading before his thoughts brought him here. 

“Hosea,” you nod with a smile, setting down the rifle to listen to whatever he has to say. He doesn’t often come and sit by you unless he really wants to talk. Usually, you aren’t the quiet type that just sits for company. 

“It’s been a hot one today, but it’s nice n’ shady here,” he says, giving a justification as to his reasons for sitting beside you, though you don’t need them. You love Hosea’s gentle presence whenever it appears. 

“It’s not so bad as last week,” you shrug, continuing on the rifle, but doing so in a slow and somewhat half-assed manner. Mostly just to look like you’re doing something so Miss Grimshaw doesn’t bite you in the ass for slacking.

“Perhaps not,” he sighed, preparing the opening he’d thought of on the way over. “Still too hot for the fires at night.” 

“I haven’t been out for em’ lately,” you responded, unknowingly giving him the chance to ask a question. 

“I’ve been meaning to ask you why you haven’t,” he paused, turning to you and giving a little smirk, “I miss your little shots at Bill when he’s misbehavin’.” 

“I guess I’ve been gettin’ tired easy… used to be able to stay up till sunrise, but now,” you shrugged yet again, and didn’t really finish your train of thought. 

You think that maybe he’s just being kind, asking after you when you haven’t been around, or rather, haven’t been interacting… but then he surprises you.

“I think it’s got something to do with what happened in town,” he suggests, although he doesn’t elaborate, and you desperately wish he would. 

Your eyes are stuck to his, and your face is frozen. You don’t blink or move or even breath for a second, trying to figure out what he knows, and how. 

“I don’t-“ you stutter, words failing at the worst of times. “What do you-?”

“I don’t know what happened, but I know something did,” he assure you, but it does little to settle your nerves. “When the others returned from recon, they were all… bothered, in some way. They wouldn’t speak of it, and tried to convince me that all was well.” 

“But?” You asked, knowing there was always a negation. 

“But,” he nodded, his fingers lacing together after he dropped his book to the dirt. “You n’ Arthur were the only ones who didn’t come back… and Arthur always comes back.” 

Oh. 

Yes, he does always come back, because he’s loyal, he’s thoughtful of those who need him, and he’s personal about delivering information to Dutch. It made no sense for him to stay in town, unless something had been wrong. Dutch may not have picked up on it, but Hosea was always Arthur’s closer mentor and father figure. He would have detected even the slightest stray from character a mile away. 

“You expectin’ me to tell ya?” You asked softly, hopeful that he would say no and you could just let him wonder, but Hosea was never so impersonal with the camp members. He liked to talk with everyone, and know them by their stories. He was good to you, and had been there in the rocky times when the other camp members were cold or a bit mean to you. Past Arthur and Abigail, he’s the closest thing to a family member you’ve got. 

“I don’t expect anything, but I’m here to listen to whatever you care to tell me,” he admitted. 

It crossed your mind to pick up the rifle in your hands and keep washing it clean, to tell him that you really had work to do and maybe he could come back and chat another time… but you’ve been holding it in for so long, and the only person you’ve discussed it with is Arthur. The others who were present that day are too uncomfortable to bring it up to you, and for good reason. 

You heave a deep breath before turning to him. 

“I was… violated by a man n’ his friends that day,” you shared, a cringe on your face when the words came to out. “I guess I killed his buddy, and he recognized me.” 

Hosea’s face drops, and it all comes together. You’re Arthur’s girl, and something like that happening to you meant he’d be by your side, not the camp’s. 

He knows that most of the speculation about yours and Arthur’s relationship until now had been just that. Speculation and camp rumors. He understands, though, that this terrible situation was a wake up call for Arthur. No more playing around. No more games that involved you tip toeing around each other without getting serious.

He looks at you and sighs. If only it didn’t have to take something so drastic for you both to come together. He knows you’re not the same because of what happened, and it saddens him to finally know the reason. 

“I’m very sorry, darlin’,” he muttered, thinking about what else he could possibly say. Maybe just check on the care you’ve been getting… “has Arthur been takin’ good care of ya after-?”

You nod rapidly, a small and faint smile across your face when you think about him. Your life was changed that day, but if one good thing came out of it, you know it was Arthur’s devotion. He’d shown it to you in some way or another since the beginning, but now it was clear and evident.

“He’s always taken good care of me… now I’m just with ‘im,” you explained, eyes dropping back to the dirty rifle. 

Hosea smiled, nodding his head in understanding. “I’ll let you get back to those guns… but, miss Brooks?”

You watched him stand, looking to his eyes. “Yes?”

“If you need to talk, about anything at all…”

“I know where to find you,” you said with a little chuckle, pausing before bringing your words to a finish. “Hosea, do you think we could just keep this between us? I already asked the others not to say anything…”

“Of course.”

-

Javier found the second man. Or at least he thinks he has…

“She’ll have to go with you to make sure,” he explained, unpacking his saddlebag and hastily putting everything down. “But he’s there. Drinking in the saloon.” 

Arthur nods to him, thoughts running through his head a million miles an hour, but he understands this opportunity is fleeting, so he seeks you out. 

The reaction is immediate, the way you drop everything you were doing and run for your hat. You refuse to leave camp without the Texas Red facade, now. Obviously for good reason. 

When you saddle up your horse, you practically cut yourself on the sharp edge of the buckle for how fast you were going. Town awaits, and you have every intention of coming back with a form of revenge. However small it may be.

Arthur is the first to set foot in the saloon, with you in tow behind him, just barely protected from the saloon’s population. A quick scan of the bar reveals exactly the man you’re looking for. He’s borderline drunk, rambling on to the bartender about God knows what. His beard is covered in drool, and droplets of whatever alcohol has put him in this condition. He’s about to sober up real fast.

“That’s him,” you nod to the man at the counter, his hands and arms in full display were showing he was currently unarmed.

“You sure?” He tipped his head down to you, knowing that once he got his hands on this man, his death warrant was signed.

“Positive… I recognize his tattoo.”

It was just a small crest, likely of family heritage. But the smudgy black ink and the poorly drawn lines made it easy to pick out of a lineup. You remember that tattoo right in front of your face not too long ago.

Arthur came up with the quickest route possible, inviting the man outside for a chat. Being as drunk as he was, the man immediately complies. It was almost too easy, and you say a thankful prayer under your breath that no one has to put up a fight. 

You can tell he’s dazed completely when he walks passed you, not even glancing in your direction. He has no idea who he just encountered, and that much is clear. 

You turn heel and follow them out the door when there’s enough distance, going into the alley on the side of the building. It’s dark, and it’s hidden. But Arthur told you to stand guard of the alley, and not to let anyone cross the threshold of the quiet corner. It was best that nobody saw this man get brutalized.

“You best tell me where your buddy’s hidin’ or I’m gonna beat you till your head falls off, understand me?” He threw punch after punch, keeping a certain rhythm that made the man dizzy with pain.

“I’m just a farmer, I ain’t know nothin’,” he cried, but Arthur didn’t let up. He’d never let up for what these men did to you. 

Every time he throws his fist, he remembers how he found you, curled into yourself on the ground, blood down your thighs, dirt on your back. The tears in your eyes would have been enough for him to bring the world to its knees, but the sight of your bloomers around your ankle had been the thing that drove him to the edge. They’d been torn, and there was nothing you could have done to prevent it.

You tried to keep watch, your back turned to the scene, but every punch was like a jolt of satisfaction, and you wanted to turn around and see. You craved knowing just how much pain this man was in. He held you down, and he watched his buddy hurt you worse than anyone ever has. You want him to feel that pain, and Arthur is all too happy to help.

“I don’t care what you are,” he finally responded, blood dripping over his knuckles, but not his own. “Where is Earl Hayes?” 

Silence follows, and Arthur knows that it’s just a terrible man’s last attempt at trying to show he’s not a coward. Now he doesn’t hold back, using his bare hands to break bone under the man’s skin, and bring forth new places of pain the likes this man can’t handle. They most often never can.

“Fine! Fine, I’ll tell you,” he cries out, his weak hand coming up to defend what’s left of himself. He’s a deadman walking anyway, but the pain is indescribable, and he knows that the brute in front of him won’t let up until he speaks.

“Where?” Arthur holds his fist where the man can see it, and shows no signs of bluffing.

“He’s hidin’ out on beggar’s mountain. There’s a cabin up there that his family owns… he’s by ‘imself,” he rambles on, his voice shaky and his breathing ragged. You imagine his lungs are probably trying to inhale beneath broken ribs, and it can’t be easy.

“You swear?” Arthur looks him in the eye for the first time. He’s not always good at judging character, but he can tell when someone’s lying to him.

“I do, I swear!” 

The pitiful sound was music to your ears. You’d cried like in front of him, and now the favor has been returned. Arthur takes a step back, knowing that the man can’t run anywhere in his condition. 

“Alright… Red, you believe him?” He asks, finally letting you turn around. You both got what you came for, and you wanted to go home. 

“Yeah, I believe him.” 

And then without any sort of warning, Arthur pulls his gun out and shoots him straight in the face. He didn’t even have a moment to beg for his life before it was gone.

It’s now when you look at Arthur that you can see him covered in blood, none of it being his own. He’ll have to make a run for his horse to avoid suspicion from the folk around town. Even though El Paso hasn’t had a significant amount of law folk, the crimes committed are still punishable, and it’s best to stay out of the town jail. 

Arthur doesn’t speak on the ride back to camp, and neither do you. Everyone is nearly asleep when you arrive anyway, with only a few exceptions. Javier is still strumming his guitar by the fire, and Pearson is still cleaning up from the day’s work. Uncle is passed out against a tree again, an empty mug in hand. 

It was peaceful, and quiet. It was serene, and comfortable. The camp was a safe space for you, but it didn’t ever feel quite right unless Arthur was there. He brought a presence to the group that was more than just protection. He could make you smile at the drop of a hat, and laugh even easier. He could be the most angry man in camp on any given day, and still somehow show more joy than the others. He loved this camp, this gang… this family. And moreover, he loved you. He showed you every day just how much. 

You’d gotten settled into your tent, much bigger now that it was combined with Arthur’s. 

When he heaved a heavy sigh, sitting back into the cot, you looked him over. He was too tired to go and wash himself up, but the blood would dry over and become unbearable if it didn’t get cleaned from his skin. 

You knelt down in front of him, examining everywhere the blood had landed. He looked at you all sleepy like, but smiled all the same when you ran a hand through his hair, a little bit of sweat lingering on his hairline and forehead. 

You stood up quickly, going for one of the available wash basins before returning to where you’d knelt before him. 

“You don’t gotta…” he trailed, not having a real moment to really protest before you shut him up. 

“Let me,” you said firmly. It wasn’t a suggestion, it was a command.

You started on his face, wiping the small splatters with a now dampened rag. You were gentle in each stroke, making sure you got every little drop before moving on to his neck, where only a little bit remained. Most of the blood had been centered on his hands and forearms, which were the closest to the man’s body as he practically disassembled it. 

It should scare you, how strong he is. It should terrify you that with the smallest flick of his wrist, a grown man can die. It’s something that is unspoken by the members of camp, but they all hold a certain reverence to Arthur that you don’t feel the need to. He could bring down ten men single handedly, maybe more… but you’re not afraid of him. You don’t even feel the slightest aversion towards his strength and power. 

He has already proven in many ways that you control that power. Everything he does, he does for you, and you have come to understand that fully. His gentleness and kindness is reserved for you, but likewise, his anger and brutality is reserved for you, in any way you deem it necessary to be used. The man you’re hunting is not safe. His days are numbered and Arthur is at the end of them. You feel peace knowing that he’s going to make the ground even again.

“I don’t think I beat him hard enough,” he spoke, taking you out of your thoughts. You’d been carefully scrubbing the skin of his forearm, dipping the rag back in when it became too red.

“You beat him within an inch of his life, and then you took it,” you recalled, trying not to think of it fondly for how violent it was. “S’as good as it was gonna get, I reckon.”

You smile, moving to his hands to wipe his knuckles off. When they were clean, you kissed each one, and he pulled one out of your grasp, touching your bottom lip. The heat of the moment has you leaning into that touch, but not going past it. He’s so close, you can feel the warmth from his face radiating off his skin. Arthur always ran hot, and you could pick that warmth out of a lineup. 

“Arthur,” you breathed out. 

You awaited the day he would kiss you for the first time. After every line that’s already been crossed, it’s something you crave, but you know why he doesn’t do it, and you try to respect him for it.

“I know…” he let his finger drop, his hand holding the side of your face when you lean into it. “I know, sweet girl.” 

He doesn’t feel worthy enough. He knows he won’t until he’s avenged your virtue. It would have never mattered to him had you taken other lovers in your past, but knowing that you’d been violated before you could even experience that kind of pleasure pained him. He wanted to avenge you in every sense of the word. He wanted to avenge the person you were before it happened. He wanted to bring her back. Then he’d be worthy, and then he could kiss you. Gently, delicately, and with all the love that you deserved in the first place.

After sitting there and realizing he still wasn’t going to budge, you kissed his palm, standing up to put everything away. After that came the mundane task of getting ready for bed. Arthur still turns away when you change your clothes, only helping here and there if you absolutely need it… but having been Texas Red for the day, you’re able to do it all on your own. 

Once back in a chemise and bloomers you lay down on your side of the conjoined cot, curling up and waiting for your bed partner to join you. You knew if it was up to him, he wouldn’t sleep beside you… but you’ve made it clear that you need him to be able to go through the night without waking, so he does it on that account. He takes his turn, undressing down to his union suit before taking his side. He’s so much bigger than you in all aspects, looking like a strong mountain when he lays down to rest. 

You turn over to face him when he finally settles. He takes a strand of hair in his fingers and pulls it away from your face, laying it back with the rest of the unruly stands. You know that if you want to keep up the Texas Red act, you probably need to cut it again soon. 

He lays silently across from you, but lets his eyes wander over every part of your face whilst he does so. It relaxes him to see you in such a peaceful state. It relaxes him knowing that you’re safe with him, and not somewhere else. 

“I haven’t thanked you, for everything you’ve done for me lately,” you whispered, tucking your head against his chest and wrapping your arms around his midsection.

“Because you don’t have to. You know I’d do it anyway.” 

You did know that, and he’s made himself abundantly clear on several occasions.

“But I am grateful, Arthur… you have no idea,” you continued, breathing him in as deeply as you could.

He pulled you back just enough that he could see your eyes, sleepy and full of the day behind you, but slowly regaining the glint that had been gone since the incident.

“All of this is of no inconvenience to me. I can’t rest at night unless I know you’re taken care of… and as for Mr. Hayes, devil that he is,” his voice dropped lower when he mentioned the name of the man who wronged you, the taste of it feeling like acid in his mouth. “When we find ‘im, I’m gonna rip him apart. He’ll never touch you again.” 

And you know he means it. It’s these few words every night, the smell and seemingly insignificant promises that make you feel safe enough to fall asleep.

-

The sun rises, and then it’s time for a man to die. 

He doesn’t know it yet. He’s comfortably settled in the side of a mountain range in a small cabin. He’s probably sitting and watching the same sunrise, drinking from a flask and thinking that nothing could ever harm him. 

It’s good that he has that security. It’s good that he thinks he’s safe. It means he won’t run until the last second. 

You didn’t speak a word to Arthur, yet. Your mind is focused, and you can’t be bothered to interact with more than a nod or a shake of the head. He knows, you have endless thoughts running around. 

This man has ruined everything. You are not the same person you used to be. You can’t smile without it aching, and you can’t think about certain things without traumatic memories slipping through. You can’t even go to sleep at night without Arthur, because if you do, you wake up crying. All these are just motivation now. You’ll deal with them again when you return, but right now you’re clinging to the feeling associated with them to help you feel stronger. More angry and determined.

Arthur stays quiet, only speaking when necessary, and letting you keep your own space. He gives the occasional hum to alert you if he holds something out for you to take, or he gives you a small nudge. Otherwise the environment feels very calm and singular. 

By the time you leave your tent, you almost jump in surprise of who is there to immediately greet you. 

“John,” Arthur nods, trying to step past him, but the younger man keeps in step.

“Wait,” he hold a hand up, stopping you both from leaving. “I know where you’re going. I wanna come, too.” 

Arthur shook his head, “No.” 

“Arthur,” John pleaded, his eyes searching his friend’s for a sense of emotion he could latch onto. “I was gone a long time, and when I was, you took care of Abigail and Jack. I wanna pay it forward.” 

It would take a lot more than this to make up for that lost time, but he thinks this is a start, and you understand why he wants it so bad. 

“It ain’t up to me,” Arthur let out with a sigh, turning to you. 

His expression tells you he’ll do whatever you want, but you already knew that. You don’t even give it another thought. You could use the help if this Earl Hayes is half as agonizing to deal with as he was the first time. 

You nod to Arthur, and from there it’s all set into motion. 

Two horses are saddled. You’re riding with Arthur. 

The open plains leading up to the mountain side are completely empty and covered in dirt and half dead plants. El Paso is among the uglier places you’ve been to, but it feels symbolic somehow. Bad things happened in this town, so it almost feels right that everywhere you look is a barren wasteland. An outward show of an inward feeling.

The mountainside is more picturesque, with trees and a small stream running through. The sun getting higher in the sky reflects off the rippling current. It’s almost enough to distract you until you come into view of the cabin. 

The second you see it your stomach drops. You can’t explain how or why, but suddenly you wish you weren’t here. You wish you were back in your cot with Arthur, lazily keeping track of the morning hours while he plays with your hair. 

You feel extremely frightened just by the the four walls of that cabin. He’s within them, and you’re about to encounter him for the second time. 

Arthur dismounts the horse, and John does the same, but they both lock eyes on you when they notice you haven’t moved. 

“Red?” Arthur asks gently, his hand settling on your knee where it still straddles the back of his horse. 

You look in his direction, tears backing your eyes and a grim expression on the rest of your face. He asks a million questions at once with one gaze, but you answer only the most important one with a simple nod. Are you alright?

You get off the horse and follow behind them. 

You’re going along with them but you’re not really paying attention to anything they say. You miss the making of the plan, and Arthur knows that your head is somewhere completely different. He doesn’t say anything to check you on it. It’s not his place to do such a thing. He’s here for you, and if you need space during this, that’s okay. He’s going to carry out the plan, and you can be a part of it in any way you see fit. This is for you, and you get to decide what your actions are.

You stand off to the side of the entrance when they first enter, and wait for them to bring the perpetrator outside his small confinement. 

Your ears are nearly numb to the shouts. Earl Hayes is much louder than you assumed he would be. You almost don’t believe it’s him, until they drag him out and throw him to the ground, guns out and pointed at his head. You freeze again, catching eyes with the man that started it all. You should feel power by looking down on him. You should feel an immense sense of calm knowing that you have two strong and capable outlaws who are willing to tear this man apart for you. But you don’t. 

“You,” he snarled, face contorting into a deep grimace. He was even uglier than the lands of El Paso. “I knew I should’ve killed you when I had the chance.”

“Shut the hell up,” John said, gun still pointed at his head, while Arthur holstered his and knelt down to grab him by the shirt. 

“You know why we’re here?” He asked rhetorically, almost a statement of fact more than a question. Of course he does. “And I reckon you know what’s about to happen.” 

Earl lifted his chin high in the air, the arrogance and pride he still wore was astounding for someone who was about to be dismantled like a dead animal while he was still breathing.

“She killed my best friend,” he sneered, trying to justify himself as if it would make a difference. 

Arthur had to keep his cool in this moment. He knew that if he started just beating the man senseless, he’d die too fast, just like the man in the alleyway from last night. Of course, the bullet got him in the end. 

“Red?” Arthur threw a glance over his shoulder, first to check on you, and secondly to ask you, “which hand he touch you with first?”

You were timid in your answer, and you shouldn’t be, but you couldn’t help it. Your voice got caught in your throat before you stepped forward and answered with a point of your finger. 

“The right one.” 

Arthur nodded, turning back to Earl and shoving him onto his back. John came and stepped a foot on his chest to keep him from moving while Arthur pulled his hunting knife. 

You had a front row seat to watch as Arthur made quick work of cutting his hand off, severing everything he could in the man’s forearm to make him feel it worse. The screams that erupted were haunting. You want to remember the sound of those screams for the rest of your life, knowing they were caused on your behalf… but for some reason the thought of it turns your stomach.

“You fuckin’ bitch!” Earl’s voice echoed, his head turning to you. 

Arthur punched him as soon as the words left his mouth. 

“Think we oughta shut him up proper,” John suggested, his foot on the man’s chest digging in as he took a knee. 

This time it was Arthur’s turn to hold him down while John cut out his tongue. No more words for the man spewing bullshit. 

Cuts and slashes were made all over the man as he wriggled around in the dirt, but the next big check off the list of dismemberment was the part of him that violated you. Arthur wouldn’t be happy with his work until he’d separated it from his body completely. John assisted him in getting access to his manhood, throwing the occasional punch to stop the screaming that came from a tongueless mouth. With one swift chop of a hunting knife, Earl Hayes lost the right to call himself a man. 

You closed your eyes tightly, trying to take yourself out of the moment. Everything was happening too fast. Too much too fast, all at once. 

The second you saw the back of your eyelids, it started replaying in your head. That day in the alley, against the brick walls covered in dirt. A dirty, sweat salty hand over your mouth, and a burn between your legs that made you want to vomit. 

Your eyes opened wide, and you tried to come back to reality. This man can’t hurt you anymore, he’s about to die… Arthur is about to kill him.

You came closer, thinking that seeing this would bring you satisfaction and stop the visions of what he did, but it didn’t. You weren’t gaining anything. You were just standing there. Your hand didn’t take part in it, so it wasn’t your satisfaction to have. You want him to die, but by your own hand. 

Arthur made it clear that you wouldn’t touch him, nor him you, but there was still another variable he didn’t consider. 

You disappeared behind the two of them, and into the cabin, but they never stopped their work of torturing the man. Earl was still screaming, and Arthur wanted to shut him up for good. He put away his knife and started beating him the only way he knew how. Mercilessly. 

John held him down, but within the blink of an eye, Earl’s survival instincts kicked in, and he scrambled beneath the men to get up, swinging a leg to trip Arthur. 

Arthur stumbled back but didn’t fall, reaching for the man who was now standing, regardless of his injuries that had already been caused. 

“You think you can run?” Arthur yelled out the question with furrowed brows, practically screaming in the face of the man. “You hurt the girl I love… there’s nowhere in this world or in hell that you could hide from me.” 

John came around to the back of Earl, holding his hands steady behind his back, even as he tried to break free from them both. 

Arthur was about to start swinging again, his emotions taking over as he thought about why he was doing this. His girl, his sweet girl. His Red. A firecracker that’s lost her spark. 

He winds up his arm, but the quick sound of gunfire and Earl Hayes head exploding into a a mass of blood and bone stops him. 

He’s shocked at first, watching the body fall limp to the ground, but when he turns and sees what he knew was waiting, he realizes that this is how it was supposed to end. 

You’re standing still, gun still raised, and looking at the dead man’s body. You lower your arm, reholstering your gun and finally releasing the breath you’d been holding.

Fourty-Seven.

It doesn’t feel like any other person you’ve shot before. The guilt you’ve always felt after a duel, your gun becoming heavier… you don’t feel it now. If anything, your gun feels lighter than ever. It weighs practically nothing as it sits on your hip. 

The pit in your stomach suddenly feels filled, the feeling that replaced it is like a relaxed muscle after being tense.

“You found it…” Arthur trails, the meaning of his words covering many bases when he speaks them.

Arthur stares at you for a moment, and so does John. They look like they’re awaiting instructions, seeing as with only one pull of the trigger, you’ve started calling the shots. 

You don’t know what to say, so you don’t say anything, you just shake out your shooting hand, and start back towards the horses. 

They follow you wordlessly, and watch as you pull your own knife out of the saddlebag, making a giant notch on the handle of your pistol. It spans the entire length of the handle, and crosses over every other notch you’ve ever made. Fourty-six plus one. 

When you settle the knife back into the saddle bag, you twirl your gun over your finger, getting used to the feeling of it being back in your most capable hands. Then you turn to Arthur, and he’s at a loss for what you do. 

You smile at him. Genuinely, without the forced nature of it, or the immediate retrieval of the expression upon knowing you’re wearing it. It’s your smile. The real one. 

“Thank you, Arthur,” you let out in a breath, the relief that fills the tone is unmatched. “And you, John.”

The latter nods his head, mumbling something along the lines of ‘don’t need thanks.’

Arthur doesn’t respond, too caught up in staring at you. He tosses it over in his head once before making the move to wrap you in his arms. He’s covered in blood, and now you are too, but neither of you seem to care. His arms always feel like home, and you can’t reject that feeling in a time like this. 

He is the keeper of your peace, and you realize now that you finally feel it again. Peace.

“Let’s go,” you whispered to him. The morning is still young, perhaps there’s still time to be lazy and irresponsible back at camp.

-

You finally get your period, and it’s the biggest relief you’ve ever felt.

You’re not pregnant, and the last of your worries over Earl Hayes has finally disappeared. 

Abigail is just as relieved when she finds out. She makes a comment about ‘two screaming babies in the camp’ being a disaster.

You only laugh it off, now. She doesn’t know the half of it, but you know she means well in everything she tells you. Someday you know you’ll have the option to go down that road, but it won’t be forced upon you, and it won’t be by a man who you hate and resent with all your heart. He’s dead now, and the ground has been evened out. He died quickly, which hadn’t been the plan, but it turned out to be the right course of action. Every man you’ve ever killed has been by a quick hand, the fastest there ever was. He was no different from them, you could see that, now. He was just a man, and he doesn’t have anything over you.

You begin settling into camp with more ease again, and several people take notice. Hosea even mentions that he’s glad to see you back at the campfire nights, sharing a laugh. Him knowing what happened makes him a pretty good judge of the fact that these are your first signs of normalcy since it happened. He’s happy beyond belief for you, that you’ve been able to overcome something so harsh and unforgettable. 

Arthur notices the change in you the most. He obviously pays more attention than the rest, but even if he didn’t, it’s so easily evident to anyone that cares to look at all. You’re happy again. Not quiet, not secluded, and not timid. You’re loud again, and rambunctious. Your laugh echoes off the dirt and desert trees when someone makes a bad joke. 

You’re asking to go on jobs again, and poking fun at those who tease you first. It’s like a complete reset has happened for you, and you’ve come back to being the person that you once were. 

Arthur invites you to go on a hunting trip with him, having been tasked with stocking up by Dutch. 

He knows it’ll be a half days ride to the place he wants to hunt, but he’s willing to put in the hours, and so are you. You’re not afraid to leave camp, and you’ve been damn near everywhere in the last week or so. 

He reckons that some alone time, away from the camp might be beneficial. It’ll give you a chance to talk to him openly, without having to censor any details that you would otherwise have to around the others. 

The ride is long, but your horses seem to enjoy being in a more beautiful spot than they’ve had the pleasure of residing in lately. El Paso is ugly…. But wherever you’ve found yourself is not. 

There’s a mountain in the distance, but for miles all you see is trees and sky. It’s stunning to look at, almost resembling a painting you saw once in a small hotel. 

Arthur takes to hunting almost the second you arrive to the area, jumping into his element and enjoying his time. 

You were never much a hunter. Not that you couldn’t learn how… but it didn’t really appeal to you. You’d much rather watch Arthur, his slow and calculated movements, each one drawn out with a deep breath. 

After he’d caught something, watching him take the time to skin the animal and wrap up what he needed to. His muscles contracting when he’d throw a deer over his shoulder like it weighed nothing at all. 

You watched from a small grass patch under a tree as he worked away at his recent catch, wiping the sweat off his brow. His shirt had been unbuttoned down to the middle of his chest, and you were barely keeping it together. His skin being on display was something you’d become accustomed to, and you enjoyed it whenever it happened. 

Arthur is a beautiful man. He doesn’t know it, and thinks poorly of himself, but if he could see himself through your eyes, he’d be the most prideful and boastful man that ever lived. His strong frame that could labor any task that was thrown at him, and his face that seemed to be carved out of some precious stone. When God created Arthur, he took time and care to make one of the most bewitching men on the earth. He allured you in every sense of the word.

You start to think about that attraction, and what it means to you. You’ve found him to be striking since the day you saw him. The first moment he glanced up from under his hat at you, a spell had seemingly fallen on your shoulders. Even when he teased you, you still found him irresistible. 

No one else gets to call you Red but Arthur, even to this day. You used to hate it more than anything, but hearing it from his lips is the most endearing sentiment.

You fall into another slew of thoughts, ranging from yourself, to Arthur, to your gun, and to the events and past happenings of late. You’ve been thinking on them very carefully, but for good reason. There had been a decision made by you only a day or two before, that could help attribute to your good mood within the camp. It had been in your head for the last weeks, but it had only just been solidified. You wanted to share the conclusion with the only person it concerned.

“Arthur?” You ask, sitting up from the tree root and laying on your elbows. 

“Yeah?” He throws a look over his shoulder, tentatively letting you know he was listening despite his task at hand.

“I think I’ve decided something…” you began, words coming slower because you wanted them to sound right. “Hayes is dead… and I’m not pregnant.” 

He nodded on for you to continue, setting the pelt aside and turning to face you from where he was kneeling. He assumed that this required his full attention.

“What he did to me… it didn’t ruin me, and he’s the one that paid the price…” you settled on that phrasing specifically because of some of your past conversations. You wanted him to know that you felt differently. “but he didn’t have any right to take what he did.” 

Arthur agreed, a dip of his head to go along. 

“No, he didn’t. Sent ‘im straight to hell for it…” 

“I’m not finished…” you trailed, eyebrows furrowing to contemplate the next bit. It was a hard concept to explain, especially since you were just now grasping it yourself. “what if when I killed him i got it back? Like my gun.” 

“I don’t understand,” he stood up, walking over to you. He sat down in the grass beside you, leaning on one arm as he stared at your face. Your features were deep in concentration, trying to string together your thoughts. He didn’t rush you, just let you take your time to find the words. 

You pushed yourself to a sitting position, leaning on one arm to be closer to him. 

“He never had the right to take something from me that needs to be given. I’ve decided that now that he’s dead, it didn’t count.” Your tone was firm and unwavering on the subject for the first time since it happened. You’d barely been able to speak on the matter so plainly, but now it was as easy as the breath you just took. “My virtue still belongs to me… and I’m the one that gets to choose who keeps it, not him.” 

The smile that lights up his face isn’t missed by you, even though he ducks his head in a steep nod to try and hide it. He can’t help but beam under the soft sunlight, coming down through the trees in pretty streaks. 

He can finally see it again. That gleam in your eyes that was missing from the day of the incident. He was completely filled with joy to know that after the hard road, you’d come back. You were back. Your red hot flame had been reignited, and you were finally there, completely present, and just like your old self. 

“I see,” he said plainly, trying to act like he wasn’t on the verge of being downright giddy. “I’m happy you feel that way.” 

You sit up closer, nearly right in front of him, and wrap your arms over his neck and shoulders, holding him like nothing bad had ever happened. 

“I think you might be happier about the next part,” you spoke softer, playing with the strands at the back of his neck, a bit sweaty from the work he’d accomplished.

“Yeah?” He mused, arms going around your waist and pulling your body in. His hands always felt so natural there, like the size of his hands was meant to fit just above your hips.

You nodded sweetly, putting your face right by his and whispering in his ear. There’s no one around, but even the animals can’t hear your confession.

“I want you to keep it.” 

He already knew that, and had known it for some time… but hearing it now was enough that he couldn’t keep the smile off his face. Smile is too small a word, because the expression more fits the description of a wide grin. He even lets out a breathy laugh, his eyes squinting in the corners. 

“It’d be the highest honor of my life,” he lets out, hugging you into his body. You loved the feeling of it, and you’re not sure you’ll ever truly grow used to it. His broadness against you, reminding you every day just how big and strong and powerful he is, but he bends to you, covering you and protecting you from everything he can. 

He pulled you back at arm’s length for a moment, a thought coming to him that he’d long since forgotten. Now was a perfect time to bestow upon you a gift he’d been saving. 

He held a hand up in pause, maneuvering to stand back to his feet as to grab his satchel, still perched on the log by his knife.

When he comes back, you can’t tell what he’s holding, fingers tucked tightly around the item like it’s some precious thing. To him, it is, because it was meant for you.

“I’ve got something for you… been holding onto it.” He hesitated to explain the reasoning for his delay, but figured you showed him just how little it bothered you now. “I got it that day, and it never felt right to give it to you until now.”

He got close again, reaching for your hand before he held up the ring. It’s been in his possession a long time now, and every so often, he’d look at it in the hopes of this moment. He’d cleaned it up real nice, it had a shine to the silver that the shop keeper had probably never seen. The turquoise was polished up, too. 

You felt your chest tighten with a feeling of adoration. He’d gotten this for you way back then. He’s been holding onto it. You reckon it had been in his possession before any of the confessions you made were exchanged. He just loved you that much. 

“Arthur, it’s beautiful… I love it,” you said, damn near tearing up over the small piece of jewelry. You take it in your hand and slide it over the finger you think it’ll fit best, your pointer, before holding your hand out to see how it looks. 

Arthur says nothing in the moment, but he thinks he’d rather see it on a different finger, in a different context. 

You wrap him into another hug, feeling him tug you closer again with those strong, bear wrestling arms. He turns his head to kiss the side of yours, his lips staying by your ear when he speaks.

“It’s only a place holder until I find something nicer…” he trails, not even thinking about the words he just said. 

In his head he wants to ask you, but the question itself is terrifying. Maybe he can just let you guess what he wants to say by the hints he can drop you.

“A place holder for what?” You ask, leaning back to search his features. He’d sounded like there was more to say.

Suddenly his nerves get the better of him, and he decides now ain’t the time. What a chicken…

“I uh-“ he shakes his head slightly, giving the best excuse he can think of. “Well, it’s just not as nice is all…”

You furrow your brows and take another look at the ring, the way it fits you, and just how good it looks. It’s not fancy, but it’s not supposed to be. It’s supposed to be for you, and you think it matches up exactly.

“It’s perfect… I don’t need anything else.” 

You caress the side of his face to pair with your assuring words, even though he didn’t really need assuring, and just used that excuse as a cop out for what he really wanted to ask. He nods in agreement, leaning into your touch. 

“Alright…” 

Sitting here on the grass, the soft sunlight gleaming down through the trees, and the wind blowing gently, the ambience is damn near the best you’ve ever seen. You start to fall back, a grin on your face as he realizes he’s being pulled along with you. You land back on your elbows, his hand still splayed across your mid back, and the distance between you closing in. 

Arthur has gone through hell and high water for you, and served at your beck and call whenever you needed. He has killed for you, and you know if it came down to it, he’d die for you. He has shown the utmost respect, love, and loyalty to you that any man possibly could… but he’s never kissed you before. You’ve waited ages for him to just get close enough. 

You understood why he didn’t want to after the incident, though in your mind you didn’t agree… but now there were no boundaries left. He didn’t have to feel unworthy. He’d restored the light in your eyes, and the fiery spark that had gone dim. He was practically the only person worthy enough to kiss you anymore. 

Even after waiting for so long, he didn’t just dive in. He still savored every moment, each second that passed was of no inconvenience to him. He took his time, forehead pressing against yours. His other hand came up to tuck your hair behind your ear, gently tracing your jaw, before his thumb ever so slightly parted your bottom lip from the top. 

Your breath hitched in your throat, and your eyes fluttered shut, your hand traveling behind his neck again to ground yourself on his skin. 

It was so delicate, the way his lips swiftly brushed yours to test the waters. Everything in your was screaming to just kiss him already, but there was so much intimacy in this moment that you couldn’t dare skip over. 

The first time he actually slotted his lips against yours was like the softness of a lucid dream. It feels real, but there’s a cloudiness around it that makes it feel ethereal. 

You can’t even describe the sensation in your stomach when he kisses you. It’s a warm and soothing experience that creeps up into your body, onto your skin and down your spine. 

It’s over too soon, even though you’re taking sharper inhales of breath to compensate. 

His forehead rests on yours again, and you can practically feel his smile an inch from yours. 

���I think I’m a goner,” he says quietly, nuzzling your nose against his. 

“Get in line.”

-

Tags: @photo1030 @sheepdogchick @snoopysshark @strvberrydoll @yyiikes @phantasyy @puffyhairedhipster @scorpio-echo @vargassdottir

[johaerys-writes]

Ok just a general writing question: how do you EVER manage to finish your works? I’ve been writing fics and books for a few years and I’ve only every managed to finish one and I felt like the quality just…decayed. Like your works stay invigorating throughout the whole thing and you like,,,,actually finish them. Idk what I’m even saying I’m like 8 days sleep deprived. Anyway,,,,

Okay first of all I'm sorry you're sleep deprived, my sleep schedule has been all over the place lately and I know that feeling like that is NOT conducive to writing or being creative or anything at all lolol.... and thanks for your question, I'm not sure I have a concrete answer to your problems but I'll do my best.

I don't think I'm the best at finishing works honestly lol, especially longer works.... I have a few longer fics that are either on hiatus or abandoned and they haunt me to this day, but as you already know writing is hard work and finishing a story is even harder, so I've sort of accepted that I won't be putting the effort into finishing them any time soon. So I guess a part of writing a longer work is sometimes needing to accept that not all stories are going to work, not all stories need to be finished, or they might actually need a long time of being away from them in order to be finished. There's absolutely nothing wrong with shelving a fic you're no longer interested in or that doesn't really work for whatever reason.

But let's say you absolutely, 100% want to finish a fic but you keep running into obstacles? I think first of all you need to recognise why you're having trouble finishing stuff. If you take long breaks between writing sessions and you end up losing interest or forgetting where you were going with something, then maybe you need to be more consistent with finding time regularly, even 15mins, to write (a little goes a long way). If you are someone who starts a fic without an outline and then ends up getting stuck halfway through, then maybe you could try deciding the important story beats ahead of time so that you know where you're going. If you're someone who plans too much and ends up getting bored, you could try leaving room for more for discovery during writing, like leaving certain sections largely unplanned so that you can figure it out on the spot. So I think it's important to identify what exactly is your problem with finishing fics, and try to find a writing process that works for you.

You mentioned that in the one fic you finished, the quality decayed as you kept going. That's definitely a problem that a lot, if not all, writers have encountered at some point. It has definitely happened to me, and I know that I have that thought at least once during any kind of fic I've written lol. When you start a story you're excited for that new idea, you want to explore it, it's all very invigorating. As you keep going, that enthusiasm dampens usually because you have to think about cohesion and connecting the dots and making the plot work and laying the foundations for later things to come etc etc and other kinda not so exciting things like that lol so I think it's normal to lose a little bit of steam midway. As for the quality of the writing getting worse, it's also part of it because as you reach certain points in the story that need to be more "technical" it feels little bit more forced and not as fun as it was at the beginning.

But I feel like a) quality is subjective, especially when it comes to your own writing, and something that reads kind of mid to you might just be perfectly okay for the reader, and b) you just need to keep going!! Push past that feeling, ignore it, go to that friend who always encourages you with your writing and whine about it. Don't let all those "my writing sucks and is horrible" thoughts get to you, every writer I know has had them at some point, so do your best to ignore them and keep going. Your story will have flaws no matter what you do, and if finishing your fic is your goal, a flawed story that's finished is better than a great one that isn't.

One thing that's always stuck with me is something a friend told me a long time ago, which is that if you're looking for perfection you're never going to be happy with what you put out, but if you say "this chapter/fic isn't 100% how I want it to be, but it's 80% or 70% okay, so we're good to go" then that takes a lot of the pressure off you to make things "perfect". Leave some room for yourself and your stories to be just okay sometimes instead of great, I feel like it makes a lot of difference.

And most importantly, remember to have fun with it! Writing is supposed to be fun, so don't be too hard on yourself for not finishing longer fics, sometimes banging out a short one shot and posting it is the way to go.

Hope this helped!

[gydima]

So even though I'm sick for the first time since, like, January 2020, I just had one of my most productive weekends of the past decade. WTF?

Among other things, I finished decluttering my room! Which I've been wanting to do for years!

(Ignore that I've never bothered to paint and my room has terrible wood paneling and carpet that's a year older than me and original to the house, built in 1982. I'll update it when I win the lottery or something.)

It won't win any awards, but I feel so accomplished and happy to finally have a bedroom that's neat and orderly. 🥰🥰🥰

[kkusuka]

i would love to be john price's (141's) little bird.

(afab reader, you're lowkey a housewife, g/n pronouns, this was also a lot longer than i meant it to be-1.2k words- and i also wrote it entirely in class)

part 2

just the cute little thing he comes home to after long missions; ready to give him anything he needs to fully enjoy his time at home. barefoot and wide-eyed waiting for your bear of a husband to return from his long hard mission, keeping him fed and fucked as much as he needs. and he just loves you so much-- so much that he needs to show everyone how good you are for him.

it's not like he sets out to rub it in, but when his sergeant mentions not having anyone waiting for him at home-- john just can’t help but invite him over, you always talk about how much you love taking care of him, adding another man shouldn't be a problem! and what kind of captain would he be if he didn't take care of his subordinates?

and you aren't complaining! you love when john lets you see into his job! and gaz is just so sweet, saying please and thank you, offering to help clean the dishes, and politely refusing any leftovers even when you all know he has no food to go back to. so, you just have to keep inviting him over, night after night. and he's so good at conversations, even when he and your husband talk with all their military jargon, he makes sure you understand all of it; you just want to keep him in your house forever! so you kind of do…

you can't imagine making him go all the way home to his cold and dark apartment, it's so far and you know he's tired from his month of constant action-- so suddenly kyle has a bedroom set up right next to yours (close enough to hear how john thanks you for being so good to his sergeant, and just maybe a hand goes down below his waistband) a fully stocked bathroom and a place to put his shoes when you all come back your occasion dinners out. (they're dates, you don't think it but they do)

but kyle is not a man so stay silent about his blessings. you're too nice, too pretty to not tell soap about-- and trust john isn't going to complain, and he knows that you won’t either. 'the best roast i think i've ever had' and 'knows exactly how to make a man feel at home' and soap is not one to stray from his desires.

so you end up with your boys, and a bubbling scotsman in your dinning room with no warning. and you're upset, no one told you that you had to make more food and now there isn't enough to give everyone your usual heaping portion- and there is no way you're letting anyone go hungry in your home!

so you end up bouncing around the kitchen, trying to whip something up before the main course finishes in the oven and who but soap offers to help you out! he's got a hand on you at all times (two on your waist when you're chopping the onion, he just wouldn't know what to do with himself if you got hurt making him dinner. so he has to hold you steady, he has to run his hands over your hips keep you stabilized-- don't think too much into it, just stay focused on chopping bonnie)

and soap knows that he can talk for hours, but he can't help it when your eyes light up when he mentions his childhood in scotland and his missions around the world. and your small flinch and frown when he talks about getting hurt. their lass just can't help but worry about them. he just can't stay away from his captains sweet bird-- not when you send him off with a steaming pile of leftovers and a tight hug (pressed against him as hard as you can because you don’t want him to go)

johnny, a man to brag, never shuts up about how it took kyle three months to get a room but it only took him two. (sometimes when he comes back from the bathroom in the morning he can see into your room as you're getting ready. and he doesn't mean to do it but your panties are his favorite shade of blue and they look so amazing on you-- he wants to see them up close so bad.)

and so he tells ghost of all his troubles- unasked and randomly the next time they got sent out. and does ghost really care about johnny's playground crush on their captains bird? yes. how had he been left the only one not getting home cooked meals after being sent out? is he going to say anything about it?

not a chance.

so it takes a little while before the final place at your dinner table to be filled. but after a particularly grueling mission (and already wishing to come over), ghost is finally convinced he belongs with the rest of his team.

and you've never been happier to make extra food; you've been hearing for months about the illusive fourth man of your husband's battalion but having him stand in your kitchen with a cute little store bought dessert was certainly worth the wait. ( 'Ah didnae ken ye liked pink that much, lt' 'it was all they 'ad, can't show up empty 'anded, johnny')

and is he a little awkward and standoffish, of course-- years of military pressure will do that to a man!

and simon is just too sweet, even if he doesn't know it. he's pulling your chair out for you, and running out in the rain to collect the mail that you'd forgotten all about. he even lets you drag him to the grocery store during your weekly trips. (it's not dragging, he'd follow you into the pits of hell if you'd asked him too so the grocery store is really not a big deal.)

everything is just so perfect when all of your the boys are all in the house together!

and suddenly everything in life makes sense again. that plate that you can never reach on the highest shelf in the kitchen, a body is pressed against you as simon leans over you to grab it leaving you with a squeeze to your hip and red face. the gossip that your husband just never understood in the way he should is studently being told to kyle over coffee every morning as your other boys roll out of bed. the soap opera that you rope johnny into watching every thursday night becomes facemasks and wine time.

and john just loves it. he just loves you so much; loves the way you smile at kyles flirting, loves how you cuddle up to johnny on the couch, loves how you let simon hold you so close when you make his tea in the morning, and he just loves teasing you about it. (teasing? yes. making you face the fact that you want your husbands men to run a train on you like a whore. also yes.)

i wanna keep going but i have to let it end at some point

[springismss]

ᱬ⛧ mirror, mirror ~ k. bakugou

sum: mirror mirror on the wall, maybe you can show us how we fuck? in which you find yourself in front of a mirror getting a brief look at how your husband fucks you.

pairing: timeskip husband! katsuki bakugou x wife! reader

content: 18+ mdni. p in v, slight teasing, dirty talk, marking, multiple/implied multiple orgasms, mirror sex, creampie, reader gets called princess/baby/good girl, general NSFW content, aftercare. slight anime/manga spoilers for new fans/not caught up on anime/manga.

a/n: on a roll with another post - this time an old work that was part of kinktober. padded out to feel better. feels like this is one of the better things i've wrote to date. hope you all enjoy! as always, likes, comments and re-blogs are deeply appreciated!

word count: 2.2k

links: bnha/mha masterlist | masterlist

To everyone out there in the world, you and your husband looked like the perfect couple, despite being polar opposites in appearance; you gelled together perfectly. Everyone comments on how perfectly you complement each other.

Anyone who was anyone wanted to be like you and your pro-hero husband, even if he had a temper to rival some of the villains he fought. A temper you'd never be on the receiving end of. The perfect married couple living in a cliché house in the middle of a rural area.

Your life was full of clichés, from waking him up to a nutritious breakfast with his hero suit ready to go, to the sweet kisses you gave him as he left the house, ready to keep the streets of Japan safe for another day.

With a sweet life, everyone had the foolish thought of every aspect of your life being vanilla, even when it came to your sex life. With how tired your husband must be from working all day, sometimes weeks at a time, he wouldn't have the energy for anything other than soft missionary.

Oh, how wrong they were - if they could see the inside of your mind, then they'd rethink their assumptions.

"Hah, Kat, so full". Letting out a whine, you gripped the sheets beneath you as your knuckles turned white. With your face pressed into the mattress, you tried desperately to anchor yourself to something as you felt yet another orgasm creeping up from your toes.

Your thighs were already numb, slowly reddening from the harsh thrusts of the man responsible for having you in this position. You could feel the numbness from the pleasure spreading down your legs; no doubt you'd have trouble walking when he'd eventually let up.

"Fuck, does that feel good princess? Does getting fucked by my cock feel like heaven? Like you were fucking made just f'me". The obvious smugness in your husband's voice, paired with the way he was slamming his hips against you, had your jaw slack. The mushroom tip of his cock repeatedly thumping against that spongy spot deep inside had your eyes rolling into the back of your head, whimpers slipping past your swollen lips.

On a normal night, the sound of the bedframe squeaking would have blended in with the sounds both you and he made, but tonight, after a rather long day with a villain that tested him to his limits, it was nothing more than white noise compared to the noises coming from you both. "I know you're close darling, let me feel that pretty pussy milk me before I even think about filling you with my cum".

The weight on top of you shifted as you felt Bakugou's chest press against your back, large hand finding its way between your legs before the pad of his thumb pressed against your clit. Whining out again, you felt him rub circles in time with his thrusts, helping to coax you to your nth orgasm of the night.

"Please, Kats, fuck, I can't take much more". Trying your best to look at him from the corner of your eye, you managed to make out the mass of ash-blonde hair belonging to him.

"Then let go f'me okay? I know you want to". As if on cue, you felt your legs stiffen as your fingers gripped the sheets harder, a broken cry of Bakugou's name leaving your throat as you felt that hot pleasure zap throughout your body. That one the strongest orgasm you felt of the night so far, or so you thought.

Your cunt was overly sensitive, so paired with the way Bakugou toyed with your clit, of course you were going to feel whatever you body wanted you to feel. Not that you cared, you were too drunk on pleasure to think about anything other than the cock thrusting into you at what felt like inhumane speed.

The squelching of your sopping wet cunt only added fuel to his desire for you as he pinned you down under his weight, hips rutting faster as he drew horse sobs of pleasure from your throat. You really were amazing in his eyes; you took everything he gave and more, never giving up when it became too much pleasure for you to bear.

Not long after, a moan of disappointment left your throat as you became hyper-aware of the empty feeling deep within. Letting out a shaky sigh, you began to turn before finding your movements halted, your body becoming weightless as you were picked up in strong arms.

Humming out, you looked at Bakugou with glassy eyes, tilting your head as he smiled softly at you. Opening your mouth, you tried to question what he was doing, only to be silenced by a gentle kiss that took you by surprise as he moved off towards a corner of your bedroom.

Just what was he planning?

The few steps he had taken halted, causing you to turn your head, eyes widening slightly. There staring back at you was not only your fucked out expression but your body decorated with bites and scratches from your husband. Your skin was covered with a soft sheen, making you look ethereal. "Kat, what are you doing?".

Casting your gaze at the mirror to the side slightly, you looked at the man who now stood behind you, head tilting as you observed him. A proud smirk tugged at his lips as he placed a hand on your body, fingers rolling the perky bud of your breast as you moaned softly, leaning back into his chest.

You were usually so good at reading the expressions your husband wore, but this time, he wore one you couldn't quite read.

Before you had time to register what was happening, you felt your body being hoisted, legs spread open for not only yourself, but your husband to see. To see the way your pussy clenched around nothing as some of your husband cum began to seep out. "You know, princess, I've always wanted to do this...".

Before Bakugou continued what he as going to say, you felt the mushroom tip of his cock poke at your cunt again. The way it dragged across your already sensitive folds had your head lolling back slightly, breath catching in your throat once more as he thrust up into you.

The sinful moan that slipped past your lips had him chuckling, hips thrusting up into you as he helped to bounce you on his cock. "...I've always wanted to watch every single part of you while I fuck you senseless".

Chewing on your lip, you let your head fall back against his shoulder, eyes focusing on the ceiling as he continued to thrust against the spongy spot deep inside - the new angle a welcome feeling. "Fuck, baby girl, you need to watch as well". Opening your mouth to protest, you felt your head being moved, forced to look at the image in the mirror in front of you.

Casting your eyes down, you sucked in a moan as you focused on the part where the two of you were connected as one. Where his cock was buried deep inside your pussy with every thrust he made. The sight made you tingle, heat spreading across your body as newfound confidence took over, your walls squeezing him tighter.

The new sensation around his cock had Bakugou growling out, head dropping onto your shoulder as he began to bite at the already sensitive skin on your neck. Moaning out, you tried to look away from where he was disappearing into you, tried to look a few inches to the side to your husband's figure, but you couldn't. You were entranced by the sight of his cock pumping in and out of you. The way your combined essence dripped down his cock, being driven deeper into your very being. "That's a good girl, baby, watch how I fuck you".

The words and praise caused you to moan out, that all too familiar feeling beginning to creep over you once more. The feeling that caused your cunt to tighten relentlessly around your husband. "Hah, Kat, I'm gonna...".

Letting out an almost guttural moan, Bakugou gripped your chin and turned your face as he thrusted into your tightening cunt. Rough kisses were placed against your lips, desperate and needy as you kissed back with what you could muster, messily pouring out your love.

You could tell he was close to coming; thrusts becoming not only sloppier and needier but harder as well. The mushroom tip of his cock pressing more against the entrance to your womb. Pulling apart, you looked through glassy eyes once more, a string of saliva connecting you both. "Fuck, hah, that's it, squeeze me tighter, baby. Let me feel it while I stuff you full again".

After a few sloppy thrusts, you felt his hips press against your ass as that all too familiar warm feeling of his cum filled you. The spam of your pussy squeezed around him, milking him through his orgasm. Loud moans of pleasure sounded around the room as you arched your back, pressing yourself further into him.

Letting out a soft sigh, you turned your head and rested your forehead against Bakugou's as best you could, chests rising and falling as you panted. Lazily bringing your hand up, you ran your fingers over his cheek, humming slightly. "Look in the mirror, darling, I want you to see this".

Letting your head fall, you looked towards the mirror, down at the place where you connected just in time to see Bakugou pull his cock out of you. Still semi-hard, he twitched slightly as ropes of come connected you both briefly before breaking a few seconds later. A breathy moan of relief and tiredness sounded from you both as you felt yourself being carried back to your shared bed.

Looking up at your husband, you smiled softly and placed your hand back on his cheek. Thumb rubbed over the smooth skin as you looked into his eyes. You never failed to feel so much love for him, no matter what he was doing. The fact that he wasn't just a pro hero, but your husband, made your heart swell with pride and love.

"You know, we should do that more often, I love watching everything, and I mean everything". Your sudden response caught Bakugou by surprise, a soft smile tugged at his lips as he cupped your cheek, eyes taking in your tired and flustered face.

He didn't think you would be up for doing that again, ashamed to admit he might have been a bit selfish in wanting to do something he had wanted for a while. He had a hard time expressing himself, especially when it came to his sex life with you. Not that you weren’t adventurous enough when you were in the throes of pleasure. Still, despite being patient enough with him, he still felt that guilt from time to time.

"You read my mind, princess, but you know I won't do anything you're not comfortable with". His eyes softened as you nodded your head, letting a tired yawn escape. "Let me get you cleaned up, then we'll cuddle".

Placing a soft kiss on your forehead, you felt the weight on the mattress shift as Bakugou left you for a moment, returning with a cloth, bowl and towel. Dipping the material into the water, he moved your legs apart slowly, dabbing the cloth across your swollen pussy to remove the bodily fluids that were starting to dry.

Despite the rough exterior, your husband was as gentle as can be when it mattered the most. When you were cleaned up enough, you felt the mattress dip with his weight once more, a tired smile tugging at your lips and you found yourself wrapped up in strong arms as the bed sheets.

Moving closer to your husband, you cuddle into him and placed your hand on his chest, resting it just above his heart. Your fingers resting gently on the scar he had from his teenage years. When a fight against a villain went wrong. Where his heart stopped before he was brought back to life in front of your eyes.

A sight that still haunted you every now and then to this day. "I love you, Katsuki, I'm so glad I chose you".

Red eyes glanced down at your now sleeping form. A soft smile staying on his lips as he leaned over, placing a soft kiss on the top of your head. Of course, he knew how much you loved him, it was obvious to him, and everyone out there just how much you'd fallen for him.

From the shy, timid girl he first met in the hero course at U.A High, to the confident woman who was now in his arms, he never stopped loving you. Even when he thought his life had ended, even when you gripped him tightly when he was revived, not tight enough to hurt him, though. Even on the day you got married, it had always been you.

He was forever grateful that you chose him because no one else would ever get to see him like this. To see him vulnerable in such a raw way. And no one else would ever get to see this side of you, too for as long as he lived.

© springismss 2025 - don’t repost, copy, translate, steal or modify.

[flofaiiry]

slim pickins ; jack abbot x reader

❝ a boy who's nice that breathes, i swear he's nowhere to be seen ❞

synopsis: a tipsy reader confides her boy troubles to jack, then realizes maybe one of the good men she's been waiting for has been in front of her the whole time. (it's him, he's good men.)

warnings: fem!reader, swearing, alcohol, age gap (unspecified, but jack tells her she's young & calls her 'kid'), reader referred to as a lightweight, reader is on birth control, explicit smut, jack is a consent king, fingering, oral f!receiving, unprotected p in v (don't do that!!), jack is capital L large, praise, finishing inside

wc: ~3.6k

note: i wrote this in one sitting because the idea just hit me like a TRUCK. this is so self indulgent i cant believe i wrote this but i also love it so much so i hope you enjoy!! as always feedback is super appreciated!!!

"it's just... it's like they don't exist! and if they do they've got a girlfriend already, and who can blame them? i'd scoop up the first decent guy i could lay my hands on too!"

jack listens somewhat intently as you continue on your tirade, downing the last sip of the cocktail you've been nursing. you catch the bartender's attention to ask for one more. "don't worry about it. you're young, you've got time. you'll find someone."

"really?" you pick up the freshly made drink placed in front of you and take a larger then necessary sip, gulping almost half of it down in one go.

"yes, really."

you squint, "i'll believe it when i see it." you down the last of the drink like it's a shot, placing the glass down with an emphatic thunk. jack slides it away from you. "i think you've had enough," he says, matter-of-factly. you frown, "i've only had two." he shrugs, "sure, but you're kind of a lightweight." he's got a teasing glint in his eyes as he flags down the bartender, passing him a credit card.

you take the hint and start to rummage through your purse, searching for your wallet. "don't worry about it, i got it." he says, taking his card back from the bartender. "oh! um. thanks!" you smile. he returns it and you can feel your cheeks heat up.

just the alcohol, right? right.

he nods towards the door, "come on, i'll drive you home." you shake your head, "oh no, i can't ask you to do that, i'll just call an uber, it's really no big deal."

"5th and king right? it's on the way, don't worry about it."

you're not quite sure how he knows your address. you probably mentioned it in passing one day, or in a conversation he overhead, but either way, it definitely doesn't help to lessen the warmth in your face.

you nod, "yeah, 5th and king. thanks." jack notices the way your smile goes from polite to genuine. he nods towards the door again, pulling his car keys from his jacket pocket, "let's go."

you walk next to him to his car. hands in your pockets to hide the way you're fidgeting with a hair tie between your fingers.

the drive to your place is relatively quiet, but not silent, not awkward. he asks you when you work next this week, you ask what made him buy this car.

it's comfortable.

before you know it, he's pulling into the parking lot of your building. he reverses into a spot and does that hand-on-the-back-of-the-seat thing that makes every girl go crazy.

you smile at him, "thanks for the ride." your hand finds the door handle, lingering there for a second. "and for listening to me rant about the shitty men of pittsburgh."

he smiles. "happy to be of service."

you swear if you weren't on birth control that smile alone could knock you up.

"i guess i'll see you tuesday then," you click the door open, however reluctantly. he nods, "yeah, see you tuesday."

you step one foot outside the car before you hear his door swinging open too. you look at him across the top of the car, the tiniest hint of confusion on your face. he just shrugs.

"door to door service."

you laugh. has he always been this attractive? or is the alcohol in your system right now making you see things. it's gotta be the alcohol. right? has to be.

he walks up to the building with you, pulling the door open for you.

when did men stop doing this? opening doors for women. when did chivalry die?

it isn't until you hear a familiar laugh that you realize you said that out loud. damn. you really were a lightweight. two little drinks in and you've already lost your filter.

"sorry, i just mean-" you say quickly, trying to recover yourself. he just shakes his head, "i know what you mean."

that smile again. you swear you could melt into a puddle right now. a mix of embarrassment and confusing, sudden attraction doing you in.

you walk in and turn down the hall towards your apartment. jack follows close behind.

"how long have you lived here?" he asks, following you down the winding, dimly lit hallway. "about three years, i think? it's nice. a little dingy, but it's close to work, and grocery stores and stuff like that." you shrug.

"it's got character." he clarifies. "yeah," you exhale, "character."

you arrive at your door. unit 105. you shove your hands into your pockets to find your key, pulling it out along with the attached string of souvenir keychains.

you slide it into the lock and twist, the familiar clicking sound telling you it's open. you place your hand on the doorknob, tentative, before turning to face jack.

"thanks again, for tonight." he smiles. god he has got to stop doing that. "don't mention it."

"no, really, i probably sounded like a bitch going on and on about my... guy troubles. anyone else would have left halfway through so, thanks."

"don't worry about it," he locks his eyes onto yours. "you're a good kid, you'll find a... what was it you said? a real man?"

you laugh.

yeah, like you?

his eyebrows twitch.

shit.

out loud again.

your hand flies to cover your mouth, "oh my god, jack i am so sorry i cannot believe i said that out loud! oh my- i am so. sorry. i'm so embarrassed, i-" he can't help but laugh, "it's fine, i-"

"no! oh my god, it is so not fine, that is so unprofessional of me, i can not believe i just said that," you're gesturing awkwardly now, trying to somehow apologize for your lack of filter.

he takes your hand in his.

"hey," he says, giving it a small squeeze. "it's fine, really. i'm-" he laughs, eyes finding your gaze again.

"i'm flattered." you take a deep breath. a tiny tinge of embarrassment leaving you finally.

when you're standing here like this, so close to him, his eyes on you like this- christ- him holding your hand. you wonder if he's always been like this. if he's always had eyes this endearing and perfectly hazel, hands so warm and calloused, but not rough.

if he's always been this... pretty.

sure he's conventionally attractive anyone could see that. but in this moment it's different.

he's not just attractive. you're attracted to him.

"can i kiss you?"

he raises his eyebrows just the tiniest bit. "you mean to say that out loud?"

you nod. he just stares at you for a second longer. "i'm sorry- that was stupid, i'm probably-"

you're cut off with his lips on yours, and you swear your legs almost give out.

you take a stumbly step forward, and press one hand on his chest to balance yourself, while also leaning more into the kiss.

it's slow at first, tentative. but it's enough, god, it's more than enough. one of his hands slides up your body to rest on the side of your head, gently pulling you away and resting his forehead against yours.

both of your breaths are slow and heavy.

"we don't have to-" he whispers, giving you an out.

"please."

his next exhale is quick. the corner of his mouth twitching upwards as he pulls your lips back into his, this time more sure. you swear you almost moan into his mouth.

he doesn't say anything. doesn't laugh, like other men might, doesn't make a joke about how desperate you are. he just absorbs the sound, and if anything lets it fuel him.

his tongue easily slips into the mix, hand travelling down to your waist and pulling you against him.

you snake your hands up his back and lace them into the little hairs at the top of his neck. not tugging, just there. the pads of his fingers press into your lower back, steadying you to walk half a step backward towards the door.

his free hand shoots out to feel for the doorknob, twisting it once he finds it then pushing open the door. he moves it back to your waist as he ushers you both into the apartment.

"bedroom?"

"first door down the hall." you say, barely pulling away long enough to do so.

god, you can't get enough of him.

you make your way towards it, jack's eyes cracked open just enough to make sure he doesn't send you back-first into a wall. when you finally reach the room, jack eases you back down onto your bed, brushing your hair from your face & crawling on top of you.

"you sure you want this? i don't want you to feel taken advantage of or anything- i know you had something to drink earlier."

you cut him off with a kiss, slow and sure. "i had two drinks jack, at most i'm a little tipsy. i'm sure as hell sober enough to know i want this though."

"you sure?"

"i want this, jack. please. i want you."

with that, he kisses you again with a heat that's new to this whole encounter. a hunger.

his lips part from yours, beginning to trail from the side of your mouth, to your jaw, and then starting their descent down your neck. he doesn't rush, but doesn't take his time either. he spends no more time than necessary sucking the tiniest of marks into your skin.

his hands roam down to the waistband of your pants, tugging your tucked shirt out from underneath it, then sliding beneath the material to your stomach.

he pulls away form your neck and takes his hands out from under your shirt and begins unbuttoning the shirt you're wearing

you're thanking whatever gods are out there for making you wear a button up to the bar tonight.

he makes quick work of the buttons, greedily pushing the material aside to reveal your bra. it's simple, nothing extravagant. it's not like you were expecting to go home with jack abbot tonight.

but nonetheless, jack thinks you look perfect. and he makes sure you know it.

"god, you are so beautiful." he says, voice ragged before he dips his head back down to kiss along the newly exposed skin of your chest. hand sliding up your body to palm over your breast.

though it's through the material, it feels so good.

he moves a hand under your body and toys with the clasp of the bra.

"can i?" he pauses to look up at you nodding eagerly, "yeah, please." you breathe.

with a single movement he's released the clasp and is pulling the material off of you in another. "did i tell you you're beautiful?" he says again, practically ogling at your bare chest.

you smile, "you may have mentioned it, yeah."

he returns it, before dipping back down to kiss along the swell of your breast, then the skin between them. your head tilts back into the pillow just the tiniest bit at the sensation.

his hands now finally travel down your body to the waistband of your pants, messing with the button and zipper there. he leaves one last mark on your chest before pulling away to give it his full attention. he undoes them quickly, and slides the pants down your legs, tossing them idly somewhere in the room and revealing your basic underwear.

again, not like you were expecting any action tonight.

he kisses your lips again, one hand remaining between your legs, pressing just shy of where you needed him the most over the thin material of your underwear.

you can't stop the way your back arches the slightest bit at the sudden feeling, the way you exhale into his mouth. he pulls away from the kiss to move himself down the bed to position himself between your legs. he hooks his fingers around the black material and pulls the panties off of you.

you're fully exposed to him now, your cunt glistening from the lead up. jack can't help but smirk, running a single finger from bottom to top, pressing down slightly when he reaches your clit.

your hips rock into him at the touch, one of his hands pushing you back down into the mattress while the other slides a finger inside you with absolutely no resistance.

"oh my god," you breathe upon his entrance.

you're so wet, so ready that jack almost immediately adds a second finger. he watches for your reaction, and takes the way your breath hitches and your eyes fall shut as a signal that you liked that.

he dips his head down between your legs, pressing a barely there kiss against your clit before jetting his tongue out over it, making you whine.

"god- fuck, jack," you say, breathy, "feels so good."

he just hums against you, the vibration adding a new layer of pleasure as if his fingers and mouth weren't enough. somewhere along the line, the soft licks and kisses to your clit turn into sucks, the pressure causing the knot at the pit of your stomach to grow.

his fingers curl up into you, against that one spot that makes you see stars. your head rolls backwards into the pillows, sharp exhale leaving your lips.

you clench around his fingers, desperate for even more. jack takes the hint, you feel him grin against your pussy before pressing the tip of his tongue, hard, against your clit.

one of your hands finds it's way into his hair, gently tugging at the curls, the other grasping at the sheets for dear life.

he pulls away from your core for a moment, but only a moment, and only to say what you think is probably the hottest thing a man has ever said to you.

"come for me baby, come on. wanna feel you cum on my fingers."

dear lord.

as quickly as he pulled away his lips are back around your clit, licking and sucking at it like it's his full time job, fingers pumping mercilessly in and out of your soaking cunt as he draws you towards your orgasm.

you breathing gets reckless, your hand tightens around the curls of his hair and your eyes cinch shut as you come. your jaw falls open but no sound leaves at first, until a choked moan makes it's way out. a sound jack wishes he'd just recorded.

jack's mouth and fingers don't stop. not immediately, not until you're well over the peak of your orgasm. he slows down just enough that the pleasure doesn't stop, but doesn't overwhelm you either.

after you've come down from the high he presses one last kiss to your clit before standing up between your legs at the foot of the bed.

your breathing is ragged. chest heaving up and down as you clench involuntarily around nothing. jack's hands travel to his belt, undoing the clasp and pulling it off before shoving his pants down to his ankles and stepping out of them.

he takes a step over to you, your eyes having a hard time staying on his face and not the hugely obvious bulge in his boxers. "condom?" he says simply.

you nod, "yeah, there should be one in the top drawer here." he walks over to your night table, crouching slightly to open the top drawer. he pushes the items around looking for the familiar square packet but doesn't see anything.

he tilts his head. "nope, not in here." you sit up in the bed, eyebrows furrowed. "no? i swear there should be some. maybe try the bottom drawer." you watch him close the drawer before opening the one beneath it. it's empty safe for a book or two. he shakes his head, "nope."

"seriously? i could've sworn i had."

"get that much action?" he teases, sliding the drawer shut and standing up.

you almost cackle. "no, i get so little action that i didn't even know i was out."

he smiles, walking over to where his pants lie taking out his wallet and flipping through it briefly.

"i mean... i'm on the pill if that's- i don't know, a peace of mind? i don't think i have anything, fuck, i cant even remember the last time i was with anybody."

he closes his wallet, seemingly unsuccessful in his search. he looks up at you, "you sure?"

"yeah," you nod. "i mean if you're not comfortable with it, obviously we don't have to, i just- i'm okay with it." you clarify.

he smiles, putting his wallet back into the pants pocket and dropping it back onto the floor. "yeah, okay." he takes a step towards you then hooking his fingers into his boxers and pulling them down.

it's embarrassing but you cant help the way your eyebrows raise at the sight of him.

"anybody ever teach you it's not polite to stare?" he teases.

you look up to his eyes, noticing the stupid smirk on his face. "yeah- sorry, just. wow."

he laughs, "wow." he repeats, the tiniest hint of mocking present in his tone as he crawls back over you.

"oh, shut up." you say, pulling him down to kiss him.

mouth still on yours, he positions his cock at your entrance. the feeling of his tip ever so gently brushing at your clit causing your breath to catch in your throat. lips never ceasing against yours he starts to push inside of you.

the stretch is unlike any you've ever felt before. it's almost painful, but it feels too damn good to call it that. your walls adapt around his length as he slowly buries his cock inside you.

after a few seconds he's fully inched his way inside you. he doesn't move- not yet, just keeps kissing you to ease the tension, lips slow and passionate against yours.

you're practically panting now, the pleasure all consuming.

jack traces his lips down to your neck again. "you okay? ready?" he asks against your skin.

you nod, eager as ever. he picks up his head to look at you, "words, pretty girl."

"yes, jack. please fuck me, need it so bad." you breathe out, still nodding as you lock eyes with him. he smirks and it's like a switch has flipped inside of him. he gently pulls out of you before snapping his hips back against you again. his every thrust is controlled, measured to bring you the most pleasure possible.

the grunts and breaths leaving him are nothing short of sinful, and the soft noise of his hips hitting yours flood into the room amongst your whimpers.

"you like that?" he asks, and there's no answer you could give other than, "god, yes." the way he fills you just right, the way he's looking down at you, the way he kisses your lips and neck every now and then... jack abbot has got the formula down pat.

"faster, please jack. need more," you whine, legs wrapping around his waist and pulling him flush to your body.

"yeah?" he tilts his head. cocky bastard.

you nod quickly. "yes- god, please."

with a smirk perfectly matching his earlier tone of voice jack obliges you, increasing his pace and earning a moan from you.

"yeah, keep making those noises for me. good girl."

good girl. the word replayed your head, and you're pretty sure it would loop on and on for the rest of your life. (not that there was even a slight problem with that),

when the familiar knot builds back up in the pit of your tummy, you find yourself clenching around jack, earning a sharp inhale from him.

"you keep that up, i won't last much longer."

he moves his hips relentlessly, every thrust taking you closer to your second orgasm. " 'm so close, jack, please." you breathe, hands practically raking down his back. you're sure your nails will leave marks.

jack doesn't mind.

"yeah? gonna come for me?" you nod quickly. "yes. god, yes, so close." you whine, earning another smirk from jack. that smirk is going to be burned into your retinas for years to come.

"come for me, pretty girl. show me how good i make you feel, huh?"

his pace doesn't let up. not when you're moaning his name, or clenching around him and suddenly he's the one seeing stars.

one, two three more rocks of his hips into you and you're falling apart. orgasm tearing through you so hard you're practically tearing up from the pleasure.

"good girl, just like that." he coaxes, beginning to lose his own control now. your nails dig into his back as he continues to rut into you.

" 'm close," he says through grunts. "so close i- where do you want it." he says quickly

"inside, please, need to feel you." you breathe, still coming down from your own high as jack is roaring towards his at full speed.

he nods, hearing you tell him to come inside of you snaps the last thread of his control, and with a groan he's spilling inside you, filling you up.

you roll your head back into the pillows at the feeling, legs instinctively tightening around his waist to pull him deeper into you as he comes.

"god- fuck." he whispers, hips stuttering as he finishes. a few more lazy thrusts into you, then jack is pulling out. breath catching in both of your throats at the loss of contact. jack rolls off of you, flopping beside you on your bed. your symphony of labored breathes the only sound filling the room.

"wow." you exhale.

"yeah." he agrees. "wow."

"that was-"

"yeah. it was."

you laugh, rolling over onto your side to face him. he turns his head to look at you. his earlier cocky smirk replaced with a genuine smile.

"still think there are no good men out there?" he teases, brushing a stray piece of hair from your face.

"eh, maybe just one."

this is so horny and self indulgent i am so sorry (no im not)

as always my inbox is always open for feedback / requests / ideas / thoughts. i would love to hear what u have to say!!! 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

[pedroscurls]

stranded (one-shot)

summary: your car breaks down on the side of the road and a stranger decides to help you out... and you have no choice but to accept his help.

pairing: no outbreak/dark!joel miller x fem!reader content warnings: EXPLICIT CONTENT (18+ ONLY MDNI), DUBCON - please read at own risk / heed warnings!, stockholm syndrome, unprotected p in v, rough sex, manhandling, oral sex (m receiving), orgasm denial, begging, creampie, joel ties you up, spanking, light choking, fingering, age gap (reader is in 30s, joel is in 50s), no use of y/n. word count: 5.1k a/n: and here's yet another story where i'm stepping out of my comfort zone. i've always wanted to write dark!joel, but felt like i couldn't do it justice... but then ali's (@pedgito) hosting a writing challenge (spring fever) and i figured... why not? i chose backwoods horror #1 STRANDED/SIDE OF THE ROAD. please heed the warnings, y'all. this is gonna be very dark and filthy, so if you're not into that sort of thing, that's ok!

You had no idea what you were thinking—taking a solo cross country road trip after quitting your job. Maybe you thought that you’d find yourself, find some kind of purpose that was lacking in your life, but instead, you’re stranded on the side of the road. Gas empty, no cell service, and phone already on its last battery. 

This is where you’re going to die—you’re sure of it. It’s how all horror movies start and despite the sun still high in the sky, you’re increasingly getting worried about what could happen when night falls. You scream at the top of your lungs, the sound echoing through the vast empty void. 

God, no one would hear you scream for help if you were in real danger and that thought simply frightens you. Your friends had all but praised you for this trip—this journey to self-discovery and reflection. Your parents, on the other hand, had already been concerned when you said you would be alone on this trip. A woman, traveling the world by herself? Well, that’s just asking for trouble, they said. 

And now you understand their concern. You understand their fear about you traveling all alone because of where you are now—in the middle of fucking nowhere. You should have refilled your gas when you had the chance, should have charged your phone while you were driving. Should have, should have, should have. 

10%—your phone reads. You try to send a text to your parents, to send them your location, but every attempted text just comes back with the message in red text and an exclamation point next to it: NOT DELIVERED! You raise your phone in the sky, hoping that maybe you’ll get one bar of service, but no luck. 

The trip had been successful, up until this point. You were in Texas, that you were sure of. But where in Texas? You had no fucking clue. 

You lean against the side of your car—the sun glaring down at you and you can feel a thin sheet of sweat on the side of your neck. Why did you think this was even a good idea? Traveling cross country without a plan—how fucking naive. 

Your battery drains fast and your phone finally shuts off. You let out a quiet sigh of frustration and open the passenger door of your car to toss your useless phone inside. Just as you’re about to climb in, you hear a faint noise of a car engine. Suddenly, you feel hopeful—maybe you won’t die here after all.

The sudden excitement that you feel overpowers the possibility that what you’re doing is absolutely dangerous. You’re waving your arms in the air, trying to track down the person in the car who’s making their way in your direction. It’s possible that this person whose truck is slowing down as it nears you could very well be a serial killer, but what choice did you have? 

The truck pulls up behind your car and quickly, you run over to your savior. Your hero. 

“Hi. My car’s dead, my phone’s dead, and I just need a lift to the next gas station... Or any place where I can use a phone to give someone a call,” you blurt out, breathing heavily. 

He turns his head slightly in your direction—eyes gazing at your face, then down to your shoulders and the rest of your body that he can see from the driver’s side. You’re leaning against the opened window of the passenger side of the truck. You don’t belong here, he knows that for sure. 

“Next gas station is in the next town over,” he finally answers. 

“Could you give me a lift there? I can pay you. Let me just grab my things and—”

“No need,” he interrupts, voice low. “I’m headin’ in that direction anyway. Get in.”

You grin and Joel’s jaw ticks briefly. God, you’re beautiful and it’s truly been a long time since he’s been with—

“Promise you won’t kill me?” you laugh, climbing into his truck and interrupting his thoughts. 

Joel finally takes in the rest of your frame and can immediately feel his length stirring beneath his dark jeans. His hands grip the steering wheel to ease some pressure, but you’re still talking and you’re laughing and it shoots straight to the center of his pants. It must be his lucky day. 

“If I were to kill you, I don’t think I’d be confessing that, darlin’,” he answers—the corners of his lips lift slightly. Oh, you had no idea what you just got into by climbing into his truck. 

“Right,” you reply. “That’s a good point.” You look at him—taking note of his damp hair that’s slicked away from his face, his broad frame, salt and pepper patchy beard. You realize that he must be in his fifties, but you can’t help but notice how handsome he is. That’s a good sign, you think. He won’t hurt you. He’s going to drop you off in the next town and hopefully, you’ll be able to head back home in the morning. 

“I’m guessing you live around here?” you ask, feeling the truck move back onto the main street. You glance out the window, watching your car become smaller and smaller as Joel drives further away from it. 

“Yeah,” he answers. “Guessin’ you ain’t from around here.”

“That obvious?” 

He just nods. Joel needs to focus on the road ahead of him. He has to make it seem like he’s not a threat, like he’s not just about to take you directly to his home. His secluded home. 

You introduce yourself formally, telling him your name and turning your body to face him. “What’s your name?”

“Joel.”

“You’re a man of few words, aren’t you?” you smile in his direction and Joel glances at you from the corner of his eyes. 

“Not much to say.”

“Well, how long is the drive to the next town? If you don’t have music, I’m gonna end up talking. I don’t usually like it when it’s too quiet on a drive and—”

“It’s about fifteen minutes,” he interrupts. “Radio is busted.” 

“So talking it is then.”

“No use in talkin’ if we ain’t gonna be seein’ each other after this.” 

“I guess you’re right,” you answer with a sigh. You try to remain quiet, fidgeting with your hands as you stare out the window. Every few seconds or so, you glance over at him and you can’t fully read his expression. He’s so stoic that there’s a part of you that feels like an inconvenience to him. Maybe he should have just kept on driving. 

“How long were you stranded for?” Joel asks. 

“About a couple of hours. Couldn’t get reception to call someone.”

“Yeah, phones don’t work out here.” Joel shrugs. “You eat anythin’ yet?” 

You shake your head. “Skipped breakfast this morning to get on the road.”

“My place is just a couple of minutes away,” Joel says. “I need to grab a few things. Got some food and water for you,” he offers. 

You smile and reach out to rest a hand on his forearm. It’s an innocent gesture, but it makes Joel shift in the driver’s seat. Your touch is so soft, so gentle and he flexes his arm underneath your fingertips. “You’re sweet, Joel. That sounds great. I am starving.” 

Joel bites back a smirk. He’s got you right where he wants you. 

Your hand drops from his arm and there’s a subtle frown that settles on his lips before he pulls off the main road. Within minutes, Joel pulls up to his secluded home. When he shuts off the car, he looks over at you and you’re still smiling. 

“This is a cute place, Joel,” you tell him, climbing out of the truck. 

He follows you and rounds the truck until he’s standing behind you. His fingers itch to reach out to touch you—especially when you raise your arms over your head to stretch, the ends of your shirt lifting just above the waistband of your denim shorts. He wants to touch every inch of you and he lets out a quiet grunt when you accidentally fall back against him. 

“Sorry,” you say, looking over at him from over your shoulder. 

“S’fine,” Joel mumbles and then walks past you to walk towards his front door. He unlocks it and opens it for you, watching you step across the threshold as you look around with curiosity. 

“It’s very dark in here,” you point out, walking further into his home. You see a light switch on the wall and flip it on, illuminating his entire home. Surprisingly, Joel’s large hand encompasses your wrist in a tight grip. You let out a quiet gasp and turn around to look up at him—eyes wide, lips slightly parted. 

“You always like to make yourself comfortable in a stranger’s home?” he asks with a threatening tone. 

“S–sorry,” you whisper, trying to pull your wrist away from his grip but he doesn’t budge. His grip just tightens. “Joel, you’re hurting me.”

“Pretty little thing,” he mumbles, stepping closer to you. “It’s like you were waitin’ f’me out there,” Joel says quietly. 

“Joel—”

“Shh.” Joel brings a finger up to your lips and his eyes drift down, moving his thumb to brush against you. “Shh, baby.” 

“I think I want to leave now,” you answer. “I think I just want to head into town and—”

“Oh darlin’,” he grins. “Ain’t no town for at least another fifty or some miles.” 

“B–But you said—”

“Guilty,” Joel interrupts, turning you so that your back presses against the wall. He cages you in, hand still gripping your wrist as the other comes up to rest gently over your throat. “M’sorry I lied to ya.” 

Your eyes widen in horror, the realization finally hitting you like a freight train. You had spent most of the drive admiring him—his broad frame, his quiet and mysterious nature, his large hands that gripped the steering wheel, his husky southern accent—that you ignored the feeling in the pit of your stomach. 

This was a bad idea. 

Getting into his truck was a bad fucking idea. 

“I just want to go home,” you whisper. “Please just let me go home and—”

“Shh,” he repeats. Joel steps closer to you, his nose brushing against your own. “Gonna keep you here all to myself. Been a while since I had a little plaything like yourself.” 

You shake your head. “Please, I’ll give you all the money I have back in my car.”

“Don’t want your money. Want you.” 

“Joel—”

“Love the way my name comes out of your mouth, darlin’. Say it again.”

You shake your head, closing your mouth shut. You know you’re in danger, but you’re not sure why you feel a familiar wetness pool between your legs. Your body is responding to him—to this stranger… this handsome fucking stranger who can easily strangle you if he wanted to. 

“Say. It. Again,” he repeats.

“Joel,” you whisper. 

“Good girl,” Joel grins proudly. He drops his hand from your throat and releases his grip around your wrist. He stares into your eyes, searching for any hesitation or any inclination that you’re going to run and leave. He sees your eyes flicker to the front door and he narrows his eyes—his large hand once more coming up to splay against your throat. Joel applies just a bit of pressure and he watches your eyes go wide again. “Wouldn’t think about it, if I were you.” 

You beg with your eyes—apologetic and pleading for him to just let you go. “I’ll be good,” you mumble against his grip. “I promise. I–I’ll be good.”

“We’re gonna have a lot of fun,” Joel nods, releasing his grip around your throat. “And I bet if I were to reach between your legs, I’d feel just how fuckin’ wet you are f’me, won’t I?”

You shake your head in defiance. “N–No…” 

Joel lets out a chuckle. “Mmm, that so?” He tugs on the waistband of your denim shorts and pulls you to him. He’s so rough and there’s an excitement that courses through your veins. He tugs down your shorts and panties down your legs, looking down at your white lacy thong with a grin. He can see a blotch of wetness and brings it to his nose, inhaling deeply as he lets out a contented sigh. “I bet you taste fuckin’ good too,” he whispers. 

You suddenly feel self-conscious and your hands immediately move to try and tug down the end of your shirt to cover your lower half. Joel just shakes his head and grabs your wrists to pin them above your head against the wall. You squirm against his grip and he kicks your legs apart, stepping in front of you to keep them spread open. His free hand comes down and immediately runs the pads of his fingers across the length of your sex—your body betrays you because you let out a quiet whimper as you arch your back against his touch. 

“Wet,” he points out. “You like this, don’t you?” 

You shake your head. 

“Liar,” he chuckles. Joel wastes no time in sliding two of his thick fingers past your folds—your warm, tight, and so fucking wet that a large grin spreads across his lips. 

You squirm against him at the sudden and rough intrusion, eyes gazing up at him. His eyes are dark, filled with lust and more than likely sinister thoughts, but you can’t help but notice his grin and the cute fucking dimple that appears on his cheek. You shouldn’t like this, but your body is yearning for more. Yearning for him. 

Joel’s thick fingers plunge into you repeatedly—his other hand gripping your wrists so tight above your head that you’re sure there’s going to be bruises. You shut your eyes tightly, keeping your lips in a thin line and forcing yourself to stay quiet because you know that if you make a sound, it’s only going to fuel him further. 

His eyes stare deeply at you and you’re so wet that Joel’s fingers pump into you with ease. He can see you struggling against his grip and he leans closer, lips near your ear as he whispers huskily. “Lemme hear you, baby.” 

You shake your head in defiance, pulling your lower lip between your teeth. You suck in a breath when his thumb brushes against your clit and a quiet—almost inaudible—moan escapes your lips. 

“Ah, darlin’,” Joel grins, gently nipping at your earlobe. His grip around your wrists loosen just slightly and he’s distracted, yearning to pull more sounds out of you and it gives you just the right moment to push him away. You miss his fingers immediately, a loud squelch echoing the walls when his fingers slip out of you. 

With as much strength as you can muster, you shove him so hard that he stumbles backwards with a grunt. You look around haphazardly, eyes wide, heart beating out of your chest. You’re very well aware that your lower half is bare, but you think maybe you can make a run for it—you just need to grab his keys, run out the door into his truck and drive away. 

You glance over your shoulder and Joel chuckles. He fucking laughs at your poor attempt at running away because he takes three strides in your direction and takes a fistful of your hair. You let out a loud yelp and he’s already quick to bend you over the back of his couch—the edge of it digging into your lower abdomen.

You’re already trying to squirm away, but his grip in your hair tightens and pain rushes through you. You’re about to beg him to stop, to beg him to let you go, but you feel his free hand connect with your backside. The slap reverberates through your entire being and the sound of his hand coming in contact with your ass echoes through his quiet home. 

“You just got here, baby,” he growls—he doesn’t let up, your skin already reddening with each spank. “You can’t leave me yet.”

“I–I–” you mumble and your body reacts automatically, pushing back into him. “Please!” 

“M’gonna have to tie you up, I think,” Joel grins. “Just to make sure you don’t pull that shit again.”

Your ass is beginning to sting and you try to scramble away, but Joel pulls you upright against him. His large hands move to your hips, fingertips digging into you as he uses your body to rub his bulge against you. 

“I think you’re gonna feel real good around me,” he whispers into your hair, hand sliding over your abdomen and down between your legs. “You’re actin’ like you ain’t enjoyin’ this, but you’re so fuckin’ wet f’me.” 

He begins to circle your clit with the pads of his fingers and it causes your back to arch against him, hands darting out to rest on the edge of the couch. A loud moan finally escapes your lips and Joel lets out a low growl at the sound—he wants to hear more of it, craves more of it. 

“From the way you’re squirmin’,” he continues, “Makes me wonder if you’ve been neglected.” 

You shake your head—lying.  

“Oh? Got a boyfriend back home, hm?” 

You shake your head again.

“Poor little thing,” Joel mumbles, head dipping down to the side of your neck as he presses his soft lips against you. It causes a shiver to run through you—his soft lips and his rough beard. “Don’t worry, baby. I’m here now. I’ll take care of ya.”

You’re an absolute mess by the time Joel’s done with you. You’re lying on his mattress, hands bound by rope and attached to the headboard. You’re completely bare for him and he’s brought you to the edge of orgasm too many times to count that you’re practically begging for some release. 

His hands are surprisingly gentle when he settles himself back between your legs and it causes you to flinch. His fingertips brush against your hardened nipples, dark bruises already forming around it from his love bites—he liked to call it. 

“You’re soakin’ my sheets, honey,” he grins. 

“Then let me fucking come!” you retaliate with a huff. Your eyes go wide the minute it leaves your mouth and you’re already trying to scramble away from him, despite being all tied up. 

Joel laughs again. “You’re cute when you’re angry, baby… but let’s not forget who’s in charge here.” 

He finally pulls the ends of his shirt over his head and you lift your own head off the pillow to get a good look at him. There’s no way this fucking man is in his fifties—you shake your head of the thoughts that begin to fill your mind. He has you here held captive and you’re sure that he’s going to kill you once he’s gotten what he needed. 

But you can’t help it. 

Joel’s fucking gorgeous. 

Is this what Stockholm syndrome is? Attracted to your captor? Whatever the fuck it is, you’re squirming impatiently. There’s a dull throb between your legs, an ache, a need for him to give you what you need. 

And he smiles. The same fucking dimple that appeared earlier that day is now in full display because Joel knows he’s got you right where he wants you. 

“Gonna be a good girl f’me? No more fightin’ back?” Joel begins, reaching down to tug his boxers down his strong legs. Once the fabric is gone from his body, your eyes widen once more at the sheer size of him. Girthy. Leaking at the tip. You’re not sure if it’d fit inside of you and Joel notices a flicker of uncertainty flash across your features. “We’ll make it fit, baby. Don’t you worry.”

You whimper quietly in response, feeling him brush his rounded tip against your opening. You try to wiggle your hips down, yearning for more, but he just pulls back and shakes his head. 

“Please,” you plead. You bat your eyes at him, gazing at him under the rim of your eyelashes. It’s a poor attempt at begging, at looking innocent because you look anything but that. 

Joel just lets a small smile line his lips before he pulls away and mounts your upper half. You clear your throat—the size of him this close almost threatening. 

“Don’t be gettin’ shy on me now,” he growls lowly. “Been pleasuring you for a while now, so it’s only fair that you return the favor.” 

“I–I haven’t come yet. Please just let me come and I’ll do anything—”

Joel clicks his tongue and runs the tip of his manhood across your mouth, smirking at the sight of his precome now on your lips. “You ain’t the one in charge here.” He pushes his tip past your lips and lets out a low groan. One hand moves to grip the headboard ahead of him as his other hand keeps a steady grip around the base of his length. “Open wider f’me,” he whispers. 

You have no choice but to obey—parting your lips wider and feeling more of his manhood slide into your mouth. You can feel the corners of your mouth stretch due to his girth. It isn’t long before he pushes further into your mouth, feeling him hit the back of your throat and you gag almost instantly. Tears sting your eyes and he only gives you a few seconds to breathe before he pushes back into you. 

You squeeze your legs together, trying to alleviate some pressure that has been building and building between your legs and the pit of your stomach. You glance up in his direction only to see Joel with his head tilted back, chest and neck exposed, and his eyes completely shut. A quiet groan escapes his lips as he begins to move his hips forward and backward—you swirl your tongue around him, hollow your cheeks and it causes him to moan loudly. 

And fuck, it’s a beautiful sound to come out of him. 

He’s moaning. He’s deep in his own pleasure. 

And it’s all because of you. 

By the time he pulls out of your mouth, Joel’s eyes snap open to look down at you. Lips swollen, tears streaking down the corner of your eyes. You’re so distracted by your desire to come that you don’t realize what could possibly happen once he’s done with you. 

You’re going to die. 

Joel is going to fucking kill you. 

And this cross country road trip you had originally planned was a stupid fucking idea. 

Joel sees a look of fear flash across your features and it only makes him smile, makes his cock jerk at the sight of you. He moves down your body and settles himself between your legs again. 

“Gonna fill you up now,” Joel nods. “And you’re gonna lie there and take it like a good girl.” 

You nod. 

His hand comes up to grip your chin roughly, staring into your eyes. “Say it.” 

“I–I’ll be good. I’ll take it like a good girl and—”

Without warning, Joel pushes fully into you in one stroke. You feel your body jerk upwards at the sudden intrusion and you’re lucky that you’re so wet because while he slides in so easily, you can’t help but feel the painful stretch to give way to his size. Your hands try to wiggle out of the bondage, but the rope just digs further into your skin—it’s like he expertly tied you in a way that the more you struggle, the tighter it gets. 

Joel’s hand moves from your chin to cup your breast, thumb brushing against your nipple as he remains still for a moment. “Feel so good,” he whispers, head dipping lower to brush his nose against yours. He can hear you panting heavily, lips parted slightly. “Like you were made f’me.” 

Then, Joel pulls out to his tip only to slam himself back into you. He repeats this movement multiple times and your moans—the ones that you’ve tried so desperately to hold back—finally escape your lips and mix in with the sounds of his skin slapping against yours. 

The bed rocks against the wall—his thrusts are so rough and you’re sure that your entire body is going to ache for the next few days. 

That is if you’re still alive by then.  

One hand moves to your hip as the other moves to wrap around your neck. He applies a bit of pressure to cut off your oxygen and you gasp, eyes wide as you stare up at him. 

Begging. 

Pleading. 

Not for him to stop… 

…but for more. 

Joel grins at that and continues his thrusts, the sensation of your walls sliding along his length only urging him closer and closer to release. He can feel the tightness in the pit of his stomach begin to unravel and he pulls out, not yet wanting to be done with you. 

When Joel does pull out of you, he releases his grip around your throat and hears you take one deep breath. You’re breathing heavily and he looks between your legs—so fucking wet, so swollen and he taps your clit gently with the tip of his manhood only to see you squirm. 

You’re sensitive, he thinks to himself with a grin. 

“Joel,” you whisper. At this rate, you don’t care if you die. Having him bring you on the edge of an orgasm only to stop is worse, you’re sure of it. 

“Gonna keep you here forever,” Joel says with a dark gaze. “You’re mine now. You understand?” 

You clear your throat and nod slowly—anything to get him to make you come. “Y–Yes, yours.” 

“Doesn’t sound too convincing.” 

“Fuck, Joel! Please,” you beg. “I don’t care what you do to me, please just let me come…” 

Joel chuckles—dark, sinister. He leans down and lightly pecks your lips before he climbs off the bed to look at you from top to bottom. “Like I said, you ain’t the one in charge here.” 

Your eyes stare at him and you notice the way his manhood stands fully erect, glistening with your arousal. He follows your gaze and smirks, reaching down to tug on it. “This what you want?” 

You nod. “Please.” 

“So if I untie you, you gonna be a good girl and obey?” Joel contemplates, still stroking the base of his length. His hand doesn’t feel as good as being inside of you and he almost loses his resolve. 

But he doesn’t. 

Joel’s patient. 

“Y–Yes, please,” you plead once more. 

“Love hearin’ you beg, darlin’,” he grins. Joel slowly reaches over and begins to untie the rope around your wrists but he makes sure that his attention is focused on you. He needs to make sure that you’re not going to run again. 

Once the rope is finally undone, you roll your wrists and touch the bruises around it. You flinch and then look up at him—eyes still pleading. 

“One wrong move and I’m tyin’ you up again. You hear me?” Joel growls, seeing you move to sit up. You nod in agreement and he tugs on your ankle, pulling you to the edge of the bed with such force that you let you a quiet yelp. 

Joel flips you onto your abdomen and grabs your hips, lifting you up so that you’re now on all fours on his mattress. He comes up behind you and slides into you with warning—again. 

A loud moan escapes your lips and you fall forwards—cheek resting against his mattress, eyes fully shut tight, and your hands gripping the sheets so tightly that your knuckles turn white. 

“Feel even tighter this way,” Joel points out with a grunt. 

Your toes curl at his rough assault against you. It’s like he’s possessed, so territorial and so animalistic that his thrusts drive you further into the mattress. You wanted this, but you can’t help the pain that shoots through you at his size. Joel’s by far the biggest you’ve ever had and it wasn’t like you had a healthy sex life before this. 

“Fuck!” You scream, now trying to scramble away from him because it’s too much. He’s edged you for too long that you’re sure you can’t even get there—your body is humming and you can feel the familiar sensation in the pit of your stomach. You’re close and Joel knows. 

He laughs and grips your hips, pulling back onto him with such force that you arch your back. Joel grabs your arms and pins them at your lower back as he pulls your body forward and backward against him. He glances down and sees just how wet you are—the hair at his base completely damp from your arousal. 

“You wanted to come… then fuckin’ come,” Joel groans, pulling you up against his chest. He grunts into your ear as he keeps your arms pinned at your lower back. His other hand reaches around and dips lower to begin circling your clit against the pads of his fingertips. 

You moan so loud that it echoes throughout his home. Your head tilts back against his shoulder and he drags his teeth across the side of your neck—both your bodies now covered in a thin sheet of sweat. 

“J–Joel, I–,” a loud sob escapes your lips when you finally reach your orgasm. Your body shakes against his own and his thrusts don’t let up—still hammering into you from behind and using your slickness and tightened walls to bring himself closer to his own release. 

“Fuck,” he groans against you, releasing your arms and pinning you back onto the mattress. His hips sling against your own—Joel is literally fucking you into the mattress and you’re already so fucking sensitive that you try to move away. 

Fuck him. If he wanted to deny you of your orgasm, you can do the same to him. 

But it’s no use. Joel’s so much stronger and his large hands grip your hips so tightly that you feel pain from it. 

“S’cute,” he says in between thrusts. “Thinkin’ you can run away.” Joel grunts lowly, chasing his own orgasm. “Can promise you one thing, baby…” He slams into you once more and releases his warm seed into you—paints your tight and wet walls with his come. He leans forward, pushing further into you as his tip kisses your cervix. “You ain’t ever leavin’ me.” 

He presses soft kisses along your shoulder before he pulls out, watching with a smirk to see his come trickle out of you and down your legs. 

“You’re stranded, darlin’. Ain’t no one comin’ to save you,” Joel grins. “And I ain’t even done with you yet.”

[mrs-elsie-barnes]

Home Time | Bucky Barnes x Reader | Drabble - 469 words

Spoilers for the ending of Thunderbolts* , not super plot spoilers, but still spoilers. This is you warned.

Seriously.

No other warnings apply (just swears ☺️) just couldn't contain my excitement at home much I loved it! Had to let it out via fanfic!

When the fight is over, how's everyone going to get home?

Masterlist | Bucky Barnes

Bucky rubbed dirt from his forehead with the back of his hand and looked around at the assembled group.

Bob was chatting to Yelena while she picked rubble from her suit. Alexei was picking cement from Yelena's hair too and the blonde looked thoroughly overwhelmed.

Walker waved to the cameras while trying to suruptitiously bend his shield back.

Ava looked bored as she scanned the crowd. "Uh, what now? I'd like to go home now, maybe brush my hair."

"Ah, do not worry, I have my —ah — no. It is in the dessert " Alexei looked disappointed.

"I can get you guys to an airport or something," Bucky tapped his phone, "but you have to behave."

He looked around the assembled …mob.

"I am always on best behaviour, Red Guardian was role model—"

"Please shut up." Yelena snapped.

"Whoever your connection is, Bucky, we can behave okay just let's go home." Walker said waving his hand.

"It's not so much a connection…"

A black SUV pulled up among the rubble, tinted windows hiding the interior. It came to a slow stop and the drivers door opened.

"James, what the fuck?"

"James?" Bob whispered.

Bucky's face changed, the scowl gone, eyes wide, hands up in surrendor. "Doll, listen I —"

"Don't you 'doll' me Mr!" You put your hands on your hips. "Just the afternoon, be back soon, see you after the hearing." You raised an eyebrow. "Bullshit, you're in big trouble."

"And we had to behave." Bob whispered, perhaps a touch too loud.

Your head whipped to him, scowling, before returning to Bucky.

"I'm sorry, okay." He approached slowly, then cupped your cheeks in his dusty hands, "I promise it was for a really good reason."

You narrowed your eyes, "promise?"

"Of course, forgive me?"

Yelena thought she was going mad, was Bucky giving you puppy dog eyes?

Was it working?

"I've got a few new friends, couldn't give them a lift somewhere could you?" He gave you a charming smile, wrapping his arms around your waist and swaying you slowly.

You peeked around his back and scanned over Alexei, Bob, Yelena and Ava before narrowing your eyes at Walker.

"That guy?"

"I know, I promise I'll tell you everything later." Bucky kissed you gently.

"Later?"

"Hmm…" Bucky kissed you again, every reason for fighting through wrapped in his arms, safe, warm. He closed his eyes and soaked you in.

"James," you rubbed your hands down his chest, firm and real and back with you, "if your friends make a mess of my new car, you'll have worse things to worry about. Okay?"

You tapped his chest and he laughed, tucking you under his arm and turning to — he refused to say it, better to say friends than any stupid superhero name.

"You heard Mrs Barnes, don't make a fucking mess."

[inkskinned]

don't worry, they're joking! they're always joking when it would be something, like bigoted. because i'm not a bigot, obviously, i just vote for bigots - well, they're not bigots either, you can't really call someone a bigot just because they have religious views. this is the land of the free, and it's a christian nation, after all. you can pretend otherwise but let's just be real here; all our values are really based on the bible. anyway, i know you liberals get your panties in a twist - can i say that, or are you gonna cancel me, haha, #metoo - about every little joke he said and every little dramatic political view. oh, fascist this and fascist that. you are online too much, you love the word fascist because it's big and you're just paranoid about things.

well, no, i don't, like, read the policies. i have a life. and so what if they wrote - stop it, it's not a manifesto, okay? he eventually backed off from that - oh the vice president? who cares about that guy, that isn't real power. you're being dramatic, they're just spitballing. everyone makes big claims when they're out there campaigning. he just means he personally wouldn't get gay married. you want him to divorce his wife and get gay married? anyway, even if they cancelled gay marriage - it wouldn't happen, okay? nobody i know really cares about that - it'd be states-rights like those abortions you love so much. and you live in a blue state. you live in like the gay capital of the world. i don't know why it'd be so bad for you, you're borrowing trouble there.

and besides, you're missing the point of his campaign! you people want to be victims so bad you completely ignore what we're really voting for. there are tons of good things that happened because of his name and his policies - the economy, for one. oh stop, just because i can't tell you what a tariff is off the top of my head doesn't mean i don't have eyes. and stuff was better under him! well, yeah, anything good is his work, obviously. what? no, all the bad stuff was biden. and probably also obama. what do you even care about this, anyway? it's not going to effect you. it's four years.

oh my god, not the climate change argument again, i'm not getting into that. i don't care about it. if my house is beachfront that's great news for me. and we don't really know what's causing it. no, i saw you forwarded me those articles and i just laughed. what, do you think i have time to sit on my ass and read shit? huh? well, no, i like reading the babylon bee. they actually had a great article about all you climate freaks. and in the meantime, what do you want me to do? i'm not paying 4 dollars for gas. liberals love to talk about solutions but never pay for the solutions. what do you mean blocked because of congress. you gotta stop with the conspiracy shit.

no, my side doesn't have real conspiracy theories. the vaccine thing is a real thing. besides, you yourself don't like big pharma. just because i have an opinion, suddenly now you think big pharma is great? and this is serious, okay? your mom's friend's coworker has a kid that died from a heart event. i don't want you getting any more vaccines. i regret that you got them as a kid, i'd redo them. what do you mean you'd vaccinate your own kids? are you finally thinking of having some? you know i want grandkids - oh stop, i've never pressured you, i'm just saying that if you're going to get gay married, you might as well give me some normal grandkids to love.

stop, you know what i meant. what? no, he's not going to take away your right to adopt. besides, you could always use a sperm donor, haha, i know your high school ex would love to - jesus! okay! no need to snap. i'm just saying that you don't need to be married to have a kid. the only real benefit to marriage is taxes, haha. it won't change anything. oh my god, no, there won't be a rise in hate crimes. well, it's not his fault what people do in his name! he eventually spoke out against that, anyway.

what do you mean he supported them? i didn't hear him say that. oh. well, yeah, he said it, but like, he's clearly joking.

[delicioushottubpeanut]

♡ babysitter

oneshot - inspired by that one edit

fandom: five nights at freddys (movie)

paring: mike schmidt x fem!reader

warnings: nsfw 18+, dry humping, sexual tension, kissing, friends to lovers, cumming in pants, submissive mike, foul language, teasing, smut, riding, dom reader, consensual sex, age gap, minors dni..

You've heard a lot about him from Abby, mainly bits and pieces that she's told you, but nothing really about him and the only thing he really says to you is that he's eventually going to pay you back. But you always refuse.

The old couch squeaks softly as he sits beside you, a gentle hand goes to reach your face but hesitates.

He’s been very busy for a while now that he has started his new job at a security guard that was shut down ages ago. When he comes home he's always so tired, like he's a different person. As if he cannot relax. You hear the door open and slam back as it he closes it.

"Oh, sorry, I didn't hear you come back.." You whisper, groaning whilst you move out of the position you had been in for a while. Yawning as you gently wipe your eyes.

Mike looks at you, half-smiling as he leans against the cushions. He's tired, you can tell. "Sorry if I woke you, you looked exhausted, so I just wanted to cover you," he whispers back, stretching his arms. "Did Abby go okay for you?" he asks.

"I told her it's bedtime an hour ago, but you know how it is with little ones." You joke.

"Abby was great, she missed you, though.." You smile sheepishly, shifting on the coach to face him. "How was work?" You ask, seeing the slight bags under his eyes.

Mike chuckles softly, leaning his head back and letting out a deep sigh as he stares up at the ceiling.

"It was long," he sighs. "I mean, I've gotten used to it, of course, but god, it's draining..." He leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees, looking off to the side and fiddling with his fingers, trying to find the right words to explain what just happened at work. He seems hesitant to say.

"You okay? You can talk to me if something is bothering you." Hesitantly placing your hand on his shoulder, slowly forcing him to look at you. You've known him for years due to babysitting Abby, but he's never opened up.

"Well... it's just..." Mike sighs again, still not meeting your eyes. "...Abby asked me some questions about stuff today."

He rubs the back of his neck, shifting in his seat as if he's about to say something and then thinks better of it. He leans back against the coach, letting out a frustrated grunt as his eyebrows pinch in frustration. "I... I just can't tell her."

"Is there anything I can do to help?" You whisper, staring at him, waiting for a response.

Mike's face softens a little, looking over at you before he sighs, shaking his head. "It's nothing. Abby asked about the job, and... well, it got me thinking..." He shrugs his shoulders again, still looking off to the side.

"Look, I'll tell Abby about it myself, I don't... I shouldn't put it on you..." He sighs one again, staring at the floor.

"If you need me, don't hesitate." You place your hand on his thigh, squeezing it for reassurance. Gaining confidence, you slowly move your body off the couch and sit on his lap.

"Oh..." Mike says quietly, his face turning bright red as you place your hand on his thigh. He looks down at you, his expression of uncertainty on his face changing as his eyebrows rise.

He's speechless, frozen in shock at your touch, and his entire face is practically bright pink. He's suddenly a lot warmer, his chest heaving as his heartbeat picks up speed. "... Y- you're..." he says with the last of his breath, his brain having trouble finding the right words to say.

"Is this okay..?" You grind against his lap, whispering against his ear.

"Shit..." He stammers, his brain desperately trying to process what you're doing. He looks confused, his eyes drifting down to you as his mind races.

"What... what are you... n- no, it's... we can't..." Mike stutters, trying to find a way to reject you. But the longer you're in his lap, the harder it is for him to say no.

"Just relax, Abby is fast asleep in her room.." You grind harder against him, using your index finger to tilt his chin up, making eye contact when you suddenly hear him whimper.

"T- this isn't the time..." he mumbles in response, his eyes closing at the sensation and his whimpers becoming more noticeable.

"W- we shouldn't be doing this..." he whispers, his arms hesitating in the air for a moment before they eventually wrap around your waist. He's still torn between going along with it or saying no, his heart racing as he gazes at you.

"Beg for me to continue." You stop moving your hips, feeling his arousal throb against your ass. Wanting to see how he would react.

"P- please... God.." he whispers, the breath catching in his throat and his voice turning raspy.

He looks at you, his eyes pleading, his body quivering under your control. His heart is pounding out of his chest. He swallows, looking up at you as his entire body screams for you to keep going while his mind fights back.

"You can do better than that.." You tease, breathing against his neck, gently creating bruises as you feel his slightly breath hitch.

Mike whimpers loudly when he feels your bites, his muscles tensing as he tries to relax.

"H- I- please, don't stop..." he murmurs hoarsely, sounding completely different than you've ever heard before. He whimpers again, his head tilted back as he tries to hide the pleasure in his face. He can't believe what he's doing, but he can't turn away.

"Good boy.." Slowly reaching to take off your top, revealing your covered breasts as you start to grind against him, pushing your panties to the side, creating a wet spot on his jeans.

Mike looks down at you, taking in the view as your top is removed, his face getting even pinker as his heart races.

He swallows nervously in response to your wetness, his eyes trailing down your body before they eventually turn back to your face. His cheeks are bright red, his breathing heavy as he glances back down at you, looking into your eyes as you look into his. He takes a long, drawn-out breath, his entire body quivering with anticipation.

"Just take what you want, Mike, no one is stopping you.." You tease, eagerly watching his reaction.

"I- it's..." Mike starts to say, but he can't say no to you, not right now. He leans back, pushing himself deeper into you like he can't help himself, the breath catching in his throat as he takes in the sensation. His eyes are closed as he tries to ignore his own morals.

His eyes snap open, his lips parted as he whispers, "More.."

"You close?" Whispering seductively, moving harder as you feel your climax coming fast.

"Oh, god..." Mike breathes out, his face red, and his eyes roll back into his head. He moans, bucking his hips up against you, feeling himself come close to release as he cums in his pants, feeling you come down from your high.

[hcneymooners]

dad’s best friend ambessa perhaps ..? :3 i love ur age gap fics ur so talented

⋆ come, and be my baby.

dad's best friend!ambessa x f!reader. men & minors dni. synopsis: you've always been a troubled, searching girl. ambessa, your father's long-time best friend, is your self-ordained solution. cw: age difference, older woman/younger woman, reader is implied to be between 22-24, emotional hurt/comfort, dom/sub, dom!ambessa, sub!reader, you're a little bit of a conniving bitch still love you tho, unhealthy relationship dynamics, codependency, slight emotional manipulation, listen you had to lock in, non-sexual intimacy, pleasure dom!ambessa, rough body play, manhandling, pet names, lesbian sex, dildos, vaginal sex, implied penetrative sex, implied strapping, oral fixation (ambessa), praise kink, mommy kink (specifically mama), implied exhibitionism, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, squirting, begging, spanking, impact play, face sitting, desk sex, you guys are definitely freaks but you love love love each other.

notes: hi, honey baby. this might be the most erotic questionable thing i've ever written. i hope you're happy with it. i went a little overboard and a bit non-conventional with the trope. i adore you & thank you for requesting, mami.

two things in this world reigned absolute: that you were glad your life would only be lived once, for you couldn't do this again, and that you were ambessa medarda's favorite girl.

the medardas were a family heavy with conflict, and perhaps that's why the matriarch and your father were best friends. they both were volatile people, sometimes prone to cruelty, with soft spots for certain people that were darkened with rot at the edges—perfumed with the sweet notes of their rage.

you were both of their favorites, and therefore, when your parents got divorced, you'd acted through the narrow scope of a confused and aching little girl and chose your father. once you'd shed that naive nature, you traced your way back to your mother in secrecy. you indulged in hushed phone calls in the middle of the night, timing your exits from your room with the fading beat of your father's boots as you left.

every month, she promised to get you.

the glass would fog with your breath as you waited in that tall, flaking phone booth, each passing car's headlights casting long shadows across your face. you memorized every crack in the booth's floor, every water stain on its ceiling, until they became as familiar as your own disappointment.

you wore the same outfit: thick, wool tights in burgundy tucked under the gleaming straps of your mary janes and layered underneath the dark denim of your favorite jeans. you cradled yourself into a black turtleneck, your hair tamed into two plaits that rested against your neck underneath the fabric. your eyes would be wide and searching, one hand gripping the curved handle of your brown leather suitcase and the other shaking around your well-loved copy of prozac nation.

she never came, but you showed up every time.

one night, a maserati did skate up to that ancient meeting spot, and you straightened from where you'd been dozing standing up. an overly tinted window rolled down, and you were met with the strong gaze of ambessa medarda, whom you hadn't seen since your early days. you didn't remember much, just yellow-tinged memories of being spoiled by her and being picked up and tossed into the bright sky above the farm she owned.

she must've moved back.

at first, she said nothing, just cataloged your most recent iteration of your "going with my mother" outfit and worked her jaw. finally, she leaned over and popped open the door before leaning back and letting you make the choice. embarrassed and teetering on the edge of emotional collapse, you slid in and shut down as she pulled away. this was how you met her again. seventeen and sobbing, emotionally wrought and disappointed from all angles. you probably came off unbearably young, dreamy, and unprepared for the challenges of real life.

it was only later that ambessa revealed that her first thought was that you needed a mother, that you needed her. that you were a girl abandoned and fighting your best against the more experienced hands of life.

⋅˚₊‧ 🕯୨୧ 🦪 ‧₊˚ ⋅

from then on you were her newest daughter, until you weren't. you noticed how 'miss' became 'dear' became 'darling,' each new endearment a step closer across the chasm between you. the way she said your name changed too, softening at the edges like butter left in sunlight.

by nineteen, you were practically sequestered to her house by your personal desires, curling at her hip as you grew into yourself. even now at an older age—still far younger than her—you came home from university only to lay all of your belongings in the warm wood of your makeshift bedroom (the guestroom, really). she taught you to appreciate aged whiskey, watching with amusement as you struggled not to grimace at the burn.

"small sips, little one," she'd say, her hand warm against your lower back.

you learned to love the taste, if only because it meant sharing these quiet moments in her study, the leather of her armchair creaking as she leaned forward to pour you another finger's worth.

you and mel even developed a soft friendship that lessened the tension between her and her mother, tall arguments tempered by the agreement that they would not aggravate your ptsd from the divorce days. sometimes you caught mel watching you both with worried eyes, but you'd grown tired of other people's concerns.

you'd rather have this - ambessa's fingers absently playing with your hair as she read reports, the way she automatically ordered your coffee exactly how you liked it, the subtle possessiveness in how she introduced you to her colleagues.

regardless, you knew that you and ambessa's relationship spun on an axis that could be labeled uncomfortably intimate, maybe even imbalanced. for all that everyone said, you couldn't find it in yourself to be concerned. you regarded her as all that you had, something that wouldn't leave.

she indulged you, kissing your forehead when she came in from a day at work or texting you about what replacements you had wanted for certain items on the grocery list. she rarely called you by your name, always coaxing you forward with firm, warm pet names. they were swollen with affection, a doting '(my) sweet girl', 'baby girl', or 'little one.'

your favorite one was invoked from a spontaneous trip to paris to meet an art collector she'd purchased from, only to return bearing handcrafted soaps and a penchant for calling you 'chouchou.' that stopped about two weeks later, but you wrote it down under your list of desired tattoos. what didn't stop was the way she'd buy authentic silken scarves to tie around your neck with careful precision, her fingers brushing against your pulse point in a way that sent you shivering.

the shift was gradual, like watching shadows lengthen at sunset. one evening, as thunder rolled outside and rain lashed against the windows of her study, she pulled you closer than usual. ambessa’s fingers traced patterns on your skin as she read, and when you tilted your head back to look at her, she met your gaze with an intensity that made your breath catch. the thunder cracked again and the peeking champagne of your bra strap slipped down your arm. still, neither of you moved.

the moment was eventually broken by mel’s surprise of coming home for the weekend. you pulled yourself upright, intending to put together a small plate for her. before you could leave, ambessa strolled up behind you and adjusted the strap, so that it was firm and held tight to the delicate bones of your shoulder.

for a moment, you thought you’d felt her lips right beside it.

⋅˚₊‧ 🕯୨୧ 🦪 ‧₊˚ ⋅

"you're not a little girl anymore," she murmured one night, weeks later, her voice carrying the weight of aged whiskey and unspoken promises.

you were curled in your usual spot beside her, but everything felt different - charged with an electricity that made your skin prickle. you couldn't remember when the maternal comfort of her touch had transformed into something more, but you knew there was no going back.

"i haven't been for a while," you replied, your voice steady despite the way your heart hammered against your ribs. her hand found your chin, tilting your face up to meet her gaze, and you saw in her eyes the same hunger that had been growing in your own.

your fingers traced the rim of your whiskey glass, ice long since melted. the study had grown dark save for the amber glow of her desk lamp, catching the silver in her hair like moonlight on water.

you'd noticed her watching you more lately, her gaze heavy with something between concern and desire.

"you remind me of her sometimes," she said quietly, breaking the silence. "mel, when she was younger."

the comparison should have stung, but you knew better. you'd learned to read between her lines, to understand the weight she carried. you were not mel's replacement - you were something altogether different, more dangerous.

you set your glass down carefully, the crystal making a soft sound against the carpet.

"i'm not her," you said, voice steady as you rose from your chair. "i won't leave."

the words hung in the air between you, heavy with promise and threat. her laugh was low, throaty.

"no, baby girl. you're nothing like her at all, are you?"

she spoke the endearment deliberately this time, watching how it made you shiver. you'd both been playing this game for months - you with your calculated vulnerability, her with her careful restraint.

you moved to stand behind her chair, hands resting on her shoulders. through the silk of her blouse, you felt her tension, the way she stilled like a prey animal. but ambessa medarda was nobody's prey, and you both knew it.

"i need you," you murmured, the words leaden. you were trying not to sound as crazed as you felt . "and you need someone who needs you."

her hand came up to cover yours, her gold rings dense and cool against your skin.

"you're very clever," she said, something like pride coloring her voice. "i should send you away."

"but you won't." you pressed your lips to her temple, breathing in the scent of her perfume - something expensive and french. mango wood and black rose if you remembered correctly, discovered during your illicit investigations of her bedroom. "because you understand me better than anyone. because we're the same."

she turned then, catching your wrist in a grip that walked the line between gentle and controlling.

"the same?" her thumb pressed against your pulse point, counting out the rhythm of your wanting. "you're barely older than my daughter."

"age is just a number," you said, and then laughed at how young it made you sound. "no—that's not what i mean. what i mean is that we both know what we want. we both know how to take it."

the silence stretched between you like spun sugar, delicate and sweet. outside, leaves skittered across the gravel drive, and somewhere in the house, a clock chimed eleven. you watched emotions play across her face - desire, concern, resignation, hunger.

"if we do this," she said finally, her voice rough like aged bourbon, "there's no going back. no playing innocent. no running away when it gets hard."

you smiled, all teeth and triumph poorly disguised as submission.

"i told you," you said, sinking to your knees beside her chair, resting your head against her thigh like you had a hundred times before - but different now, charged with intent. "i'm not going anywhere."

her hand found your hair, nails scraping gently against your scalp.

"my clever, terrible girl," she murmured, and you could hear in her voice that she'd surrendered to this animal between you. "what am i going to do with you?"

you turned your face into her touch, lips brushing against her wrist where her heart copied yours, beat for beat.

"keep me," you said simply. "just keep me."

the study grew quieter still, the only sound was your shared breathing and the distant whisper of wind through bare branches. you'd won, you knew, but then you'd been winning since that first night in the maserati, since you'd looked at her with calculated tears and let her save you. you loved her - truly, deeply, with all the fierce possession of your young heart - but you'd learned from your mother's absence that love wasn't enough. you had to learn how to hold on to what you wanted.

and oh, how you wanted this - wanted her, with her silver-streaked hair and elegant hands and eyes that saw right through you and wanted you anyway.

her fingers tightened in your hair, and you looked up to find her watching you with an expression that made your breath catch. the lamp clicked off, and in the sudden darkness, you felt rather than saw her move. her hand cupped your cheek, thumb brushing across your bottom lip.

"stand up," she commanded softly, and you did, letting her guide you until you were perched on the edge of her desk. the wood was cool against your thighs, a sharp contrast to the heat of her body as she stepped between your knees. "are you sure about this?"

your answer was to reach for her, fingers curling into the cotton of her blouse.

"i've never been more sure of anything."

the clock struck quarter past, and the last autumn leaves rattled against the window as she leaned down to kiss you, tasting of whiskey and an affection hard won.

you kissed back lazily, squeezing your thighs together as one of her hands came to direct you by the base of your neck. she slotted the two of you together, lips sliding and grasping at each other between soft inserts of tongue. your teeth seemed to buzz with unnamable energy as she leaned forwards, hands bracing around you, so close to cupping your ass.

you needed her touch, needed to know whether your fantasies had been well-conjured or only pathetic in their imaginings. you’d spent nights tucking your fingers into yourself, trembling quietly as you pictured the shape of her mouth and how it would fit over you.

as if reading your mind, ambessa firmly spread your legs apart with a forceful hand and came closer to you. you let out a weak moan as her teeth scraped your neck, a hand coming to press down on your stomach as if to see how much space she had to fill.

you were so immensely grateful for the flimsy structure of your sleep shorts, the fabric tugged easily down your legs by only one of her fingers. she used that same finger to feel out the shape of your clothed cunt, her throat trembling with a low sound of satisfaction.

you were wet and desperate, wrapping an arm around her broad shoulders so that you could grind against what was now two fingers.

ambessa moved your panties aside with no great effort, sliding a finger into your tight heat. gradually, she built a rhythm inside of you until you were bucking where she held you. after a minute, she slid it out and into her mouth.

“mmm,” she said consideringly. “my babygirl is so sweet for me.”

you’d swallow a boat of fucking blackberries if you had to, choke them down despite your allergies and sealing throat if that meant she’d taste you again.

“ambessa.

she laughed and you saw her eyes glittering in the dark, the light brown so bright with want they seemed gold. it was then you realized you’d never said her first name alone before, and she must’ve realized as well because her hand suddenly clenched around your throat.

“do you remember when you turned twenty and got drunk with those miscreants from the town over?” your mouth twitched at her avid disgust. she could be quite classist. you’d work on that. “you don’t because you practically drank your body weight, but i do. do you want to know why?”

you gasped out a ‘yes’ as she used her free hand to grope the peach of your ass before switching to thumbing at your pebbled nipples.

“i remember that birthday because you stumbled into my room and climbed into bed with me.” you felt dread rising. “you bumped against my back, like a little bunny, and worked yourself into quite the state. and the whole time you kept apologizing. you were saying ‘sorry, mama’, all slurred and saccharine, over and over till you finished.”

you were so hot with shame you could’ve set the house burning. she smiled, slow and teasing, as she pinched your nipple hard. you let out a high moan.

“i liked that.”

you were squirming now, two of her massive fingers back to stretch your pussy.

“i liked it very much. i had to make sure not to wake you as i fucked myself.”

your eyes widened, like two coins, as the words registered. ambessa laughed again and lowered to her knees, yanking you forward so your ass hung off the edge of the desk. she was still tall enough to tower over you, shadowing the sopping mess of your cunt.

with an annoyed roll of her eyes, she pulled her fingers away and reached behind you, returning with a pair of scissors. with two efficient cuts, your panties were hanging in tatters around your hips. your pussy was exposed in all of its pink glory and it pulled apart with a soft squelch as she pushed your thighs up and out, guiding your hands to hold them for her.

she tugged a hair tie from around her wrist, drawing her gray mass of curls into a loose bun. several strands fell around her face, but she only pushed them impatiently behind her ears. you slapped your hand around blindly, eventually flicking on the bright desk lamp.

“i want you to see me,” you breathed, and she cupped your cheek.

“i’ve always seen you.”

and with that, she went down. she started with a long, luxurious lick up your cunt, her lips suckling around your clit as she reached the top. you moaned loudly and dropped your hands from your thighs, raising them to tug and pinch at your tits. she kept your legs open by sliding the bulk of her back between them, sliding back down to lap at your hole.

for someone as rigid as ambessa could be, she was messy when eating you. she didn’t care to savor, not right now. she’d wanted you for what felt like forever, and you wanted to black out beneath her.

she further spread you open, thrusting her tongue into your heat and feeling you clench. back and forth she went, slobbering over the pink of you until you were tearing up. she suctioned her mouth over one of your lips, large and gleaming, pulling away so that it slid from her mouth with a wet extended ‘pop!’. you clutched at her head, rocking yourself into her unforgiving hold. she blew gently over your hole, watched as it fluttered.

“mama, please.”

tenderly, she grazed her teeth over your clit, soothing the sting with her tongue as she sank three fingers inside of you. ambessa fucked you hard and fast, your tits bouncing as you whimpered with a hand over your mouth. a hand came down like thunder on your ass, the crack hard and hot. you wailed and clutched at her, begging her to go faster, to mark you, to swallow you whole.

“there you are, baby girl. tell me what you need.”

“mama, wait—” you shuddered around her crooked fingers, the world turning white as your head grew hazy. “wait. mama.”

“hmm?”

you scrambled at her, pushing her until there was enough space to slide from where you’d settled at her wrist. wobbling, you turned on your hands and knees, pushing your ass up into her face and falling into a brutal arch.

“like this please.”

“anything for my girl,” ambessa said and you shook because you couldn’t see her face but you could feel her voice.

her fingers dove back into you, her mouth joining the effort. you were floating, only briefly aware of the consistent slaps to your ass through the pain ricocheting pleasantly through you. you pushed back, fucking yourself the way you wanted. she let you, steadying you when you began to lose rhythm.

“bessa, i can’t—i can’t see you,” you slurred and she hummed into your weeping pussy.

your stomach grew tighter and tighter, the world narrowing down to the way she slurped and worked into your cunt. you gripped the opposite edge of the desk, extending yourself as your orgasm began to boil over. quickly, ambessa swung herself under you and brought you down on her face. her arms flexed around your stomach, the corded muscle circling you as she moaned into your cunt.

the vibrations set you off. you felt like you were flying, like you were fucking free.

“oh shit, mama. fuuuuckkkk.”

your voice was unrecognizable to yourself, cracking and raspy. time stretched and winded. you knew your legs were shaking, that you’d squirted over her and yourself.

you didn’t know how, but ambessa was undressed now and rearranging you like a doll. you were back up on your knees, but she was draped over you with her heavy tits branding your skin with their warmth and weight. her hair was down and around you; it smelled like her shampoo, a curtain of coconut and cinnamon.

she bumped her hips against you, caught the silicone tip of a dildo again and again against your loose hole. you turned your head and opened your mouth like a baby bird so she could spit into it, stuff her fingers in.

she began to break into you, bullying your cunt into accepting her cock. you did what you always did. you pushed back and let her in.

you only ever gave her what she needed.

⋅˚₊‧ 🕯୨୧ 🦪 ‧₊˚ ⋅

morning light filtered through dense curtains, casting the bedroom in baby pink. you watched your rings catch the light as you stretched - the marquise diamond throwing prisms across egyptian cotton sheets, your simple gold band warm from sleep.

you'd chosen them together - ambessa insisting on the marquise cut for the engagement ring (something as unique as you, sweet girl) while you'd wanted the classic simplicity of the wedding band, a quiet echo of forever.

the bedroom remained your favorite place - all cream linens and dark wood, familiar as breathing. in the mornings, you could pretend time stood still, pressing chapped kisses against her strong bare arms in the quiet before the day began. sometimes you climbed on top of her, sunk as far as you could into the broad helm of her body.

despite the passing years, she remained your most fortified sanctuary.

"baby girl?" ambessa's voice carried from the en-suite, still commanding even wrapped in morning softness.

you could hear the water running; a bath being drawn.

“coming, mama.”

© hcneymooners. ⚚ special taglist: @sugrcookiiee @icespiceluva @16novvs @tnash-tammy @dyk3miffy @iwasholic @absandsevikasgirl @blackdykegirlblogger @fortluocha @neganwifey25-blog @rottngrl3 just pop me a message or comment if you want to be added to the taglist.

[mcrdvcks]

I Wanna Be Yours

Summary: You're a hacker for The Organization, a secret group that is currently working on dismantling a mutant trafficking ring. You've been working with Logan for months but neither of you have met each other in person and he doesn't even know your real name.

Word Count: 14.7k+

Pairing: Logan (X-Men) x fem!reader

Notes: this is something i've wanted to do for a while- playing with the idea that logan can totally fall in love with someone just through their voice (and vice versa). i hope y'all enjoy it!

warnings/tags: reader has a code name, pet name (darling), light violence, mentions of (mutant) trafficking, some uses of y/n

“Bet you look good in that suit.” You say, tapping on your keyboard, hacking into the security cameras of the seedy casino where the deal was taking place.

Logan huffed, covertly adjusting the small earpiece as he blended in with the crowd of the dimly lit casino. His tuxedo felt too tight, but then again, it wasn’t like he was made for fancy suits and shiny shoes.

“Don’t go gettin’ all sentimental, Phantom. This thing barely fits,” he muttered, keeping his voice low and steady. He glanced around, taking in the sight of gamblers, dealers, and a few shifty-looking men gathered near a corner. Probably the ones he was here for.

“Must be hard to hide all those muscles,” you teased through the comm, your voice a steady whisper in his ear. “But I’ll try not to distract you, just this once.”

A ghost of a smile tugged at his lips as he slipped past a group of laughing tourists. He scanned the room, zeroing in on his target: a short, balding man with an expensive suit and a smug look on his face. Logan’s senses sharpened. He could practically smell the guy’s nervous sweat. This had to be one of the trafficking ring’s major players.

“Any idea where they’re at?” he asked, his tone shifting from playful to serious in an instant.

“Second floor. Private poker room,” you said, enlarging one of the camera feeds to get a better view. “Security’s tighter up there. You’ll need a distraction if you wanna get past those guards.”

Logan glanced at the stairway leading up. Two burly men stood in front, arms crossed, eyes scanning for any sign of trouble. “Can’t just slice my way through ‘em,” he grumbled. “What’ve you got for me, Phantom?”

“Patience,” you teased. “Trust me, I’m working on it.” You typed a few more commands, initiating a loop in the security feed of the second-floor hallway. “You’ve got a 30-second window. Move now.”

Logan didn’t need to be told twice. He slipped through the casino floor, dodging between slot machines and card tables until he reached the base of the stairwell. The guards barely glanced his way as he strolled past, looking for all the world like another high-roller with a chip on his shoulder.

“Almost too easy,” he muttered under his breath, taking the steps two at a time.

“I make it look easy,” you corrected, monitoring the shifting feeds as Logan made his way to the second floor. “Just keep moving. The loop’ll hold, but not for long.”

Logan reached the hallway, his eyes narrowing at the closed door leading to the poker room. He slowed his pace, ears straining to pick up any sounds on the other side. “Tell me you’ve got eyes in there.”

“Not yet, working on it,” you said. “This system’s layered, gonna take a sec.”

Logan let out a quiet growl. “Great. No pressure or anything.”

“Hey, if you’re in such a hurry, I could always—”

“Don’t,” he cut in. “Just—stay on it.” He pressed his back to the wall, inching closer to the door, waiting for your go.

There was a pause, and then, “Got it.” Your voice softened, like you were focusing extra hard. “Four guys in there. Three playing cards, one pacing by the window.”

“Let me guess,” Logan grunted. “The bald one’s pacing.”

“Bingo.”

Logan’s fingers flexed, the subtle urge to unsheathe his claws growing. But this was a delicate operation. No bloodshed if it could be helped.

“You’ve got any ideas how to get me in without turnin’ this into a brawl?” he asked, half-expecting you to come up with something clever.

“I’ve got a couple,” you replied, a smile evident in your tone. “But you won’t like them.”

Logan sighed. “Why do I feel like you’re about to mess with me?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it,” you said sweetly, then paused. “Okay, maybe a little. There’s a closet down the hall to your left. Go there.”

He frowned but did as you instructed, slipping into the darkened space, filled with cleaning supplies and boxes. “Now what?”

“Well, I could trigger a fire alarm, but that’s a little loud and obvious. Or, and hear me out, I could disrupt the air conditioning. Make it so hot in there they’ll be begging for an excuse to step outside.”

Logan chuckled under his breath. “That’s your big plan? Make ‘em sweat?”

“Worked on you, didn’t it?” you teased.

“Funny.” He shook his head, glancing at the vent above him. “Think they’ll all leave?”

“Probably not all at once, but it should get the ball rolling. Just be ready. I’ll handle the rest.” Your fingers flew over the keys again, tapping into the building’s climate control system.

After a moment, you heard Logan’s quiet grunt. “Feels like it’s workin’ already.”

“Yeah, I see the temp rising in their room.” You pulled up the camera feed again, watching as one of the guys at the table tugged at his collar, then another wiped at his brow.

“Ten bucks says Mr. Baldy cracks first,” you said, amused.

Logan smirked. “You’re on.”

Not even a minute passed before the bald man swore, yanked off his suit jacket, and threw it on the back of his chair. “I’m stepping out for some air,” you heard him mutter to the others.

Logan’s eyes flicked to the door, his body tense. “Here we go.”

As the door opened, Logan moved fast. He grabbed the guy, pulling him into the closet before he could make a sound. With a quick, non-lethal chokehold, the guy slumped to the ground unconscious. Logan checked his pulse—alive. Good.

“Nice work,” you whispered in his ear. “Bet he’s not going to wake up happy.”

Logan crouched down, frisking the guy’s pockets. “Let’s hope he’s got something useful on him,” he muttered.

“He’s got a keycard,” you said, watching the screen as Logan pulled out the small plastic card. “That should get you into the back office.”

Logan glanced down at the unconscious man. “You were right. I didn’t like your plan.”

You laughed softly through the comms. “You’ll get over it. Now go, before they notice their friend’s gone.”

Logan straightened up, giving the unconscious man one last look before slipping out of the closet. “You better have a plan for what’s next, Phantom.”

“I always do,” you said, smirking as you pulled up the building’s blueprints. “Just follow my lead. Take the hall to your right. There’s an access door near the end. It’ll get you closer to the office.”

Logan moved quickly, the soft thud of his footsteps barely audible. “You sure about this? That door doesn’t look like it’s meant for guests.”

“I’m sure,” you replied confidently. “It’s an employee access. You’ve got the keycard, remember?”

He grunted in response, holding the card up to the reader. The door unlocked with a faint beep. “You really do make this look easy.”

“I try,” you said, voice laced with amusement. “Now, once you’re inside, there’s a small hallway. You’ll want to hang a left, then a quick right. The office is at the end.”

Logan opened the door, slipping into the narrow hallway. “What’s the deal with this office? Anything I should know?”

“Could be where they’re stashing data on the trafficking network. Either that or it's where they’re counting money.” You were typing again, eyes scanning multiple camera feeds. “But I’ve got a good feeling about this.”

“Good feelin’, huh?” Logan muttered, carefully making his way through the corridor. “Hope that feelin’ is worth something.”

“It always is,” you shot back playfully. “You’ve got about a minute before someone notices the guy you knocked out is missin’. So… chop, chop.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Logan growled, reaching the door to the office. “And you said I was the impatient one.”

Before you could respond, he swiped the keycard again and pushed the door open. Inside, the room was dimly lit, filled with filing cabinets, a desk cluttered with paperwork, and a few old-looking computers. Logan’s nose twitched at the faint scent of stale cigarettes and cologne.

“Jackpot,” you whispered in his ear, pulling up the feed of the room. “There should be a terminal near the desk. Get me plugged in, and I’ll handle the rest.”

Logan looked over at the outdated equipment and scowled. “This stuff’s ancient. Hope you can work with it, Phantom.”

“Please, I’ve hacked worse,” you said, brushing off the concern. “Just get me connected.”

Logan knelt down, finding a small port on the side of the computer and pulling out a cable from his gear. As soon as he plugged it in, your fingers danced across the keyboard, breaking through layers of security.

“There we go,” you murmured. “This’ll take a second. How are things on your end?”

Logan stood back up, glancing around the room. “Quiet. For now.”

“Good, because I’ve got eyes on another guy heading your way,” you warned. “He’s probably checking in on his boss. You might wanna handle him before he stumbles on Baldy.”

Logan’s fists clenched. “Great. Any more good news?”

“Depends. You want the good news or the bad news first?” you asked lightly, your tone casual despite the urgency of the situation.

“Just spit it out.”

“Good news? I’m almost done here. Bad news? You’ve got about thirty seconds before that guy reaches you.”

Logan let out a low growl. “Any suggestions?”

“Well,” you said thoughtfully, “you could go for subtle and knock him out—again. Or you could do the Logan thing and scare the crap out of him.”

Logan smirked. “And here I thought you were gonna say ‘no bloodshed.’”

“I’m flexible,” you teased. “Your call.”

Logan moved toward the door, listening carefully. The approaching footsteps were getting closer. “I’ll try subtle,” he muttered. Then, almost as an afterthought, “for you.”

“Aw, how sweet,” you quipped. “I’ll be sure to remember this moment.”

He cracked the door open just as the guy turned the corner. Logan grabbed him by the collar, yanking him into the room before he could shout. A quick punch to the gut, and the guy doubled over, gasping for air. Logan pressed him against the wall, one hand firmly over his mouth.

“Stay quiet, and I won’t hurt you,” Logan growled, his tone low and threatening.

The guy’s eyes widened, and he gave a shaky nod. Logan let him go, and he slumped to the floor, half-conscious.

“Nice work,” you praised, your voice a soft murmur in his ear. “You’ve still got it.”

“Didn’t lose it,” Logan muttered, stepping over the guy and returning to the desk. “You done yet?”

“Just about,” you said. “And… there. I’ve got everything. You’re good to go.”

Logan disconnected the cable, glancing around the room once more. “And you’re sure this’ll help us track the ring?”

“Positive,” you replied confidently. “Now, get out of there before someone else shows up.”

Logan took one last look at the unconscious man on the floor. “You got a clear path for me?”

“Always,” you said, your fingers flying over the keys again. “Head back the way you came. I’ll loop the cameras again. And don’t worry, I’ll keep them busy downstairs.”

Logan smirked as he stepped back into the hallway. “Sometimes I forget how useful you are.”

“Only sometimes?” you teased.

He chuckled softly. “Don’t push your luck, Phantom.”

You smiled to yourself, watching the feeds as Logan made his way through the building. “Whatever you say, Logan. You owe me one.”

“Add it to the list,” he said, his voice gruff but laced with a hint of amusement.

“Believe me, I am.” You took a bite of your cake, an orange cardamom one you made the other day.

“The hell are you doin’?” Logan asked.

You shrugged, “I’m eatin’. Thought now was a better time than ever. Let’s my fingers have a break. Got a problem, Wolf?” you ask, taking another bite of your cake, your tone teasing through the comm.

Logan’s voice grumbled in your ear, low and irritated. "We're in the middle of a mission, and you’re havin’ dessert?"

"Hey, a girl’s gotta eat," you reply casually, wiping a few crumbs off your keyboard. "I’ve earned it. You’re lucky I’m not eating popcorn with the way this operation’s going. Besides, I’m the one doing the hard work behind the scenes, remember?"

"You’re sittin’ in front of a computer, Phantom," Logan shot back, though you could hear the faintest trace of a smirk in his voice. "Not exactly the front lines."

"Exactly. Where would you be without me?" you retort, savoring another bite of cake. "I’m the reason you’re not punching your way through the entire casino right now."

Logan stayed quiet for a beat. You could imagine him clenching his jaw, trying to decide whether to argue or just let you have your moment. "You done?"

You chuckle softly, leaning back in your chair. "For now. You make it out of there yet?"

"Almost," Logan muttered, his voice low as he moved through the hall. "Place is still crawling with these scumbags. Any chance you can keep ‘em distracted?"

"Already ahead of you," you said, your fingers flying over the keyboard again. "Looping the feeds, and I’ve got a little surprise coming for the main floor. Keep your eyes open."

Logan grunted in response, his boots making soft thuds as he crept through the back corridors. "Surprise, huh? What kind of surprise?"

"You’ll see," you said cryptically, unable to hide the amusement in your tone.

There was a pause before Logan spoke again, quieter this time. "You always this chatty during missions?"

You tilted your head, curious. "Depends on who I’m working with. Some people are all business, no fun. Others… well, they don’t mind a little conversation. Keeps things from getting too tense."

"Huh," Logan responded, noncommittal. But then, after another beat, he added, "Guess it ain’t so bad."

Your eyebrows shot up. "Was that a compliment? Did Wolverine just say something nice?"

"Don’t push it, Phantom," Logan growled, but there was a hint of a smile in his voice.

You grinned to yourself, pleased that you’d gotten under his skin a little. "Alright, alright. I’ll stop before you start getting sentimental on me."

Logan was quiet for a moment, then muttered, "Not much chance of that."

Before you could reply, you heard footsteps in the feed, heading in Logan’s direction. Your tone shifted, all business now. "Logan, hold up. Someone’s coming your way, about twenty feet ahead."

"Great," he grumbled, already moving to the side, pressing himself into the shadows.

You watched the camera feed, tracking the figure’s movement. "Wait… looks like it’s just one guy. Should be easy to handle."

Logan’s low growl rumbled through the comm. "Easy for you to say."

You rolled your eyes, but your focus stayed on the screen. "You’re Wolverine. You’ll be fine. Just make sure he doesn’t see you."

A few seconds passed, and then you heard a soft thud. Logan’s voice came back through the comm, sounding slightly breathless. "Handled."

"See? Told you. Easy," you said smugly.

Logan didn’t respond right away, probably too busy moving again. You kept your eyes on the security feeds, tracking his progress. Finally, you heard his voice, a little softer this time. "Thanks."

Your fingers paused over the keys. "For what?"

"For not gettin’ in the way," he said, almost gruffly, but you could tell he meant it.

You smiled, a warm feeling spreading through your chest. "Anytime, Wolf."

There was a brief silence, and then Logan cleared his throat. "So, you gonna tell me what this surprise is, or you just keepin’ me in the dark?"

You leaned forward, grinning. "Oh, right. Almost forgot. Check the main floor in about… five seconds."

Logan didn’t say anything, but you imagined him looking around suspiciously. Then, just as you’d planned, the lights in the main casino flickered before the fire alarms started blaring. You heard Logan’s quiet chuckle through the comm.

"That your idea of subtle?"

"I prefer ‘effective,’" you said, watching as the casino patrons started panicking, scrambling for the exits. "Should give you the distraction you need to get out clean."

Logan let out a low laugh. "I’ll give you that, Phantom. You make one hell of a distraction."

"Flattery will get you nowhere," you teased, though you couldn’t help the slight flush creeping up your neck. "Now hurry up and get out of there before someone starts putting two and two together."

"On it," Logan muttered, the sound of the alarm still faint in the background as he made his way out. "I’m guessin’ you already got us an exit plan?"

You leaned back in your chair, tapping your fingers against the desk. "I wouldn’t leave you hanging like that. Side door, west end of the building. You’ve got about three minutes before the cops show up."

Logan moved swiftly, his footsteps barely audible now. "You really are somethin’ else, y’know that?"

You smirked. "I’ve heard that once or twice."

As Logan slipped through the side door, you watched him disappear from the building’s cameras, your job mostly done. “You’re clear. Ricky wants you to meet him tomorrow morning, 8 sharp for a debrief.”

Logan let out a short grunt. “Ricky, huh? Great. I’ll bring donuts.”

You smiled, rolling your eyes even though he couldn’t see you. “You could at least try to pretend you’re not completely over these meetings.”

Logan’s voice crackled through the comm, rough but with a hint of humor. “I’m over a lotta things, Phantom. Meetin’s just one of ‘em.”

You leaned back in your chair, stretching out your arms. “Well, don’t be late. You know how Ricky gets when he’s kept waitin’.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Logan muttered. There was a pause, and then, “What about you? You gonna be there?”

You raised an eyebrow, surprised at the question. “You think I just show up to these things? I’m the behind-the-scenes tech genius, remember? My job’s done.”

Logan huffed. “Yeah, well… guess I figured after all this time, I’d finally meet the mystery hacker.”

There was something in his voice—something almost like curiosity—but you brushed it off with a light laugh. “Aw, are you saying you miss me already, Wolf?”

“Don’t push it,” Logan shot back, though there was a playful edge to his words. “Just seems weird, is all. Workin’ together this long and never even met you face-to-face.”

You paused for a moment, considering his words. It was weird. You’d been guiding Logan through missions for months now, your voices constantly in each other’s ears, but you had never been in the same room. A part of you liked it that way—it kept things professional, detached. Safer. But another part of you… well, maybe you were curious too.

“Maybe one day,” you said lightly, dodging the subject. “But for now, I think it’s better this way. Keeps the mystery alive, right?”

Logan snorted. “Yeah, real mysterious. You sittin’ there eatin’ cake while I’m out here doin’ the heavy liftin’.”

You smirked. “It’s called multitasking, Logan. I’m sure you’ve heard of it.”

Before he could respond, a soft beep on your computer alerted you that the building’s security systems were coming back online. The loop you’d created was about to end.

“Looks like my window’s closing,” you said, typing a few last commands. “Everything’s going back to normal on their end. You’re officially off the radar.”

“Good. Was gettin’ sick of the place anyway,” Logan muttered. You could hear the sound of traffic now, indicating he was out on the street. “You sure you don’t wanna show up tomorrow?”

“Why?” you asked, amused. “So you can finally see if I really do eat cake during all your missions?”

Logan grumbled something under his breath. “Yeah, somethin’ like that.”

You hesitated, your fingers hovering over the keyboard. Meeting him in person… it’d be a big step. The dynamics between you two would change. And honestly, you weren’t sure if that was a good idea. But at the same time, a part of you was curious about the man behind the gruff voice and dry humor.

“We’ll see,” you said, keeping your tone light. “But don’t hold your breath, Wolf.”

Logan was quiet for a second before he let out a low chuckle. “Wasn’t plannin’ on it. See you around, Phantom.”

With that, the line went dead, and you leaned back in your chair, staring at the screen. You could still hear Logan’s voice in your head, and for a moment, you wondered what it’d be like to finally meet him. But then you shook the thought away, focusing back on your monitors.

It was safer this way. Easier. Less complicated.

But as you closed down your systems for the night, a small, nagging part of you couldn’t help but wonder if you’d ever get the chance to see the man behind the voice.

---

The next morning, you found yourself up earlier than usual, sipping coffee and thinking about Logan’s mission. You knew he was already at the debrief with Ricky, probably sitting there with that irritated look on his face. The thought made you smile.

You were in the middle of pulling up some new data on the trafficking ring when your phone buzzed with a message.

Logan: Missin’ you at this meeting. Ricky’s talkin’ my ear off.

You blinked at the screen, surprised. You weren’t expecting a text from Logan, let alone one like that. He wasn’t usually the type to check in.

You: I’m sure you’re handling it like a pro. Should I send donuts as a peace offering?

His reply came almost immediately.

Logan: Yeah, make it two dozen.

You snorted into your coffee, shaking your head.

You: I’ll see what I can do. How’d the debrief go?

There was a pause before Logan replied.

Logan: Fine. Got another mission lined up. They want you back on comms. Same setup.

Your fingers hesitated over the keys before you typed back.

You: Guess that means you’re stuck with me a little longer, huh?

Logan: Could be worse.

You smiled to yourself, a warm feeling spreading through your chest. It was a small thing, but the fact that Logan had reached out to you, even if it was just to complain about a meeting, felt like progress.

You: Just let me know when you’re ready for another round, Wolf. I’ll be there.

Logan: Yeah, I know you will.

You stared at the screen for a second longer, feeling something stir in the pit of your stomach. You shook it off, downed the rest of your coffee, and started pulling up the files for the next mission.

There was no time for distractions—not when the stakes were this high.

But still, a small part of you couldn’t help but look forward to hearing Logan’s voice in your ear again.

---

“Why don’t you tell me something ‘bout you?”

You raised an eyebrow at Logan’s question, momentarily pausing your typing before resuming. “I don’t know… don’t want a strange man knowin’ about me, do I?”

There was a low chuckle on the other end of the line. "Strange man, huh? Thought we were past that by now."

You smirked, leaning back in your chair. “Well, I guess you’re not that strange, Wolf. But still. Not sure I’m ready to spill all my secrets.”

“I’m not askin’ for all your secrets. Just one.” His voice was rough, but there was a hint of curiosity behind it, like he was genuinely interested in getting to know you. Which was… unexpected.

You tapped your fingers against the keyboard, considering. “Alright. Something about me, huh? Let’s see… I used to hate coffee. Couldn’t stand the taste.”

Logan snorted. “That’s it? C’mon, Phantom, give me somethin’ better than that.”

“Hey, you didn’t specify what kind of fact,” you shot back, a grin creeping onto your face. “But fine, if you want something more interesting… I got kicked out of my computer science class once.”

There was a beat of silence. “You? Miss hacker extraordinaire? What the hell did you do?”

You shrugged, even though he couldn’t see you. “Maybe I hacked into the school’s system to change a grade or two. Not mine, though. A friend’s. The professor wasn’t too thrilled about it.”

Logan’s laugh came through the line, deeper this time. “Should’ve known you’d be trouble.”

You smiled, leaning forward again. “Well, you’re stuck with me now.”

“Seems like it,” he muttered, a hint of something in his voice that made your stomach flip.

You cleared your throat, steering the conversation back on track. “Alright, your turn. Tell me something about you.”

“Not much to tell.” Logan’s voice was gruff, almost dismissive, but you could hear the hesitation.

“Come on, fair’s fair,” you pressed. “You can’t ask me for something and not return the favor.”

He was silent for a moment, and you could almost picture him sitting there, deciding how much he wanted to give away. Logan was driving, he had finished another mission with you on the line like always. Except this time, it ended with a man tied up and unconscious in the trunk for Ricky.

Finally, he sighed. “Alright. You want something about me? I used to be a lumberjack.”

You blinked, thrown off by the admission. “A lumberjack? Like, chopping down trees and all that?”

“Yeah. Chopping down trees, clearing land. It was… quiet. Simple.”

You let that sink in, the image of Logan swinging an axe somehow fitting. “Sounds nice. Bet you looked right at home doing it.”

He huffed a short laugh. “Not sure anyone’s ever ‘at home’ doing that, but yeah, it wasn’t bad. Kept me grounded, I guess.”

There was something unspoken in his voice, something heavy. You knew enough by now to not push too hard, so instead, you kept it light. “So, from chopping trees to chasing bad guys and mutants. Quite the career change.”

“Yeah, you could say that.” Logan’s tone shifted, and you could tell he was ready to move on. “Enough ‘bout me. What’s the status on those files? You find anything new?”

You glanced at your screen, where the data on the trafficking ring was slowly coming together. “A few new leads. Cross-referenced some names from the last mission, and there’s definitely a connection between the ring and a shipping company based in Miami. Could be our way in.”

“Good.” Logan’s voice was steady, all business again. “Send me the details when you’re done. Ricky’s gonna want to know.”

You nodded to yourself, already pulling up the files to forward to him. “You got it. And Logan?”

“Yeah?”

“Try not to let Ricky drive you too crazy. I’m not sending donuts again.”

Logan snorted. “No promises.”

---

Two days later, you were back at your desk, knee-deep in code, when the comms crackled to life.

“You ready, Phantom?”

You smiled to yourself, hearing Logan’s voice in your ear again. “Always. You good to go?”

“Locked and loaded,” he replied, the sound of a car door shutting in the background. “What’s the target this time?”

You tapped a few keys, bringing up the map. “Warehouse in Miami. Based on the intel we pulled, this is one of their main distribution points. High traffic, lots of movement at night.”

“Security?”

“Pretty tight, but nothing we can’t handle. I’ll be your eyes and ears. You just focus on getting in and out.”

“Like always.” There was a pause, then, “You ever been to Miami?”

You raised an eyebrow at the question. “Once or twice. Why?”

“Just curious. Thought maybe you’d have some recommendations on where to go after all this is over.”

You couldn’t help but grin. “What, planning a vacation already?”

“Maybe. Depends how fast we wrap this up.”

Shaking your head, you brought the focus back to the mission. “Alright, Wolf. Let’s get through this first, then we can talk about your beach plans.”

Logan chuckled, low and rough. “Deal.”

As you guided him through the back streets of Miami, tracking his every move on the security cameras, you couldn’t help but feel that familiar sense of anticipation. Working with Logan had become second nature by now, and yet there was always this underlying tension, this unspoken connection between you two that made every mission just a little more intense.

“Left at the next alley,” you instructed, your eyes flicking between the camera feeds. “You’ll see a door around the corner. Should be unlocked.”

“Got it,” Logan replied, his voice steady. You could hear his footsteps echoing off the alley walls as he approached the warehouse.

“Any movement inside?” he asked, keeping his voice low.

You scanned the interior feeds. “Three guards on the ground floor, two patrolling the upper levels. They’re not on high alert, though. You should be able to slip past them.”

“Easy enough.”

You listened to the sound of him moving, the slight creak of a door opening, then the soft thud of his boots on concrete. You kept your focus on the screens, heart rate picking up as Logan made his way deeper into the building.

“There’s a stairwell to your left,” you whispered, though no one but Logan could hear you. “Take it up. The control room’s on the second floor.”

“On it.”

Everything was going smoothly—until it wasn’t.

“Shit,” Logan muttered, his voice tense. “Got company.”

Your eyes flew to the nearest camera, catching sight of two guards rounding the corner, guns drawn.

“Hang on,” you said quickly, fingers flying across the keyboard. “I’m looping the camera feed—there, they shouldn’t be able to see you now.”

Logan didn’t respond right away, but you heard the scuffle over the line, the sound of fists meeting flesh, followed by a grunt of pain. You held your breath, watching the screens intently.

“Logan? You good?”

There was a beat of silence before his voice came through, breathless but unbothered. “Yeah. Just had to put a couple guys to sleep.”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. “Jesus, give me a heart attack, why don’t you?”

“Don’t worry, Phantom. I’ve got it under control.”

You could practically hear the smirk in his voice, and despite the tension, you couldn’t help but smile. “Well, next time, maybe give me a little warning before you go all Rambo on me.”

“No promises,” Logan’s voice crackled through the comms, and you could practically hear the grin in his tone. There was a brief pause before he added, “You still with me, Phantom?”

You shook your head, trying to suppress a smile. “Barely. I swear, you’ll be the death of me one of these days.”

His laugh came low and rough, and for a moment, you let yourself relax a little, the tension from earlier easing. “Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve heard that.”

“Yeah, well, I mean it,” you shot back, eyes scanning the multiple screens in front of you. The warehouse was sprawling, but you had a pretty good read on the layout by now. “You’re clear to move. No one else on this floor.”

“Got it.” You heard the soft thud of his boots again as he moved forward.

“So, what’s the next step?” Logan asked, keeping his voice low. “You got me runnin’ around this place, but you haven’t told me what I’m lookin’ for.”

“Patience, Wolf,” you teased, tapping a few more keys to bring up the rest of the building’s security system. “I’m working on it. There’s a secure server room on the north side of the building. That’s where they’re storing the data we need. You’re gonna have to bypass their security to get in.”

“Piece of cake.”

“Funny you mention cake,” you said, grinning to yourself as you tapped into the server’s firewall. “Because after this, I’m thinking you owe me some. Maybe even pie. You’re racking up quite the tab.”

Logan chuckled. “Yeah? We’ll see. First, let’s get through this alive.”

“I’m holding you to that.”

As you worked, your mind drifted for a second, the familiar rhythm of the job taking over. It was almost unsettling how natural it had become to guide Logan through these kinds of missions. You weren’t sure when you’d started looking forward to them—maybe it was the banter, maybe it was the trust you’d built. But either way, it had become a part of your routine.

“Server room’s on the right,” you said after a beat, focusing back on the task at hand. “Two guards outside, but they don’t seem too alert. Shouldn’t be a problem for you.”

Logan’s voice was smooth as he replied, “Already ahead of you. On my way.”

You kept your eyes on the screen, watching as he moved through the shadows, blending in with the dark corners of the warehouse. It was impressive, really. The way he worked was so fluid, like he’d done this a thousand times before. And, well, he probably had.

“There’s an override switch on the wall next to the door,” you instructed. “Flip it, and you’ll have access.”

Logan grunted in response, and a moment later, you heard the soft click of the door unlocking.

“Inside,” he muttered. “Now what?”

You were about to respond when a sudden blip on your screen caught your attention. “Wait, hold up,” you said quickly, fingers flying across the keyboard. “We’ve got movement. Someone’s heading toward your location. Two guards, second floor.”

Logan’s voice was calm, even as he moved into action. “How long do I have?”

“Not long. They’re coming fast.” Your heart pounded as you watched the dots on the map converge on his location. “You need to get out of there, now.”

“Too late for that,” Logan muttered, the sounds of heavy footsteps echoing through the comms.

“Logan—”

“Don’t worry, Phantom,” he cut you off, and you could hear the smirk in his voice again. “I’ve got this.”

The next thing you heard was the unmistakable sound of fists hitting flesh, followed by a low grunt of pain. You winced, even though you couldn’t see what was happening.

“Logan? Talk to me.”

More sounds of a struggle came through, and then finally, Logan’s voice, slightly breathless but unbothered. “Two down. Told ya, no problem.”

You let out a shaky breath, leaning back in your chair. “Yeah, well, maybe next time don’t wait until the last second to handle it.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

You couldn’t help but laugh, even though your nerves were still on edge. “You’re impossible.”

“That’s what they tell me,” he replied, and you could hear the faint rustle of him moving again. “Alright, I’m at the server. How much time do we need?”

“Give me five minutes,” you said, fingers flying across the keyboard as you initiated the download remotely. “I’m pulling the data now. Just stay put until I finish.”

“Five minutes? Thought you were faster than that, Phantom.”

“Don’t push it, Logan,” you shot back, rolling your eyes even though he couldn’t see you. “I’d like to see you hack into a secured server faster.”

“Maybe I’ll give it a shot one of these days,” he muttered, the humor still in his voice. “Bet I’d be a natural.”

“Please. You’d probably smash the computer before you even logged in.”

“Only if it pissed me off.”

You shook your head, focusing back on the task at hand. “Alright, I’m almost done. Just a few more seconds.”

There was silence on the line for a moment, and you could hear Logan shifting in place, his breaths slow and steady.

“You ever think about doin’ this full time?” he asked suddenly, his voice lower now, more serious.

“Hacking?” you replied, thrown off by the question. “I mean, I’m not exactly doing this for the money. Why?”

“Just curious,” Logan said, and you could tell by his tone that he wasn’t pressing the issue. “Seems like you’re good at it. You could make a real difference.”

You hesitated, fingers hovering over the keys. “I’m already making a difference,” you said softly, your voice quieter than usual. “I don’t need to do it full time to feel like it matters.”

There was a pause, and for a moment, you thought maybe the line had cut out. But then Logan spoke again, his voice low and almost… thoughtful.

“Yeah. Guess you’re right.”

You didn’t know how to respond to that, so you didn’t. Instead, you focused on finishing the download, the soft hum of the servers filling the silence between you.

“Got it,” you said finally, leaning back in your chair with a sigh of relief. “Download’s complete. You’re good to go.”

Logan didn’t reply right away, but you could hear the soft sound of him moving, his footsteps heavy against the concrete floor.

“Logan?” you prompted after a moment, the silence starting to make you uneasy.

“Yeah,” he said finally, his voice a little distant. “I’m on my way out.”

You nodded to yourself, watching his dot move across the map on your screen. “Good. Let’s get you out of there.”

As you guided him back through the warehouse, you couldn’t help but wonder what had changed in his voice during those last few minutes. Something about the way he’d asked that question—about doing this full time—had caught you off guard.

But now wasn’t the time to dwell on it. You had a job to finish, and Logan needed to get out of there safely.

“Alright, you’re clear,” you said once he reached the exit. “No one’s around. Just make sure you don’t—”

“Yeah, I know,” Logan interrupted, and you could hear the smirk in his voice again. “Don’t get shot. You’ve told me a thousand times, Phantom.”

“Then maybe this time you’ll listen,” you shot back, grinning despite yourself.

Logan chuckled, the sound low and rough. “No promises.”

And with that, the line went quiet, leaving you alone in the soft glow of your computer screen.

---

"Alright, your change is $2.87. Have a good one.” You handed the change and a paper bag to the customer, smiling politely. After brushing your hands on your pastel blue apron, you turned to the next person in line. "How can I help—”

You paused mid-sentence as you looked up, surprised to see Ricky standing in front of you with a smirk on his face. You let out an exaggerated sigh. “The regular?”

“Always.” Ricky leaned against the counter, watching you with that usual casual attitude. “You know me too well, Phantom.”

You scoffed lightly at the use of your codename in the middle of your bakery. "Could you not call me that here?" You motioned to the line behind him. “I’d prefer not to blow my cover in front of customers.”

Ricky grinned, clearly enjoying himself. “Relax, I’m just messin’ with you. Your secret’s safe with me.”

You shook your head and started prepping his order, grabbing a coffee and a chocolate croissant, which he always got whenever he visited your bakery. “What are you doing here anyway? Don’t you have something better to do than bother me at work?”

“Maybe I just missed my favorite hacker-slash-baker,” Ricky teased, crossing his arms as he watched you work. “Figured I’d stop by and see how you’re holding up.”

You raised an eyebrow, handing him the coffee. “I’m holding up fine. Business as usual.”

“Yeah. This place looks better than before. New paint job?”

“Actually, no. New tables and chairs.” You replied. Computer programming had always been something you enjoyed and loved, but when you started working for a big tech company, you couldn’t help but feel like your talents were going to waste.

You found Ricky, or rather, Ricky found you, and you were recruited into ‘The Organization’ to take down mutant trafficking rings. You still needed money, so you decided to put to use your other skill, baking. You opened a small bakery in New York City and have been running it for close to 2 years now.

Ricky leaned against the counter, eyeing the new setup. “So this is what you do when you’re not saving the world? Whip up some cupcakes?”

You rolled your eyes as you placed the croissant in a bag. “Something like that. Gotta pay the bills, right?”

Ricky took the bag from you, giving you a knowing smirk. “You know, it’s still hard to picture you as a baker. I keep waiting for the day I come in here, and all the pastries are bugged with tiny microphones.”

You snorted. “Please. Like I’d waste good croissants on something like that.”

He laughed, then took a sip of his coffee. “You heard from Logan?”

Your fingers froze for a split second, but you quickly masked it by busying yourself with wiping down the counter. “Why? Did something happen?”

Ricky raised an eyebrow. “No, not that I know of. Just thought he might’ve reached out, is all.”

You shrugged, trying to keep your tone casual. “He’s probably busy. You know how it is.”

“Mhm.” Ricky gave you a look that suggested he wasn’t buying it. “Right. Busy.”

You shot him a glance. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He grinned, shaking his head. “Nothing, Phantom. Just… you two seem to get along pretty well. That’s all.”

You felt a warmth creeping up the back of your neck and quickly turned away, focusing on the pastries again. “We work well together, if that’s what you mean.”

“Sure, sure,” Ricky said, clearly amused. “Just don’t let ol’ Wolf get too attached. He’s not exactly the sentimental type.”

You scoffed. “Yeah, I’m not worried about that.”

But even as you said it, you couldn’t help but think back to the last mission. The banter, the small moments where Logan seemed to let his guard down—just a little. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to make you wonder.

Ricky stood up straight, crumpling the paper bag in his hand. “Alright, Phantom. I’ll leave you to your cupcakes and secret side missions. Just don’t go getting yourself into trouble.”

“Me? Trouble?” you grinned. “Never.”

He chuckled, heading for the door. “Catch you later.”

As soon as he was gone, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. Ricky had a way of pushing your buttons just enough to make you think. And now you couldn’t stop replaying your recent conversations with Logan in your head. It was strange—this… thing between you two. He wasn’t like anyone you’d worked with before. And yet, it felt natural, like you’d known each other much longer than a few months.

Your phone buzzed in your apron pocket, snapping you out of your thoughts. You pulled it out and glanced at the screen.

Logan: Got some info for you. When’s your next shift with me?

You bit your lip, your fingers hovering over the keys for a second before you replied.

You: Whenever you need me. What’s the mission?

Logan: I’ll fill you in later. Just be ready.

You: Always am, Wolf.

A short pause, then Logan’s reply came through.

Logan: I know.

You stared at the screen for a moment longer, feeling that familiar flutter in your chest. Shaking your head, you shoved the phone back into your pocket. You had a business to run, after all. There was no time to dwell on this… whatever it was between you and Logan.

But as you served the next customer with a practiced smile, you couldn’t quite shake the feeling that your next mission with him was going to be different. Maybe it already was.

---

“You ever been to New York City?” Logan asked.

You briefly stopped your typing on the keyboard, “maybe. Maybe not. Why?”

Logan’s voice crackled through the earpiece, low and rough as always. “Just curious. Figured you might’ve wandered through at some point, considering how close we’ve been workin’ together.”

You raised an eyebrow, glancing at the surveillance feed on your screen. “Is this your version of small talk, Wolf? Because I gotta say, you’re not exactly known for that.”

He chuckled. “Nah, just figured it was worth askin’. You ever get outta that basement of yours?”

You leaned back in your chair, smirking to yourself. “I’m not always in a basement, you know. I have other things going on. Like you, sweetie. You focusing on those wires?”

“Sweetie?” Logan’s voice came back with a low growl, amusement lacing his tone. “You know I don’t get distracted easy, darlin’.”

You smirked at the monitor in front of you, watching as he carefully maneuvered through the narrow corridor of the warehouse. “Just making sure. Wouldn’t want to have to bail you out if you trip a wire.”

“Funny,” he muttered. “You’re soundin’ real confident for someone sittin’ comfy at a keyboard.”

“Hey, I’m not comfy,” you shot back, leaning closer to the screen. “I’m on the edge of my seat watching your back.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Logan said, the sound of a door creaking open in the background. “What do you see up ahead?”

You focused on the different camera feeds, your fingers flying over the keys to switch between views. “Two guards in the hallway to your left. Armed. They’re just patrolling, so if you wait about ten seconds, you should be able to slip by.”

“Copy that.” His breathing slowed, the sound of footsteps faint as he pressed himself against the wall. “Tell me somethin’, Phantom. What do you do when you’re not playin’ babysitter for me?”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Logan grunted softly, the sound of his claws extending briefly as he took a peek around the corner. “Yeah, kinda. All I get’s that voice of yours—still gotta figure out the face that goes with it.”

You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling. “You’re obsessed, Wolf.”

“Never said I wasn’t.” There was a beat of silence as Logan moved silently down the hallway, bypassing the guards with ease. “But you still didn’t answer me.”

You sighed dramatically, switching to another camera feed that showed a large storage room filled with crates. “What do you think I do? Sit in a dark room, hacking into firewalls all day?”

Logan snorted. “Ain’t that what you’re doin’ now?”

“Touché.” You shifted slightly, watching him take down a lone guard with a quick, precise movement. “But no. I do have a life outside of this, you know.”

“Like what?” He sounded genuinely curious now, and you could almost picture the way his brows would be furrowed in concentration. “You got a family? Friends?”

You paused, fingers hovering over the keyboard. Family? Not really. Friends? Also a stretch. But you didn’t feel like sharing that right now. “I’ve got… a business to run.”

Logan was quiet for a moment. “A business, huh? Didn’t think you’d be the type to deal with customers.”

“Why not?” you shot back. “I’m very good with people, I’ll have you know.”

“Yeah, like the time you almost tore that guy a new one when he questioned your coding?” He chuckled, the sound low and deep in your ear. “Real people person, darlin’.”

“Okay, that was one time.” You rolled your eyes. “And he deserved it. But yeah, I’m pretty good with people—when I want to be.”

“Uh-huh.” There was a rustling noise, like he was checking through one of the crates. “What kinda business?”

You hesitated again. Part of you wanted to keep that piece of your life separate from Logan. But he’d been honest with you about a lot of things—his past, his work, even some of his regrets. It seemed only fair to give a little in return.

“...A bakery,” you finally admitted, almost cringing at how mundane it sounded compared to the world you two operated in.

There was a long pause on the other end. Then—

“A bakery?” Logan repeated, his voice thick with disbelief. “Like… cupcakes and cookies bakery?”

“Yeah, Wolf,” you said dryly, feeling heat creep up your neck. “I bake things. It’s called having a hobby.”

He made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. “Just tryin’ to picture it, that’s all. Our resident hacker pullin’ cookies out of the oven.”

“Is that so hard to imagine?” You switched to another feed, tracking his progress through the facility. “I bet you’d like my cookies.”

“Yeah?” There was a hint of teasing in his voice now. “You gonna make some for me sometime?”

You bit your lip, surprised at the sudden flutter in your chest at the thought. “Maybe. If you’re good.”

“Darlin’, I’m always good.”

“Debatable,” you shot back quickly, but your smile softened at the edges. “But I’ll keep that in mind.”

There was another pause, and you could hear Logan’s soft exhale through the comms. “You really own a bakery?”

“Yes, really,” you said, feeling oddly defensive now. “I’m not making it up just to sound cute.”

He chuckled again. “I didn’t think that. Just… didn’t see it comin’, is all. Got any specialties?”

You blinked at the sudden change in tone, a mix of genuine curiosity and something else you couldn’t quite place. “Well, I make a mean chocolate croissant.”

“Chocolate croissant, huh?” He sounded like he was mulling it over. “Could go for one right now.”

“Focus, Wolf,” you teased, but there was a warmth spreading through you that had nothing to do with the coffee beside you. “Get through this mission, and maybe I’ll let you try one.”

“I’ll hold you to that.” His voice was low, a promise wrapped in that simple statement.

For a moment, the two of you fell into a comfortable silence. It was strange how easy it felt, talking like this. Like you weren’t two people who only knew each other through voices and screens. Like there was something more.

“Alright, I’m in position,” Logan murmured, breaking the silence. “What’s next?”

You glanced at the feed, spotting the final target. “There’s a control panel just ahead. Shut it down, and we’ll have full access to the data we need.”

“On it.” There was a soft thud as he moved forward, the sound of his claws retracting. “Phantom?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks… for keepin’ me company. Makes this kinda work a little less shit.”

Your heart skipped a beat, and you struggled to find your voice for a second. “...Anytime, Wolf.”

And you meant it.

---

After 5 months of The Organization searching, the base of the mutant trafficking ring was finally found. It wasn’t just you and Logan, but other’s out on the field searching, and now things were coming to a head.

Ricky had briefed everyone—the field agents and those, like you, behind the computers. Everyone was in position, and tonight, after months of planning, the mutant trafficking ring was finally going to be shut down.

You took a steadying breath, fingers hovering over your keyboard. The screens in front of you were filled with various feeds: security cameras, schematics of the building, comms channels. It was go-time, and as much as you liked to pretend you were calm, there was a knot of tension in your stomach. You knew what was riding on this mission—innocent lives, and for some reason, your thoughts kept circling back to one person in particular.

“Phantom, you there?” Logan’s voice came through your earpiece, low and steady.

“Yeah, Wolf. Right here.” You sat up a little straighter, adjusting the headset. “You good?”

“Never better.” He sounded almost amused. “How ‘bout you? Keepin’ those fingers of yours nimble?”

You rolled your eyes, even though he couldn’t see it. “I’m ready to go. All feeds are online, and I’ve got eyes on every entrance. You’re at the west side of the building, right?”

“Yep.” He paused, and you heard the faint shuffle of boots against gravel. “What’s your status?”

“Locked and loaded,” you replied, scanning the feeds. “Looks like we’ve got a dozen guards outside, plus more scattered throughout the building. The main target’s in the central office on the second floor. You’ll need to cut through the lower levels to get there.”

“Got it. You got eyes on the others?”

You quickly toggled between the different comms channels, listening in on reports from the other teams. “Everyone’s in position. Team Alpha is covering the south, Bravo’s moving to secure the exit routes. You’re clear to start your approach.”

Logan grunted in acknowledgment, and you watched on one of the monitors as he started moving through the shadows, staying low and out of sight.

“Be careful, Wolf,” you murmured, your voice softer than you intended.

“Careful’s my middle name,” he drawled back, a hint of that signature cockiness coming through. “You just keep those pretty eyes on the feeds and tell me if someone’s gonna try and sneak up on me.”

“Always do,” you shot back, smiling despite the tension in the air.

There was a pause on his end, and then: “What’s the fastest way to the office from here?”

You glanced at the building’s layout, quickly mapping out a route in your head. “Take the staircase to your right, follow the hallway down two doors, then take a left. You should be able to bypass most of the guards that way. Just… watch for the tripwires.”

“Roger that. Stay on me, Phantom.”

“Like I’m ever not.” You kept your eyes glued to the screen as Logan moved through the facility with practiced ease. Despite the tension thrumming through your veins, there was a strange calmness in listening to his breathing over the comms, knowing you were right there with him, even if it was only in a digital sense.

“How’s it look up ahead?” he asked after a few moments of silence.

“Two guards at the end of the hall,” you reported, zooming in on one of the feeds. “They’re armed, but they’re not paying attention. You should be able to take them out quietly.”

Logan didn’t respond, but you saw him slip into the corridor, moving like a shadow. A few seconds later, both guards were down, and he was back on the line. “Clear.”

“Nice work, Wolf.” You leaned forward, fingers flying over the keyboard to hack into the security system. “I’m disabling the cameras on the next floor. You should have a clear path to the office, but I’m picking up some chatter—looks like they’re getting suspicious.”

“Let ‘em get suspicious.” There was a low, dangerous edge to his voice now. “I’m ready.”

You couldn’t help but grin a little. “That makes one of us.”

“C’mon, Phantom, you know you love this shit,” he teased, but there was a warmth in his tone that made your heart skip a beat. “All that adrenaline. Gets the blood pumpin’, doesn’t it?”

You bit your lip, shaking your head even though he couldn’t see you. “I’m not the one out there risking my neck. That’s your job.”

“Yeah, well… you’re doin’ a hell of a job keepin’ me from getting my ass shot off.” There was a pause, and then he added, almost softly, “Don’t know what I’d do without you, darlin’.”

You blinked at the screen, momentarily caught off guard by his words. “...Just stay focused, Wolf. I’m not pulling your ass out of this if you get cocky.”

“Don’t worry ‘bout me, sweetheart. I’m good.” His voice turned serious again as he approached the central office. “I’m at the door. How many inside?”

You quickly cycled through the cameras, counting the figures inside. “Three guards. One unarmed. That’s the target. If you move quick, you should be able to neutralize them before they call for backup.”

“Got it.” Logan’s voice was low, almost a growl. You watched as he shifted his weight, preparing to make his move. It was always a little nerve-wracking, watching him go in like this, but you trusted him. He knew what he was doing.

Your fingers danced over the keyboard, disabling the cameras in the immediate area. “I’m taking out the cameras around the office. You’re clear for entry. Make it fast, Wolf.”

“Don’t worry. I’m on it.” He paused for a beat. “How’s the rest of the team doin’?”

You glanced at the other feeds, tracking the movements of the different teams scattered throughout the building. “Team Alpha just took out the last of the perimeter guards. Bravo’s securing the exits—no one’s getting in or out without us knowing.”

“Good. Let’s end this.” There was a soft click as Logan pushed the door open, slipping inside the office with deadly precision.

The guards barely had time to react. You watched in awe as he took them down with a combination of swift strikes and quick, lethal movements. He was a blur of action, and within seconds, the only people left standing were Logan and the target—an older man who looked like he’d just seen a ghost.

“Please, don’t—” the man stammered, holding up his hands in a pathetic attempt at self-defense.

“Shut up,” Logan growled, grabbing him by the collar and slamming him against the wall. “You’re gonna answer a few questions for me.”

You leaned closer to the screen, keeping an eye on the other guards roaming the hallways. “Careful, Wolf. We don’t know if he’s got any backup on standby.”

“Yeah, I got it.” He gave the man a rough shake. “Who’s runnin’ this operation? Where’s the rest of the mutants you’ve been trafficking?”

The man sputtered, his face pale. “I—I don’t know! I just handle the logistics—transport, security—”

“Bullshit.” Logan’s claws extended with a sharp snikt, and you could hear the man’s terrified gasp even through the comms. “Try again, bub. And don’t lie to me.”

You zoomed in on the screen, checking for any signs of incoming guards. “Logan, I’m picking up movement on the lower levels. It’s not one of ours—looks like reinforcements. You need to hurry.”

“Copy that.” He leaned in closer to the man, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Last chance. Where are the mutants?”

“Storage room—basement level—cage twelve!” The man practically screamed the words, his eyes wide with fear. “Please, I swear, that’s all I know!”

“Storage room, basement level, cage twelve,” you repeated quickly, already pulling up the layout of the basement. “I’m sending the coordinates to Team Bravo now.”

“Good.” Logan released the man, who slumped to the floor, trembling. He stepped back, claws retracting. “Now sit tight. You’re gonna have some company soon.”

The man whimpered but didn’t move as Logan turned and made his way out of the office. You switched your focus back to the basement, watching as Team Bravo moved in to secure the mutants.

“They’re in position,” you reported, keeping your voice calm. “Looks like… ten, no, twelve mutants total. All of them are alive.”

“Alive, huh?” Logan’s voice softened just a fraction. “That’s somethin’, at least.”

“Yeah.” You couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips. After months of hunting down leads, false starts, and dead ends, it was finally coming together. “We did it, Wolf.”

“Not yet, we haven’t.” His tone turned serious again. “We still gotta get ‘em outta here. You got a path?”

“Working on it.” Your fingers flew over the keyboard, pulling up the building’s blueprints. “Okay, there’s an access tunnel two levels down from where you are. It leads straight to an underground parking garage. If you can get them there, we’ll have transport waiting.”

“Got it. I’ll head down now.” He paused for a moment, then added quietly, “Good work, Phantom.”

You felt a warmth spread through you at the unexpected praise. “Same to you, Wolf. Just… stay safe, okay?”

There was a soft chuckle on the other end. “Don’t you worry ‘bout me, darlin’. You just keep doin’ what you do best.”

You stayed on the line, guiding him through the lower levels as he made his way to the basement. The rest of the mission went off like clockwork—Team Bravo secured the mutants, Team Alpha kept the perimeter locked down, and Logan made sure no one got in their way.

By the time it was all over, the mutants were safe, the ring was shut down, and the remaining traffickers were either captured or taken out. It was a resounding success, and yet, as you watched Logan emerge from the building, something inside you felt… off.

“Logan?” you called out softly, your voice hesitant. “You good?”

“Yeah. Just tired.” He sounded a little rough around the edges, but that was to be expected after a mission like this. “What about you? You doin’ okay?”

You let out a soft breath, leaning back in your chair. “Yeah, I’m good. Just… glad it’s over, I guess.”

“Yeah.” There was a pause, and then he added, “You did good tonight, Phantom. Real good.”

“Thanks, Wolf.” You smiled, even though he couldn’t see it. “Couldn’t have done it without you.”

He grunted softly, the sound almost affectionate. “Bet you say that to all the guys you babysit.”

“Only the ones I like,” you teased, feeling a little bolder now that the mission was over. “But seriously… thanks for trusting me out there. I know it’s not easy.”

“Trust ain’t somethin’ I give lightly,” he murmured, his voice low and sincere. “But you earned it. Over and over.”

You didn’t know what to say to that, so you settled for a soft, “...I’m glad.”

There was another beat of silence, and then Logan’s voice came back, a little lighter. “So, when am I gettin’ that chocolate croissant?”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Guess you’ll just have to swing by my bakery sometime, huh?”

“Maybe I will.” He sounded thoughtful, like he was considering it for the first time. “Soon as I figure out where the hell it is.”

“Good luck with that,” you teased, feeling a strange mix of excitement and nerves. “But if you do find it… first croissant’s on me.”

“I’ll hold you to that, darlin’.” There was a warm, teasing lilt to his voice now. “Take care, Phantom.”

“You too, Wolf.”

And with that, the line went quiet. You stared at the screen for a moment longer, a smile tugging at your lips. It wasn’t much, but it felt like a step—toward something new, something real.

Maybe one day, you’d get to see the look on Logan’s face when he finally tasted one of your croissants.

But for now, this was enough.

---

It had been a few weeks since the mutant trafficking ring was taken down, and since then, things from The Organization had been quiet. You were sure that soon, something would happen, and you’d have a new mission or cause to fight for, but for now, life was… normal. Or, as normal as things could get for you.

During the day, you focused on your bakery. The smell of freshly baked bread and sweet pastries filled the small space, the steady hum of business keeping you busy. You didn’t have to think about The Organization or anything outside of kneading dough and serving customers. It was a welcome change of pace, a grounding routine that gave you some much-needed breathing room.

But at night, when the bakery was closed and the streets outside your shop went quiet, your mind wandered back to Logan—and those long conversations over the comms. The teasing back and forth. The gruff but genuine praise. The way he’d been so protective of you, even when you were just a voice in his ear.

You leaned against the counter, wiping your hands on your apron as you glanced around your empty shop. The bell above the door jingled, and you glanced up, expecting to see one of your regulars who’d forgotten to grab something before closing.

But it wasn’t one of your regulars.

It was him.

Logan.

He stood in the doorway, his broad frame almost filling it completely. A beat of silence passed as you stared at each other, and then he stepped inside, his boots making a soft thud against the wooden floor.

“Hey, darlin’.” His voice was the same deep, rough tone you remembered, and yet hearing it in person made your heart skip a beat. He glanced around the bakery, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “Figured I’d finally swing by and see if your croissants live up to the hype.”

For a moment, you couldn’t speak. He was here. Here. In your bakery, standing in front of you like it was the most normal thing in the world.

“Logan?” You blinked, trying to wrap your mind around it. “How—how did you find me?”

He shrugged like it was nothing, but there was a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Did a little diggin’. Asked around. Turns out you’re not as good at hiding as you think.”

You felt a flush rise to your cheeks, a mix of surprise and… something else. “And you just—decided to show up out of nowhere?”

“Thought you could use some company,” he replied easily, but there was a seriousness in his gaze that told you this wasn’t just a casual visit. “Been too quiet lately. I don’t do quiet well.”

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “I can’t believe you’re actually here.”

“Neither can I,” he murmured, his eyes lingering on you for a moment longer before he glanced at the display case filled with pastries. “But since I am… you gonna give me that croissant, or what?”

The corner of your mouth lifted, and you reached behind the counter, pulling out a fresh chocolate croissant. You placed it on a small plate, sliding it across to him. “First one’s on the house, remember?”

Logan took the plate, his fingers brushing against yours for the briefest of moments. A spark shot through you, but you quickly pulled your hand back, pretending like it hadn’t happened.

He lifted the croissant, inspecting it with a critical eye before taking a bite. You watched, holding your breath as he chewed thoughtfully. Then, he swallowed and nodded.

“Not bad, Phantom. Not bad at all.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding, a smile breaking out on your face. “Just ‘not bad?’ I think I’m a little insulted.”

He chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “Okay, fine. It’s good. Real good.” He took another bite, his gaze softening as he looked at you. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t ya?”

“I could say the same about you.” You leaned against the counter, studying him. In the soft light of the bakery, he looked a little more relaxed, less guarded. There was still that roughness to him, but there was something else, too—a quiet sort of contentment. “So, what’s the real reason you’re here, Logan?”

He raised an eyebrow, finishing off the croissant before setting the plate down. “What, a guy can’t visit his favorite hacker?”

“Nice try.” You gave him a look, crossing your arms. “But I know you better than that.”

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Maybe I just wanted to see for myself that you’re okay. That this place is real. That you’re… real.”

You felt something tighten in your chest, your gaze softening. “I’m real, Logan. You know that.”

“Yeah.” He looked around again, as if trying to memorize every detail of your little shop. “But it’s different, seein’ it with my own eyes.”

There was a weight to his words, a sincerity that made your heart ache a little. You’d spent so many nights talking to him, listening to his voice, getting to know him in a way that felt almost… intimate. And now he was here, standing in front of you, and it felt like a dream.

“Do you—” You hesitated, biting your lip. “Do you want to stay for a bit? I’ve got coffee. Or tea, if that’s more your style.”

Logan’s lips twitched into a small smile. “Coffee sounds good.”

You turned to make a fresh pot, your hands moving on autopilot as your mind raced. What did this mean? Why now? You’d thought maybe, someday, you’d meet Logan in person, but you hadn’t expected it to be like this—so sudden, so… normal.

“So,” Logan drawled, leaning against the counter as he watched you, “what’s next for you? Gonna hang up your hacker hat and just focus on bakin’?”

You glanced over your shoulder, giving him a wry smile. “You think I could actually stay out of trouble for long?”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “Nah. Don’t think you’re cut out for the quiet life, darlin’.”

“Guess we have that in common, huh?” You poured the coffee, sliding a mug over to him. “But for now… I’m taking a little break. I think I’ve earned it.”

“Yeah, you have.” He took the mug, his fingers brushing against yours again. This time, neither of you pulled away. “So… what’s the plan now? Just you and the bakery?”

“For now.” You shrugged, looking around the shop. “It’s nice. Calming, even. Keeps me grounded.”

Logan studied you for a long moment, his gaze intent. “You know, I never pictured you like this. With flour on your apron and—what’s that?” He reached out, brushing his thumb lightly against your cheek. “Frostin’ on your face?”

You froze at the contact, your breath catching in your throat. His touch was surprisingly gentle, the roughness of his thumb contrasting with the softness of your skin. You stared at him, caught off guard by the sudden intimacy of the moment.

“I—uh—” You cleared your throat, feeling your face heat up. “Occupational hazard, I guess.”

“Hmm.” His thumb lingered for a heartbeat longer, then he pulled back, his expression softening. “Guess it suits you.”

You swallowed, trying to steady your racing heart. “What about you? What’s next for the great Wolverine? Gonna go back to the X-Men?”

Logan chuckled, leaning back slightly as he sipped his coffee. “Who said I ever left? Maybe I was doin’ this as my side job.”

You raised an eyebrow, giving him a playful look. “Oh, so the big bad Wolverine has a side hustle now? Should I be worried you’re going to start making croissants too?”

He smirked. “Nah, I’ll leave the bakin’ to you. But maybe I’ll stick around, see how things go.” His eyes held yours, that familiar teasing edge mixed with something else—a quiet intensity.

“Stick around?” you asked, not entirely sure where he was going with this. “In New York? Thought you weren’t a fan of big cities.”

Logan shrugged, his gaze flicking around your cozy bakery again. “It grows on ya. Plus, I got reasons to hang around now.”

The way he said it, so casual but pointed, made your heart skip a beat. “Reasons, huh?”

He leaned forward, setting his mug down on the counter. “Yeah, Phantom. You think I spent all those nights listenin’ to you talk, gettin’ to know you, just to go back to business as usual?”

You blinked, caught off guard by the directness of his words. You tried to bring things back to normal, to calm your racing heart, but perhaps you only made it worse with his response. “Y- you don’t have to call me that, you know? Or- anymore, at least.”

Logan’s eyes locked onto yours, a spark of curiosity flickering in his gaze. He leaned forward, elbows resting on the counter. “Oh yeah? So, what should I call ya?”

You hesitated, feeling the weight of his question. It was such a simple thing—your real name. Something you’d kept hidden, not out of fear, but because keeping a wall between your real life and Phantom had made things… easier. Safer, even. But you felt safe with him standing in front of you, even if it was the first time meeting face to face.

“Y/N.” You finally said, quietly with a small smile.

Logan’s eyes softened, something shifting in his expression as he repeated your name—almost testing it out. “Y/N, huh? Suits you.”

You shrugged, trying to play it cool despite the warmth spreading through your chest. “Figured it was time to be on a first-name basis, Wolf.”

His lips twitched into a smirk at the nickname. “Wolf,” he repeated, rolling his eyes in mock exasperation. “You’ve been callin’ me that for months. Thought you’d drop it once I was standin’ right in front of ya.”

“Why would I do that?” you shot back, your smile growing a little more confident. “It suits you, Wolf.”

Logan chuckled, shaking his head. “Fair enough.” He leaned back, his gaze never leaving yours. “Guess I’ll stick with ‘Phantom’ for old times’ sake.”

“‘Y/N’ is fine,” you said softly. “I think we’re past codenames.”

He nodded slowly, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Y/N, then.” The way he said it—slow and deliberate—made your heart flutter. There was something so personal about it, so… intimate. You’d spent so long hiding behind ‘Phantom’ that hearing your real name in his voice felt almost surreal.

You glanced down at the counter, clearing your throat to break the tension. “So,” you said slowly, a hint of mischief creeping into your tone, “now that you’ve tried my croissants, what’s next on the list? Gonna critique my muffins too?”

Logan’s smirk widened, his eyes glinting. “Oh, I’m definitely stickin’ around long enough to try everything on that menu, darlin’. Gotta make sure it’s all up to snuff.”

“Uh-huh. Just don’t expect me to bake for you every day,” you teased, but there was a warmth in your voice that you couldn’t quite hide.

“I dunno,” he drawled, leaning forward slightly, his voice dropping to a lower, more intimate tone. “Kinda like the idea of you makin’ me breakfast.”

Your heart skipped a beat, your breath catching in your throat. You chuckled back at him, putting the towel in your hand over your shoulder, “yeah? Bet you say that to all the women you meet.”

Logan’s smirk grew, the corner of his mouth lifting in that way you’d come to recognize as trouble. “You think I go around findin’ bakeries just to get breakfast from pretty hackers?”

“Pretty hackers?” you teased, raising an eyebrow. “Didn’t know I was your type, Wolf.”

He shrugged, leaning back in his chair with an easy confidence. “You’re my type if you keep makin’ croissants like that.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Nice recovery.”

There was a beat of silence, and Logan’s smirk softened, replaced by a more thoughtful look. His eyes swept around the shop again, taking in the cozy space as if trying to understand something deeper about it—about you.

“This place,” he said quietly, breaking the silence. “It’s yours, huh?”

“Yeah,” you replied, a touch of pride in your voice. “Bought it a couple of years ago. Did most of the renovations myself. Not the hacking kind, though.”

Logan nodded, his gaze lingering on the shelves lined with baked goods and the flour-dusted counter. “Figured you’d be in some high-tech lab or somethin’. Not… this.”

You smiled, glancing around your bakery. “What? Don’t think I can bake and hack at the same time?”

“Nah, it’s not that.” He paused, his brow furrowing slightly as if he were searching for the right words. “Guess I just never thought about what your life looked like when you weren’t on a mission.”

“Well,” you said softly, meeting his eyes. “This is it. Flour, sugar, and a whole lot of early mornings.”

Logan tilted his head, studying you like he was seeing a whole new side of you. “It suits ya.”

You shrugged, feeling a bit exposed under his gaze. “It’s not as exciting as fighting bad guys, but… it’s mine.”

“Doesn’t have to be exciting all the time,” he murmured. His voice was quieter now, more serious, and it made you pause. “Sometimes… it’s the quiet stuff that matters.”

You felt a warmth spread through your chest at his words, your heart doing that annoying fluttering thing it did whenever he got unexpectedly sincere. “Yeah, well, quiet doesn’t seem to be your style, Logan.”

He chuckled, a low rumble that sent a shiver down your spine. “Yeah, guess not. But maybe I’m workin’ on that.”

You gave him a playful smirk. “You? Working on ‘quiet’? I’ll believe it when I see it.”

He leaned forward, his arms resting on the counter as he looked at you, a glint of amusement in his eyes. “Maybe you’ll see it sooner than you think.”

Your teasing smile faltered slightly, your heartbeat picking up again. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Logan held your gaze for a long moment, something unspoken hanging in the air between you. “Means I’m stickin’ around, Y/N. If you’re okay with that.”

Your breath caught at the way he said your name—your real name, not Phantom. There was a weight to it, like he wasn’t just talking about the bakery or the city. He was talking about you.

“Logan,” you started, your voice a little shaky as you tried to keep it light, “are you saying you want to be a regular customer?”

He smirked, but the seriousness in his eyes didn’t fade. “Somethin’ like that. Thought maybe I’d get to know the person behind the croissants… and the computer screens.”

Your heart raced, and you couldn’t help but smile, even though you felt a little breathless. “Well, considering you just showed up without a warning, I’d say you’re off to a good start.”

Logan’s smirk widened. “Always liked makin’ an entrance.”

“Yeah, well,” you said, shaking your head, “next time, maybe give a girl a little heads-up.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” he teased, though his voice had softened.

You didn’t have a snappy comeback for that, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. The bakery felt smaller, quieter, like the world outside had paused, leaving just the two of you in this little bubble. You’d known him for months, heard his voice in your ear during some of the craziest situations, but this—standing here in the same room, with him right there—felt different. Real.

“So,” you said after a beat, your voice a little quieter now, “what’s the plan? You just gonna hang out in New York for a while? Or…?”

Logan shrugged, but there was something thoughtful in his expression. “Dunno. Figure I’ll stick around, see how things play out. Been on the move too long. Might be time to slow down a bit.”

“Slow down?” you echoed, raising an eyebrow. “You?”

He huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, I know. Doesn’t sound like me, does it?”

You smiled, leaning against the counter. “Well, if you’re serious about sticking around, you’d better be ready for a lot of early mornings.”

Logan’s gaze flicked to the flour on your apron and the slight mess on the counter. “Early mornings, huh? Guess I can handle that. Long as there’s coffee.”

You laughed softly, feeling that familiar warmth in your chest again. “I think I can manage that.”

There was another pause, but this time, it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was the kind of quiet that felt… nice. Like neither of you were in a rush to fill the space with words.

Finally, Logan straightened up, glancing toward the door. “Guess I’ll let ya get back to it. Don’t wanna keep you too long.”

You felt a flicker of disappointment, but you quickly pushed it down, giving him a smile instead. “You’re always welcome, you know. Next time, I’ll save you a muffin.”

Logan’s smirk returned, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “I’ll hold you to that, darlin’.”

He took a step toward the door, but then he paused, glancing back at you. “Y/N?”

“Yeah?” you asked, your heart skipping a beat at the way he said your name again.

“Don’t be a stranger,” he said softly, his gaze holding yours for just a moment longer before he turned and walked out the door, the bell above it jingling softly in his wake.

You stood there for a long moment, staring at the door long after he was gone, your heart still racing.

---

Logan’s unexpected visit left you in a whirlwind. For the next few days, it was hard to focus on the usual routines of the bakery. Each time the bell over the door chimed, your heart leapt a little, thinking maybe, just maybe, it’d be him again. But Logan didn’t show, and you tried to remind yourself not to overthink it. He was just… being Logan. Coming and going as he pleased, without a word or explanation.

But then, one evening, just as you were flipping the Open sign to Closed, you noticed something slipped under the door—a folded piece of paper with your name scrawled across it in a familiar, rugged handwriting.

You picked it up, eyebrows furrowing in confusion, and opened it.

Got a place in mind. Be ready at 7. —W

No address. No other details. Just a time and a cryptic note.

You found yourself smiling despite your confusion. Of course, he’d pull something like this. He couldn’t just ask you to dinner like a normal person—he had to be all mysterious about it. But then again, it was part of his charm.

The day passed in a blur. By the time you were getting ready, nerves had settled in. What exactly did Logan mean by ‘got a place in mind’? Was this a date? Just… friends hanging out?

You pushed the thoughts away and focused on getting dressed. Something casual, but not too casual. Comfortable, but still showing you’d put in some effort. You settled on a pair of well-fitting jeans and a soft sweater that was flattering but not over-the-top.

Right at 7, there was a soft knock on your door. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself, and opened it.

Logan stood there, looking the same as always and yet… different. Maybe it was the way he’d traded his usual jacket for a dark button-down, or the fact that he looked a bit unsure himself, his gaze flicking over you in silent appraisal before settling on your eyes.

“You look good,” he said, his voice gruff, but there was an honesty in his tone that made your cheeks warm.

“Not bad yourself, Wolf,” you replied, earning a small, almost shy smile from him.

“Ready?” he asked, holding out his hand.

“Ready,” you confirmed, and you stepped outside, locking the door behind you.

---

Logan had borrowed a bike—one of those big, heavy motorcycles that roared to life when he turned the ignition. He tossed you a helmet, then helped you onto the back. Your hands found their way around his waist, your fingers brushing against the fabric of his shirt, and for a moment, the world seemed to narrow down to just that—your arms around him, the rumble of the engine beneath you, and the feel of his solid form against you.

“Hold on tight, darlin’,” he murmured, his voice low and rough in a way that made you shiver.

The ride through the city was exhilarating, the cool night air whipping past you as Logan navigated the streets with ease. You had no idea where he was taking you, but you trusted him. You’d always trusted him.

Finally, he pulled up to a secluded spot along the East River, away from the usual tourist traps and bustling crowds. You could see the lights of the city skyline reflected in the water, the soft sounds of the river lapping at the shore creating a serene backdrop. There was a small wooden table set up nearby, with a blanket laid out and a picnic basket resting on top of it.

You blinked in surprise, glancing between the setup and Logan. “Did… did you do this?”

Logan rubbed the back of his neck, looking uncharacteristically sheepish. “Yeah, well. Figured we’ve had enough high-stakes meetin’s. Thought you deserved somethin’ different.”

Your heart melted a little at that. He’d gone through the trouble of planning something just for you—a quiet evening, just the two of you, away from the chaos of missions and comms.

“It’s perfect,” you said softly, meeting his eyes.

He gave a small nod, visibly relieved by your reaction. “Good. Now c’mon, let’s eat before it gets too cold.”

The two of you settled down at the table, and you couldn’t help but smile as Logan unpacked the basket. It was mostly simple stuff—sandwiches, fruit, a bottle of wine—but there was an almost endearing quality to it, like he’d put in effort but hadn’t tried to overdo it.

“Didn’t know what you liked, so I kinda… winged it,” he admitted, glancing at you almost nervously.

“It’s perfect,” you repeated, smiling at him. “And honestly? I’m just happy you’re here.”

Logan’s gaze softened, his eyes lingering on you in that way that made your stomach flip. “Yeah. Me too.”

The conversation flowed easily after that. You talked about everything and nothing—the bakery, old missions, even random bits about your lives that had never come up before. He was surprisingly open, and you found yourself sharing more than you usually would, the relaxed atmosphere making it easy to let your guard down.

As the evening went on, you found yourself inching closer to him. At some point, the two of you ended up side by side on the blanket, the picnic basket forgotten as you stared out at the lights reflecting on the water.

There was a comfortable silence, the kind that didn’t need to be filled. You glanced over at Logan, feeling that familiar flutter in your chest. He was looking at you with an expression that was hard to read—soft, almost contemplative.

“What?” you asked softly, feeling a little self-conscious under his gaze.

“Just thinkin’,” he murmured, his voice low and rumbling. “You’re even prettier in person, you know that?”

You felt your face heat up, and you looked away, letting out a soft laugh. “Logan—”

“I mean it,” he interrupted gently, reaching out to brush your cheek. His touch was light, tentative, like he wasn’t quite sure if it was okay. “Been drivin’ myself crazy, wonderin’ what you’d look like. But seein’ you now… Hell, Y/N, I don’t think I did you justice.”

Your breath caught at the way he said your name, his gaze intense and unwavering. There was something raw and honest in his expression, like he was laying himself bare in a way you hadn’t expected.

“Logan…” you whispered, the words dying on your lips as he leaned in, his face inches from yours.

“I shouldn’t be doin’ this,” he murmured, his voice low and almost regretful. But he didn’t move away. If anything, he shifted closer, his breath brushing against your skin. “But I’ve been wantin’ to since the moment I heard your voice.”

Your heart was pounding, every nerve in your body alive with anticipation. “Then don’t stop,” you whispered, your own voice trembling.

Logan’s gaze flicked down to your lips, and for a heartbeat, everything seemed to freeze. Then, slowly—like he was giving you every chance to pull away—he closed the distance, his lips brushing against yours in the softest, most tentative of kisses.

It was gentle at first, like he was testing the waters, but when you didn’t pull back—when you leaned in, your fingers tangling in the front of his shirt—something seemed to break. He deepened the kiss, his hand sliding up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin.

The kiss was everything you hadn’t known you’d been waiting for—slow and sweet, but with an underlying intensity that left you breathless. You melted into him, the world around you fading away until there was nothing left but the feel of his lips on yours and the warmth of his hand against your cheek.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead resting against yours, you were both breathing hard, your hearts racing in sync.

“Damn, darlin’,” he murmured, his voice rough and low. “Didn’t think it’d feel like that.”

You laughed softly, your own voice a little shaky. “Yeah. Me neither.”

Logan smiled—a real, genuine smile that made your heart ache. “Think we should do it again?”

You grinned up at him, feeling lighter than you had in ages. “Yeah, Wolf. I think we should.”

[robinminustherichard]

Just Remember, I'm On Your Side

8×17 Coda/Fix It | BuckTommy | G

Someone is knocking on Tommy's door at 10:30 PM, and he knows he's in for it when he peaks out and sees a familiar truck in his driveway. He sighs, braces himself, and opens the door.

He gets one look at Evan and everything he was thinking flies out the window.

Evan is disheveled--he's got a hoodie thrown on over pajama pants and his hair looks like he's run his hands through it a hundred times. Worst, however, are his red eyes and long lashes clumped together with the remnants of tears.

"Evan--" Tommy says, knowing he sounds concerned and his face probably matches.

Evan swallows thickly and looks up at Tommy in the way that always seemed to lead Tommy to trouble.

"You," Evan starts, and takes a deep hiccuping breath, "you said once that you thought maybe my friends weren't always the nicest they could be to me--"

Tommy does remember saying that. Evan had blown it off then, excusing behavior from some of the 118 as he told stories of things they had been through.

"--I didn't want to hear it, then." Evan finishes. He runs his hand through his hair, looks around like someone is watching them. His eyes track back to Tommy's. "I think I'm ready to hear it, now."

Tommy feels shell shocked for a moment, not knowing quite what to say when your ex-boyfriend shows up following what's gotta be the worst few weeks of his life and suddenly wants to hear about how his friends frankly are kind of jerks sometimes.

Evan fidgets in the silence, nervous. He begins talking.

"And, and I know, Tommy, that I don't have the right to come here after what I said. But I think you might be the first person in a long time that has--has thought about me. Really thought about me and how I feel, and I got in this fight with Eddie and he said I make everything about myself, and then he brought Chris from El Paso and they're in my house now and I had to get out before I--"

"Evan," Tommy interrupts gently. He holds out a hand across the threshold, "Do you want to come in?"

Evan stops, blinking back new dampness in his eyes. He nods quickly before agreeing verbally.

"Th-thank you, Tommy," Evan whispers, grabbing on to Tommy's hand and letting himself be pulled inside.

He stumbles a bit and Tommy catches him; and maybe it's the exhaustion that's been dogging him since the night at the lab, but Tommy affords himself the comfort of gathering Evan up into his arms, tucking him into Tommy's body as much as one could with someone of Evan's physique.

Evan seemed to go boneless, choking back an unmistakable sob and burying his face into Tommy's shoulder.

"Eddie came at me," Buck says shakily, mumbled and nearly inaudible, "it was the first time that...I thought he might actually hit me."

"I'll kill him," Tommy says simply and without thought, knowing he meant it.

Evan snorts unattractively at that, pulling out of Tommy's shoulder and looking him in the eyes.

"I know you would." Evan says simply.

"I don't know if you've noticed, but I've already committed two crimes for you, Evan Buckley. What's a little manslaughter?"

Evan laughs outright at that, wet and still a little miserable but a grin comes with it. It falls a bit though, and his eyes skitter around before speaking again.

"Can we...can we talk? Please?" Evan asks, biting at his lip.

Tommy knows how this is going to go. He knew it when he answered Evan's call three weeks ago, he knew it when he watched Evan break down on those monitors, he knew it when he saw the detached stoicism Evan maintained with a white knuckle grip at the funeral.

"How about..." Tommy says, pulling away but keeping their hands together, "I make you a sandwhich and you drink a glass of water, and then we get into bed and then, if you're still awake, we can talk?"

Evan breathes out, and hesitant smile lighting up his face.

"Yes--yes, please," he says in a rush, nodding again, "I would--I would love that, Tommy."

Tommy takes a chance then, he pulls Evan in to his side and presses his lips to Evan's birthmark. He feels something within himself settle, and he hears Evan sigh and feels his shoulders relax.

"Come on, sweetheart."

[boypied]

𝚏𝚒𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚞𝚝𝚎𝚜...

𝚒𝚖𝚊𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚎 𝚜𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚏𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚛;

CHARLIE COX x M!READER

MDNI + FDNI, mature content ahead.

WARNINGS: age gap, oral sex (r!giving), cum swallowing, swearing, hair pulling.

SUMMARY: you return to school after leaving so many years ago, and you visit your favourite teacher. one thing led to another, and you're on your knees in the very class that you were taught in.

After a medical emergency a couple of weeks ago, you received a letter in the mail that your medical bills have started to build up, you only know one person who could help you out and try to make these unfairly high bills some how lower and actually manageable and that person is your old high-school teacher who you had a major crush on the entire time, it was obvious to everyone who even thought to pick up on it. Your heart races practically pounding out your chest as you park up at the school and make your way inside.

You walk through the old hallways that you used to walk down every single day only a couple of years ago. It didn't long for you to realise where you want to go... well, it's more like who you wanted to visit. “Afternoon Sir.” You say in a low tone, not wanting to entirely disrupt his class. “Oh! Long time no see...” he chuckles to himself while the rest of the class just stares at him as they are waiting for him to give them the signal that they can leave.

“The class was just finishing up anyway, take a seat... I'll be with you in a moment.” he mumbles to you in his usual calm tone, which strangely sends shivers down your spine and makes your knees weak. You are immediately drawn back into the trance you were in all those years ago when you first had him as your teacher. After Charlie sends his students to lunch, he turns his attention over to you, “So, what brings you back to my classroom, mister?” he smirks as he sits down behind his desk, leaning back to crack his back and his shirt lifts up ever so slightly revealing his happy trail that drives you wild, and you pull up the chair to get closer to him.

“I've been having some trouble with some bills and being overcharged and stuffed... you know, adult stuff... and I was just wondering if you could possibly help me out with that? It's just that I remember that you talked about this in one of our lessons, and you were skilled and stuff.” I start blabbering on about my reasons for even being here as I don't want to come across as a creep that peaked in high school and is desperately trying to relive those moments.

He just smiles at you as you stumble over your words, he leans forward and places his hand on your thigh giving it a slight squeeze, “Of course I'll help you.. you always were my favourite student.” he chuckles as he spins his chair round to face his computer as he starts working on his way to help you out whilst you stare blankly at him as your face reddens.

After a rough forty-five minutes of research, emails and phone calls you finally manage to get through to the hospital and get your bills lowered to a manageable amount that you can pay over a month or two. “Thank you! Thank you so much.” You gasp down the line in relief as you hang up and Charlie celebrates as he throws his fists up in the air, and jumping up to give you a hug but before he could do that you place your hand on his chest and you push him down against his chair without even saying a word you begin unbuckling his belt, “w-what?” he mumbles out in confusion as he watches you do this, his eyes widen as you pull down his trousers as well as his underwear letting his cock spring free

Your eyes dart up to meet with his as you lean down and take his semi-hard cock into the warm wetness of your mouth and the moment that it happens his cock immediately becomes grows in your mouth hitting the back of your throat which causes you to gag slightly. Charlie's head falls back slightly as he feels the warmth of your mouth coat his entire cock, his hand shakily grabs his glasses and he throws it onto his desk which knocks off a bunch of his students papers, you pull off his cock and lean up, “Should I pick those up?” You say softly, and he grips your head and pushes you back down on his cock.

“No! It's fine... just keep sucking. They can all have a B anyway...” he chuckles, which turns into a breathy moan. Charlie's eyes flutter open slightly after being shut from the blissful pleasure that was your mouth around his cock and he sees the time, “F-Fuck! We only have fifteen minutes.” he smirks as he runs his hand through your hair and gives you a helping push you down helping you take more of his cock into your throat. A smirk grows on his face, feeling your throat contract around his length because of how long it's been so long since he's had any sort of sexual encounter with someone in months.

You let his cock pop out of your mouth as you trace kisses along the side of it whilst using your hand to pump it up and down inching him closer and closer to the climax that he's been waiting for. “You taste so good” you mumble out before you take his cock back into your mouth all the way allowing your throat to coat his tip. “I never would've thought an o-old student would be giving me the best blowjob... i-i've ever had...” he rubs his temples whilst laughing, which quickly turns into low grunts.

You wrap your hand around his base as you continue to swirl your tongue around his base and pump his cock to give him the ultimate feeling of pleasure and helping him build up to possibly the best orgasm of his life.

“Keep sucking!” Charlie practically begs you as his eyes flutter back, and his toes curl as he nears his release and his cock is buried deep in your throat. Your hand reaches up and begins gently squeezing away at his balls, and that was enough to completely send him into overdrive as his cock starts squiritng his thick ropes of cum down your throat as he slightly bucks his hips up into your mouth pushing his cock deeper than before, his load just running down.

He pulls on your hair and you throw your head back as his spit glistening cock pops out of your mouth. Your lips are all puffy from the intense blowjob you just gave, and Charlie runs his thumb across your lower lip as he breathes heavily, “Finished with five minutes to spare.” Charlie says in a playful, celebratory tone, which causes you both to laugh.

You help him pull his trousers up and look some-what presentable for his next class. You lick your lower lip, tasting the residue of pre-cum and you just smirk “Tasty” You mumble out with a wink and he just smirks as he grabs your waist and pulls him closer to his body, “Some of my students are probably on their way...” he whispers to you as he grabs his phone and sends you his address.

He leans even closer and whispers right in your ear “The key is under the flower pott... be there in my bedroom, ass up. I'll make sure to right after this class.” he gently places a kiss on your neck and pulls away letting go of your waist, “See you soon, boy.” he says to you as he watches you walk out, “I'll be waiting... Sir.” You say with a wink and he just bites his lip.

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