#and every interaction is everything to me

[bejeweledinterludes]

blame it on the alcohol.

OR dean’s drunk— and makes it your problem!

my masterlist

「 pairing 」 : drunk ! dean x reader

「 word count 」 : 1.6 k

「 content / warnings 」 : fluffy fluff / comedy, alcoholic!dean, drunkness, NOT violent— purely just my thoughts of goofball drunk dean winchester off his rocker with reader hehe

‧˚₊⋅ ──── faith’s tell-all. welp i got drunk off my ass the other night and finished this draft that’s been rotting for actual months but i love the way it turned out. i hate to drop then dip immediately— but ‘if i wrote this then y’all need to see it’ has always been my policy around here (with finished works at least), and that includes regardless of my mental status. idc y’all are my ride or dies for life, no take backsies! that being said though, i still need to respond to everyone who reached out to me over the last month(ish)— which feels overwhelming rn, so i promise to do it at some point.

and for anyone that was wondering, things are pretty okay for now— but i still don’t plan on coming back back on here anytime soon. it’ll probably be more just me posting works here and there since i don’t really write like i used to + don’t really feel like i belong on here anymore yk? i’m sorry to let everyone down, but just know i appreciate and love every single freakin’ one of you that interacts with and (hopefully) enjoys my writing. it means the absolute world— it always has and always will. enjoy this one, miss you all dearly <3

( p. s. ) . . . this should be obvious, but: DO NOT INTERACT IF YOU DO NOT WANT TO READ ABOUT ALCOHOL OR DRUNKENESS !!!

𖤐 ────────────────────────

you were cozied up in bed at your motel room for the night, pretending to be reading a book on the lore of a specific hybrid of werewolf— god, don’t even ask. it was like pulling freakin’ teeth trying to get through a page, even the words. you were debating lighting the while thing on fire— and maybe sam, too, for suggesting that you decipher it.

but the sudden and loud-ass bang against the door had gotten your attention, and you instinctively snatched your gun off the nightstand, expecting the worst. fight or flight kicked in— and of course, fight reared it’s head immediately.

but there was no need, since the door swung open— and dean was attached to it, leaning on it as it hit the wall with a thud.

“stupid fuckin’—” he lifts himself off the handle, looking offended at the thing, like the door was the reason he almost fell face-first into the room and not himself.

then, he meets your gaze.

and the only way to describe it was like if the freakin’ sun just came out and hit dean’s face.

“hey!” dean bursts your name out, somehow kicking the door shut behind him— while smiling. like, full-blown, teeth and all. at you. and you know he’s never been that happy to see you in your life, ever.

it’s about now you realize he’s absolutely hammered beyond belief.

of course you knew that dean had his… issues with alcohol— and everything he’d been through? shit. you probably would, too. but still, you never pushed him to talk to you about it. not like sam does— yeah, no, that wasn’t your place. you were a good friend, sure, but still, you didn’t need a ‘okay, mom’ from dean, or a cussing out. so you weren’t about to try and force him to tell you anything. that was a line you refused to cross.

“hi,” you give your own smile back— because come on. your eyes clock how dean was swaying on his feet, so you slide off of your bed, meeting him halfway and grasping his shoulder gently— because you knew if you didn’t take action right now, he’d end up face-first right on the carpet. “you havin’ a good night?”

and dean’s glazed eyes seemed to sharpen for a moment as he took in your presence— now he could smell you, foo. his lips curved into a lopsided, drunken grin as he attempted (and failed) to focus on your face.

“jus’ livin’ the dream,” he quipped, trying to muster a cocky smirk— but the way he leaned right into you standing up told you otherwise.

“needed sum company. your room was t’closest, thank god— ‘n sam’s bein’ mean.” dean explained, almost pouted at that last part, his words being pretty much incoherent. dean somehow got an arm around your shoulders, the other waving floppily at the door— most likely, at sam.

of course you’ve seen dean drunk before, but he’s never sought you out while completely wasted like this. not that you were complaining or anything like that— it was just new.

you were trying not to think about what that meant.

you now realize that you can’t exactly sustain holding dean up like this, with just your own body weight— so your arm wraps fully snug around his shoulders and your free hand presses onto his chest, holding him upright.

“i see,” you guide dean in your grasp towards the edge of your bed. “well, come and sit down before we both end up face-planting, huh?”

surprisingly, as you guided him toward the bed, dean stumbled along more willingly than you’d expected him to, even as his movements were jerky and completely uncoordinated. he flopped right onto the edge of the bed, head lolling momentarily as he fought to focus on you, a lazy smile playing on his lips.

then, as if that wasn’t enough shock factor, dean reached out, his hand clumsily searching for something to hold onto— his fingers found your hand and wrapped around it a smidge too tight, as if to ensure you wouldn't leave.

a beat passes, then—

“yer my favorite, y’know that?”

damn.

maybe you needed to sit down, too.

so you do.

“your favorite, huh?” you inquire softly, sitting next to dean. you never took him to really be sentimental drunk, but hey. at least he wasn’t upchucking. a smile tugs on your lips, too. “like, ever? or just right now?”

you’d think you’d asked for the equilibrium constant of freaking iron, the way dean huffed and actually thought about it, hard.

a beat, and then, he nodded, confirming.

“yeah, ever. well, ‘cept sammy... or m’baby.” he said slowly, trying to form the words through his inebriated brain, looking back to you. “but yeah. ever.”

while listening, you glance over at the clock as you’re sitting on the edge of the bed— well, you’re sitting. dean’s now just kinda… more slumped against you than anything.

but you didn’t mind it.

“well either way, i’m honored,” you lean a little into dean playfully, but your voice is still quiet. “and you know somethin’? you’re my favorite, too.”

oh, damn.

if dean was sober, he'd probably scoff and play it cool— find some sort of joke to spin off of it. but drunk dean was a different man. instead, he squints at your face, cheeks flushed for a different reason, his expression… hopeful.

“really?” he slurred, looking unconvinced and squeezing your hand like it would help. it did. “not sammy or baby?”

“i like you both,” you clarify with a soft laugh, voice still quiet, eyebrows scrunching together as you remind him: “and baby’s your girl, dean.”

“true,” that got a chuckle out of dean, “baby’s m’girl, and you…”

dean paused, his mind taking a moment to process the thought. and people say that drunk people had no filter. he lifted his head slightly, his gaze attempting to focus on your face.

“y’somethin’ else.”

dean finally said, his words barely above a whisper. his fingers fidgeted a little with yours, lightly tracing patterns against your skin.

damn damn.

even drunk, dean sure was vague when he wanted to be. his tone was genuine as ever, though— so that made you feel a little better.

“‘somethin’ else’, huh?” is what you respond with to dean as you smile again, eyes flicking between his. “well, thank you— i think.”

dean manages a lopsided smile back. he’s uncharacteristically quiet now, a stark contrast to earlier.

“mean it. you’re special,” he murmurs after a moment, his voice dripping with sincerity.

now how the hell were you supposed to respond to that.

you weren’t used to compliments— in general, but from dean? that was essentially nonexistent. it was like he made a point not to compliment you sometimes— and now this? it wasn’t just a random compliment.

he called you special.

so you just kinda… stare at dean for a second, your cheeks heating up a little as you look down at your entwined hands, trying to ignore the warmth in your chest before you get the courage to look up at him again. 

dean, however, doesn’t seem to notice the way you reacted— if he did, he didn’t point it out. his fingers continued tracing small patterns on your hand, almost absentmindedly. the gesture, despite the alcohol swimming through his body, was still somewhat… deliberate.

gentle. 

“thanks, de.” you managed to get out, glancing back down at your hand in his.

dean’s somewhat half-lidded gaze follows your glance down to where his fingers are tracing patterns on your hand, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips before he lifts his gaze to meet yours again.

“love when you call m’that,” he murmurs, a soft, albeit, drunken honesty to his voice. “feel s’like a hug.”

you knew that sober (and definitely hungover) dean would be absolutely losing it if he could hear himself, but you don’t dare call him out on it.

you gape at dean again for a second, your chest doing that thing, more intensely now as your cheeks flush a little harder.

the chest thing usually happened daily, hourly around dean: whenever he said your name, wiggled his brows at you from the rearview window of baby, or got right into your personal space— but it felt so much more with his words.

and it didn’t help that you were holding hands.

“i’ll try and say it more often, then,” you affirm to dean with a nod, giving his hand a little squeeze.

“good,” dean nods back, like he was in a haze— but he couldn’t tell if it was from you or the alcohol. “i’ll hold y’to that.”

oh, yeah. you knew he would.

even drunk, that might be the only thing he remembers— but you’d take it.

it was bittersweet. knowing that this dean seemed to have all the troubles off of his mind, the burdens off of his back for once in his goddamn life— but you knew the reality. the one deep down, the monster under the bed:

the fact that dean needed alcohol to do so.

and a lot of it.

maybe someday, you’d talk to him about it in that way you always did, like a deep conversation, but not really; one that left him all light and drunk on something very much you instead of a brewski— and maybe he’d even listen. 

but you knew tonight wouldn’t be the night.

tomorrow wouldn’t be the day.

so you’d let him have tonight.

you’d let him have you. 

if he wanted.

──────────────────────── 𖤐

🏷️ : @blossomingorchids @bluemerakis @ambiguous-avery @maddie0101 @deansbeer @titsout4jackles @sunsbaby @emeraldcrs @h8aaz @honeyryewhiskey @supernotnatural2005 @cowboysandcigarettes @soldiersgirl @bruisedfig @mostlymarvelgirl @amaris444 @kaz-2y5-spn @littlejackles @starzify @velvetparkerx @eggggggggggggggggggggsblog @fuckedupfate @liiiilsss @angelblqde @vmiina @mahi-wayy @viarasvogue @tinas111 @0ccvltism @plasticflowersinahistorycemetery @lunaleah @saintfaux @kimxwinchester @bettystonewell @honeyyxxbee @harlekin705 @megara0224 @ej13928 @missus-ackles + if i missed anyone or you want to be added / taken off, please let me know <3

[musicsmithy]

This reminds me of what is still the craziest coincidence in my entire life.

So I joined tumblr on a different account around 2017. Around that time, I was really into this one comic series. It had a really small community on tumblr, but that just meant that we all knew each other and were close, or as close as you can be by just reblogging posts.

But there was one person in particular whom I talked to frequently. We were constantly interacting and chatting, again as much as we could through simple reblogs. I didn't even know there was a chat function on this app at that point.

They were one of the sweetest and most talented people I had ever interacted with. Every conversation made me smile, and every post had me in awe of the sheer love and dedication to their craft. And it was a mutual feeling that was shown in our short conversations.

But, eventually, we started drifting apart. We started liking other things that the other wasn't interested in, life got busy, and soon enough, I had forgotten all about them.

Fast forward four years. I'm graduating high school now and my best friend I've known for seven years at that point is going off to a private academy to study art. I'm sad to see them go, but I at least know they won't be alone, since they're gonna have a roommate.

Apparently, they really hit it off. They were both going to the same school, both were hypernerds who loved art and video games and they spent a lot of time sharing in each other's theories and creative ideas. So of course, I had to meet them, this roommate. Had to determine if they were good for my bestie myself, haha.

And they certainly were. We chatted for hours that first time over the phone, their camera set up against a potted plant on the bar of their kitchen so that I could see them. We talked about everything and nothing. All three of us clicked so naturally, like it was meant to be. It just felt right.

A couple weeks later, my best friend and our new friend are chilling on the couch talking about random things when the topic of that comic series from forever ago comes up.

"Oh yeah! Mari used to be into that!" My best friend commented, which was all their roommate needed to get the gears turning. Suddenly, a breakthrough.

I get a text from them not even a few minutes later. It didn't take us long to connect the dots. And when I finally realized who I had been talking to, who I had spent hours chatting with like it was natural, who I had even thought for a second wouldn't be good for my best friend, I laughed. And laughed and laughed. And cried a little.

Because of course it was them. It was the only explanation. And what a small world is has to be, to drift apart from someone and just by sheer utter chance, they come into your life again in a way you never would have imagined.

We're all still friends, years later. My best friend and our friend don't live with each other anymore, but even with the distance, we still visit often. We still call. We still reblog each other's posts from tumblr, though from different accounts now. We've been through a lot together.

We still laugh about the way we all met. "No matter what, we were all destined to be friends" is what we always say to each other. And I couldn't agree more.

online communities are so strange because people slip away so easily. you can be on here for years, folding people you've never met into the fabric of your daily life, and then they disappear, leaving only ghost posts scattered across tumblr behind. or their blog stays dormant, for weeks, months, years, until you're only still following them because you remember that they love sunflowers or they were kind to you when they didn't have to be or the last thing they posted was sad and raw and you still worry about them sometimes.

and sometimes they come back when you least expect it, years later, even, and there's this sudden rush of relief like there you are, there you are, even though you barely knew each other.

there's a strange kind of love to it. i don't know you and i want to hold your hand across miles and time zones and oceans. i can still see the imprint of you in this community you left. you don't think anyone will notice or care when you're gone, but we notice and we care and we wish you well.

i hope you're all okay out there. i hope the sun is shining on your face and you are breathing deeply. i miss you.

[pitchsidestories]

Scrapbook memories II Grace Clinton x Reader

romantic masterlist | platonic masterlist | word count: 1654

summary: Reader who plays for Lyon surprises her girlfriend Grace by appearing at a dinner with the fellow Lionesses in England. requested

author's note: Hi, we started writing this before Mary Earps international retirement and Millie Bright’s withdrawal from the Euros, which is why they still appear in the story. We hope you don’t mind and still like it regardless.<3

disclaimer: everything in this fanfiction is purely fictional and nothing corresponds to reality.

You were convinced that what made the English Women’s National Team so special was their team spirit. There was something magical about how every player genuinely cared for one another. You absolutely adored it.

To keep that connection strong, the team often organised casual team nights together. They were always full of laughter, good food, and even better conversations but since you had left the WSL to play for Lyon, you often missed out on most of those nights. But tonight, you decided that it was time to join.

This time, it all took place at Alex Greenwoods place. Just a relaxed dinner with all the Lionesses.

Alex was busy, stirring pots and seasoning dishes while Lauren and Jess chopped vegetables at the counter.

“Y/n is late, as usual.”, Alex said, pausing for a moment as she glanced over the crowd filling her flat.

“I was on time. At the wrong door but on time.”, Lauren chimed in, gesturing a little too wildly with her knife, causing Alex to suck in a breath and widen her eyes.

Jess laughed: “That’s so typical for you, Hempo. You always do that.”

The she turned sharply: “Millie, no! No snacking yet.”

She tried to bat away Millie Brights hand who had managed to successfully steal a piece of raw carrot from the chopping board.

Millie rolled her eyes, stealing a carrot anyway: “It takes forever for you girls to cook. The Arsenal girls are already bored.”

She pointed her thumb over her shoulder toward the living room where most of the other players were caught up in some small talk.

“Children, behave,” Alex warned playfully. “And no, Leah, we won’t have any ham sandwiches. They taste like nothing.”

“Excuse me?”, the team captain who had just walked in said, pretending to be offended.

From the living room, Beth called out: “But she won’t eat real adult food.”

“It’s adult f-…”, Leah started, then cut herself off and quickly looked around for help, “Grace, come here. Stop looking at the door. You agree with me, right?”

“What?”, Grace asked, torn from her own thoughts, only reluctantly turning to the blond defender.

“We need your opinion on ham sandwiches.”, Leah repeated impatiently.

“I have no opinion on them.”, Grace replied, smiling but clearly confused by the interaction.

Alex clapped her hands once with authority: “We’re done cooking. Everyone out of my kitchen.”

All the players were scrambling to their seats as Alex carried dishes to the table. Only Grace hung back, still preoccupied with her own thoughts.

You walked straight into the chaos that had erupted around the giant dinner table, and you immediately felt a warmth in your chest that reminded you of home.

“Hi. Sorry, I know I’m late again, but I brought those gorgeous flowers for the hostess.”, you said and greeted Alex with a hug and a quick kiss to her cheek.

The defender took a moment to admire the tasteful bouquet in her hands before turning her attention back to you. “Oh, you just know how to impress a girl.”

“You’re welcome. It’s great to have you back in the team, Al.”, you replied, gently squeezing her shoulder.

She chuckled warmly: “Glad to be back.”

“Now that we’re complete, we can finally start eating,” Alessia said.

You were genuinely grateful to be reunited with the familiar faces who, over time, had become like a second family. After everything you'd been through together, on and off the pitch, they were your people.

And yet, even in this comforting chaos, your eyes were searching for the woman you loved most.

You rarely kept secrets from your England teammates, but this one was different. Maybe it was finally time to share it. And there she was: Grace, leaning casually against the wall, that cocky smile of hers playing at the corners of her lips. It wasn’t just a grin; it was an invitation.

You and Grace had talked about telling them. The timing felt right. So, you walked towards her, ready to take her hand and speak the truth.

But Grace had something else in mind.

She believed in gestures, ones that didn’t need explanations. So, when you reached her, she pulled you in and kissed you, soft but sure, with all the quiet affection that words would never quite capture.

The room fell still.

Then gasping. Eyes widened.

It was Leah who found her voice first: “What is happening?!”

“Oh my god, you two are dating?!”, Lauren squealed.

“We... uhm. I wasn’t expecting her here.”, Grace admitted, still slightly breathless. That part was true, planned to surprise her with your visit here.

Teasingly, you asked: “Because the Lionesses party was in Manchester?”

“Yes! The London girls are here too, but Lyon is...”, Grace trailed off, flustered, an adorable blush creeping up her cheeks.

The distance between you had always been a challenge, something you discussed often. But if Keira and Laura could manage it and Lucy and Ona, too, then so could you. Your love was strong, and you were lucky enough to see each other at England camps and rare free days.

“I travelled with Lessi and Leah from London to Manchester, but one of them was too clumsy, which is why I had to get new flowers for Alex.”, you explained, smirking.

An innocent smile appeared on Alessia’s lips: “It wasn’t me.”

“That absolutely sounds like something you’d do.”, Ella remarked, eyeing her best friend with theatrical suspicion.

Sheepishly, the blonde replied: “Me? I was innocent!”

“Can we talk about the flowers later?”, Leah cut in impatiently. “How and when did the two of you even get together?”

Even though everyone had been starving just moments ago and the dinner was lovingly decorated with mouth-watering dishes none of them made a move. Right now, their hunger was for answers. Concerning your romance.

Grace ignored their questions, whether on purpose or not, she was still staring at you.

“I didn’t think you would even come…”, she said slowly, as if still trying to make sense of your presence.

You tilted your head with a shy smile and admitted: “Me neither. I thought you might be busy. It’s been a while since we last saw each other.”

“When you didn’t show up…”, Grace started but you never found out what she wanted to say. Leah cut her off.

“Hello? Lovebirds? We want some answers!”, she demanded, snapping the two of you out of the little bubble where only you and Grace seemed to exist.

“Oh.”, Grace said, blinking rapidly in surprise, like she’d only just noticed the rest of the room that there were other people in the room too.

You smiled at her one more time before you tore away your gaze and turned to Leah: “What did you want to know again?”

“How you two met!”

“Obviously through a lionesses camp.”, Grace replied with a wry grin.

Lucy scrunched up her face and gave the two of you a disbelieving look: “Why didn’t we notice? You’re both not very good at keeping secrets.”

You shrugged innocently: “You girls were just really blind.”

“Yeah, you were.”, Grace agreed, chuckling.

Lucy didn’t look impressed. She shook her head: “No, I can see very well now. Even without my glasses.”

The joke was right on the tip of your tongue, ready to be delivery but Khiara beat you to it, a cheeky smirk on her lips: “Are you sure? You’re pretty old.”

Lucy shot the young goalkeeper a challenging look, daring her to say that again.

Alex cut in and pretended to sharply glance at Khiara: “Khi, respect your elders.”

Grace laughed quietly, turning back to you. Her eyes were soft and there was a warm fondness in her voice: “They are so chaotic again.” Then a bit quieter: “But I missed you.”

You beamed at her, pressing another quick kiss to her lips, unnoticed by the rest of the team: “I missed you too. And their chaos.”

“Same, it’s never boring with them.”, she said and took a step behind you, wrapping her arms around your waist. Resting her chin on your shoulder, she held you tightly as the team erupted into a debate about age and respect.

“Not even in four weeks of camp?”, you teased, grinning.

Grace took a moment before declaring: “It’ll be tough, but I’ll be with you. So, it’s going to be alright.”

You didn’t hear the gasps or the jokes still echoing from the table. All you saw was her and the quiet, certain smile that always brought you home.

Grace cleared her throat, a little flustered: “So, uhm... what exactly are we celebrating again?”

“It’s an End-of-Season, Everyone-Is-Healthy, and Euros-Camp-Is-Starting-Soon party!”, Ella chimed in, almost bouncing in her seat.

Grace managed to find a glass and lifted it, grinning: “Cheers to that!”

“I support that too.”, you whispered in her ear, your smile matching hers.

Millie clapped excitedly: “Let’s get this party started!”

“Finally! Mary let’s dance.”, Alessia grinned, dragging the keeper toward the living room, now a makeshift dance floor. Leah had already taken over the speaker, blasting one of her matchday playlists.

Mary shot Leah a look over her shoulder: “Louder!”

Grace leaned in close, her voice low and warm:  “So... dance floor or kitchen?”

You paused, pretending to weigh it up:  “Let’s go to the kitchen.”

“Yes! I’m starving for more kis—” She didn’t get to finish.

“Grace!” Alex cut in sharply, clicking her tongue. “There are children at this table.”

“Do you mean me? Rude.”, Khiara pouted.

Alex gestured broadly at the entire table: “I meant all the children here.”

“Why are you looking at me?!”, Lucy protested, laughing.

You glanced over your shoulder, smiling at the team in all their chaotic glory before slipping into the kitchen.

“Finally, some peace.”, you said.

“I could stay here all night.”, Grace hummed, then kissed you softly, a kiss that said more than words ever could.

[brookghaib-blog]

Almost Loved

Pairing: Robert ‘Bob’ Reynolds x reader

Summary: Four months of dates, gave Y/N hope that she found the one after hopeless years, Bob looks in love, treats beautiful. There's one step that looks like it's coming. Until Bob breaks it off with her. Encountering each other a year and an half later. What happened ?

Word count: 6,5k

--

The grocery store was mostly quiet—late afternoon sunlight filtering through the large glass windows, casting soft golden streaks across the polished floor tiles. Y/N pushed her small basket along the aisle, her phone held in her other hand, thumb scrolling through a lasagna recipe that Serena had insisted would “change her life.”

It was girls’ night.

Their tradition, sacred in its own way, made up of wine, old movies, and food that took too long to make but always felt like home. Tonight, lasagna was on the menu. It was her turn to host, and she wanted to get everything just right. Maybe too right. Maybe part of her was overcompensating. She’d been doing that a lot lately.

She squinted up at the higher shelves. The tomato sauce she wanted—San Marzano, the expensive one Serena swore by—was two rows too high. She shifted onto her toes, stretching her arm out, her fingers just grazing the label, before letting out a quiet sigh of frustration.

“Of course,” she muttered, taking a step back and scanning the aisle for help.

That’s when she saw him. Tall, broad-shouldered, with a sharp jaw and neatly kept beard, the man at the end of the aisle looked like he belonged on the cover of some men’s adventure magazine. He wore a dark sweatshirt with the sleeves pushed up to his forearms, revealing strong arms and a small tattoo near his wrist. His cart was half-full—red wine, two frozen pizzas, a bunch of bananas, and a bottle of olive oil.

Y/N bit her lip. Just ask.

“Hey,” she called gently, waving her hand. “Sorry—could you maybe help me with something?”

He looked up instantly, offering a smile that made the corners of his eyes crinkle. “Sure.”

She pointed up at the shelf. “That tomato sauce… unless you’re tall and also secretly Spiderman, I might need a hand.”

He chuckled, stepping forward and easily grabbing the jar with one hand, holding it out to her like it weighed nothing. “This one?”

“Exactly.” She took it, her fingers brushing his. “Thank you, mystery grocery aisle hero.”

“John,” he said with a sheepish grin. “Not as impressive as Spider-Man, but I do try.”

“Y/N,” she replied, unable to stop the small smile curling her lips.

Their eyes lingered on each other just a moment too long—an unspoken curiosity hanging between them. A spark, tentative but real. John glanced down at her basket.

“Making lasagna?” he asked.

She nodded. “Girls’ night. Wine, pasta, and probably too much gossip.”

He laughed again. “Sounds better than my plan—just grabbing stuff for a hangout with friends. It’s my turn to cook and by cook I mean… order takeout before they show up.”

Y/N smirked, “That’s still a noble skill.”

There was something warm in his tone. Easy. Not forced. It had been so long since she’d felt this light while talking to someone. And for a brief second, she forgot about the ache that lived behind her ribs anytime she interacted with a man. Like Serena said, great man appear out of nowhere.

“John! Dude, I found the protein powder Yelena’s been obsessing over. It was hiding behind—”

The voice cut off mid-sentence.

Y/N turned, instinctively.

The world stopped.

There he was.

Bob.

His hair was longer now, messy and falling into his eyes, and he had a faint beard, the kind that made him look older… worn. Like time had passed, and he’d felt every second of it. He wore a simple hoodie, sleeves pushed up, hands calloused. But it was his face—his expression—that broke her.

Frozen.

His mouth opened slightly like he wanted to say something, anything. His blue eyes widened, a storm of shock. He stared like he couldn’t believe she was real.

Neither could she.

Y/N stood perfectly still. Her heart pounded so loud she thought it might burst out of her chest. The weight of the tomato sauce jar grew unbearable in her hand.

He was here. He was here?

And he hadn’t told anyone about her. Not even the people he called “friends.” Not even the man standing next to her, John, who looked between them, completely confused.

“Bob?” she whispered, barely audible. Her voice cracked. “You—”

He took a step forward, like he might say something.

She ran.

She didn’t think. She couldn’t. The tears were already forming before she reached the next aisle. Her basket fell from her hand and hit the floor with a thud, the sauce rolling out and spinning to a stop.

Her chest heaved.

She leaned against a shelf near the cereal boxes, trembling, covering her mouth with her hand as a sob escaped.

He had been gone. He had blocked her. Vanished like she never mattered.

And now… he was here. Talking about groceries. Laughing. Living.

She wiped her eyes furiously and forced herself to walk out of the store, not even caring that she had nothing in her hands. She just needed to get away. Far away.

Back in the aisle, John frowned.

“Dude,” he muttered, turning to Bob. “What was that? She ran off like you shot her.”

Bob didn’t answer. His eyes were locked on the direction Y/N had disappeared, his mouth slightly parted, like he’d forgotten how to breathe.

“Was that your ex or something?”

Still no answer.

John stared at him, then let out a low whistle. “She was gorgeous. And funny. Jesus, I was gonna ask her out. You just cost me a date, man.”

Bob flinched, the words hitting harder than they should have.

“I didn’t know she’d be here,” he said quietly.

“You didn’t say anything about her,” John added, grabbing a bag of chips and tossing it into his cart. “I mean, I get it, but… you looked like you saw a ghost.”

Bob swallowed hard. His chest felt tight.

She had been right there. Just a few feet away. Smiling. Laughing.

And then she’d looked at him like he’d stabbed her in the chest.

He had. Maybe not with a blade, but with silence. With abandonment.

He remembered the coffee shop. The way her lip trembled when she smiled. The messages he never responded to. The way he erased himself from her world, thinking he was doing the right thing. Saving her from himself.

But seeing her again… it shattered something in him. All the excuses fell apart.

He had hurt her.

--

The lasagna sat in the middle of the table, bubbling slightly at the corners, steam rising in curls that filled the small kitchen with the scent of garlic, tomato, and regret. Serena poured a generous glass of red wine into Y/N’s glass before filling her own, sliding the bottle away without a word. The atmosphere in the room was warm—candles flickering on the windowsill, Billie Holiday playing softly in the background—but the tension sitting between the two women was impossible to ignore.

Y/N hadn’t touched her food.

Serena had only taken a few bites, watching her friend with quiet concern.

“So,” Serena finally said, her voice gentle, careful. “Do you wanna tell me why you’ve been staring at your wine like it just insulted your mother?”

Y/N let out a soft, humorless laugh. “It’s so stupid. The whole thing. I feel like an idiot.”

“You’re not,” Serena replied instantly, setting her fork down. “But you’re going to tell me what happened, or I swear I’ll drag it out of you with force.”

Y/N exhaled, bracing herself. Then she began.

“I was at the store,” she said, voice barely above a whisper. “Getting the last of the ingredients. The stupid tomato sauce, remember the one you swore by?”

Serena nodded slowly.

“I couldn’t reach it,” Y/N continued, twisting her napkin in her hands. “So I asked this guy to help me. He was cute. Really cute. Like, rom-com cute. Beard, kind eyes, flirty but not in a gross way. I haven’t really done that in a while. Not like that.”

Serena tilted her head, encouraging. “So far, this sounds amazing.”

Y/N’s mouth trembled.

“Then… he showed up.”

Serena’s face dropped. “Who?”

Y/N didn’t even have to say the name.

Bob.

She could see the change in Serena’s eyes immediately. The softness vanished, replaced by a hard edge—fury restrained behind tight lips.

Y/N looked down at her lap. “He just—walked into the aisle. Laughing. Talking to that guy, John. Apparently they’re friends. He was holding some protein powder like it was the most normal fucking thing in the world.”

Serena blinked, slow and disbelieving. “You’re telling me he just… appeared? Like a damn ghost?”

Y/N nodded. “After a year and a half. After disappearing without a word. No text. No call. Not even a ‘go to hell.’ Just gone.”

Her voice cracked on the last word, and she pressed her lips together hard to keep from crying.

“I looked at him, Serena,” she said, shaking her head. “And I—I froze. I couldn’t breathe. And the worst part is… my heart still reacted. It still did that stupid flutter thing like I was nineteen and he was everything.”

Serena was silent for a beat. Then she pushed her plate aside and reached across the table to grab Y/N’s hand.

“Fuck him,” she said quietly but firmly. “You hear me? Fuck. Him.”

Y/N let out a strangled laugh, then immediately wiped at her eyes.

“I know,” she whispered. “I know, but it’s like… I’ve spent so long trying to glue myself back together. I buried him, Serena. I buried everything we had. I made peace with it—at least I thought I did. And then today, for a second, it felt like nothing had changed. Like I was right back in that place again, where every little part of me wanted him.”

Her voice cracked again. “It sucks. It sucks so bad. I wanted to like this new guy. I was about to give him my number, I think. And then—boom. Bob. Like the universe just couldn’t let me move on.”

Serena’s eyes burned with protective anger.

“He doesn’t deserve space in your heart, Y/N,” she said, fierce and gentle all at once. “You gave him everything. And he threw it away without even saying goodbye. You think I don’t remember the way you cried for weeks? The way you couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat, couldn’t even look at his name without breaking?”

Y/N covered her mouth, the tears threatening again.

Serena’s voice softened. “You’re not stupid for still feeling something. That’s what heartbreak is. You loved him. You let him see parts of you no one else ever did.”

Y/N sniffled. “And I think a part of me still does. Still loves him. Isn’t that pathetic?”

“No,” Serena said instantly. “That’s human. But you don’t owe him your hope. He left. He didn’t fight. He didn’t stay.”

Y/N finally took a sip of her wine, the burn grounding her a little.

“I keep wondering if he missed me,” she admitted. “If he ever thought about me. If he lied awake at night regretting what he did.”

Serena looked at her with soft eyes. “Maybe he did. Maybe he didn’t. But if he loved you, he never should’ve left like that. Love doesn’t disappear. People do. Cowards do.”

Y/N was quiet for a long time, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass.

“I still think about the way he looked at me,” she whispered. “Back then. Like I was the only thing in the world he saw. I don’t think I’ll ever feel that again.”

Serena leaned closer. “You will. You will when it’s real. When it’s with someone who doesn’t just look at you like that—but chooses you every single day. Someone who doesn’t vanish when things get hard.”

Y/N finally broke. A sob slipped from her lips, and Serena was out of her chair and wrapping her arms around her in an instant. Y/N clung to her best friend like she was a lifeline, letting the tears fall freely now, the pain she’d bottled up for so long spilling out into the soft candlelit air.

“I thought I was over him,” she cried.

“I know,” Serena murmured. “I know, babe. But healing isn’t linear. You’re doing your best. You’re allowed to break sometimes.”

Y/N nodded against her shoulder, her voice muffled.

“And I still think he was the love of my life.”

Serena pulled back slightly, brushing her hair from her face.

“Then one day, maybe the universe will send you a new one. One who stays.”

--

Bob's pov

Bob stood in the kitchen, the light above the stove casting long shadows across the walls as he leaned over the counter, knuckles white from how hard he was gripping the edge. The plastic grocery bags sat forgotten near the door.

He hadn’t spoken since coming home. Not to John. Not to anyone.

John had kept going on in the car, half-laughing about how he was this close to getting her number, teasing Bob for “spooking” her like some weird jealous ex.

Bob hadn’t said a word. What the hell could he have said?

He couldn’t tell John that the girl he was casually flirting with in aisle seven was the woman who had once been everything. That she used to fall asleep on Bob’s chest to the sound of his heartbeat. That she used to kiss the inside of his wrist like it was sacred. That she had known the worst of him—all of him—and stayed, until he made the decision to leave her behind like a fucking coward.

And now, there she was, alive and radiant and standing in the middle of the store like a goddamn punch to the throat. Smiling. Laughing at John’s stupid joke. Looking at him like she used to look at Bob.

God, he couldn’t breathe.

He sank down onto one of the kitchen chairs, resting his elbows on the table and burying his face in his hands. His beard scratched against his palms, but he barely registered it. His mind was a thousand miles away—no, a year and a half away—trapped in the memories he tried so fucking hard to forget.

Y/N in his bed, tangled in sheets and laughter.

Y/N at the beach, sunlight dancing in her hair as she splashed water at him, yelling that he was “so annoying” but smiling like he held her whole heart.

He exhaled shakily and looked around the dim apartment. It was sterile. Empty. Like him. No trace of her voice, her warmth, her chaos. Just silence and shadows.

He had left her because he thought it would protect her. Sometimes he thinks that maybe he was supposed to be alone, because he deserved it.

He had found her, the greatest woman he had ever seen and feel, he wants to blame life, but he knew it was him. If he didn't turn into an addict, if he had dropped the meth and put it away, if he hadn't overdosed that night. Would she still be here?

Because every time he looked at her, he saw the eventual breaking point. He saw her watching him unravel. He felt the guilt of knowing she deserved someone normal—someone who didn’t wake up in cold sweats, someone whose mind wasn’t a minefield, someone who didn’t need to fight himself just to stay.

So he did what he thought was merciful.

He vanished.

No goodbye. No explanation. Just... nothing.

But today proved something he hadn’t let himself believe until now: He never stopped loving her. He never could.

And she looked so... beautiful. That was the hardest part. Not just in the superficial way. But in the way she carried herself. She was still her. Still his Y/N in every tiny detail—the way her hands moved, the way her eyes narrowed when she focused on something, the way she stuck her tongue slightly out when she read off her phone.

And she had asked John for help.

It was such a small thing. Just a jar on a high shelf. But it gutted him.

Because he used to be the one she asked for help. She used to call his name. Now she called out to someone else, someone taller, someone easier, someone available. And she smiled at him. Flirted. Laughed in that way that used to be just for Bob.

He dragged his hands down his face and stared blankly at the wall across from him. His chest felt hollow. His throat burned.

John had said, “Dude, you totally cockblocked me. She was gorgeous. She liked me. And then you showed up looking like you’d seen a ghost, and she just... ran off. What was that about?”

Bob hadn’t answered.

Because the answer was: She was the ghost.

The ghost of the life he could’ve had. The love he threw away. The hope he killed with his own two hands.

And she had looked at him for a moment—just a second—like she’d seen something terrible. Her face had crumpled. Her eyes, god, those eyes had filled with so much pain. She hadn’t said his name. She hadn’t screamed. She just turned and ran.

And he let her go.

Again.

He let her slip away, just like the first time. Not because he didn’t care. But because he did. Because the pain on her face was confirmation that he had ruined her. That he had no right to chase her down the aisle and ask for another chance. He was the wound. He was the reason she didn’t trust anymore.

He pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes and let the tears finally come—silent, shattering, and long overdue.

What would he even say if he saw her again? “I’m sorry”? That wasn’t enough. It would never be enough. He had left her alone in the middle of loving him. He had broken the only real thing he ever had.

And still, his heart ached for her like a drumbeat.

Even now.

Even after all this time.

He whispered her name into the silence like a prayer. Like maybe, if he said it soft enough, the universe would take pity on him and give him one more chance.

But the silence answered back.

And Bob knew, in the deepest, most brutal part of him, that some mistakes were too big to come back from.

--

Tampa, Florida - 2 years ago

The music was too loud. Bob had never liked parties—too many people, too many conversations he couldn’t quite follow, too many reminders of how deeply out of place he always felt. He stood near the edge of the bar, his beer sweating in his hand, watching the neon lights stutter and dance across the crowd like artificial stars.

He wasn’t even sure why he came.

John had dragged him out. Said he needed to “get out of his head” for a night, meet people, be normal. Bob had wanted to argue that he wasn’t normal—never would be—but instead he let himself be swept into the mess of music, alcohol, and strangers. Maybe just for a few hours, he could pretend.

And then… he saw her.

She stood near the bar on the other side, radiant in a dress that made the rest of the room fade into gray. He didn’t know what color it was—he couldn’t remember what color it was—but he remembered the way it moved when she did, like it was made of light. Her hair shimmered under the LED haze, and her eyes—God, her eyes. Bright, alive, soft but untouchable.

She was laughing, one arm looped through her friend’s, the kind of laugh that came from someone who had fought to enjoy herself tonight. He could tell. Something about the way she moved, the way her smile slipped too quickly sometimes before she caught it again—like joy was something she was still learning how to hold without fear it might vanish.

Bob’s breath caught.

He was staring.

He knew it.

He couldn’t stop.

The longer he looked, the more something strange started happening. The noise in the room dulled. The ache in his head—the one that never fully went away—quieted. It wasn’t that she was the most beautiful woman in the room, though she was, it was that she seemed real in a way nothing else did. Grounded. Human. Safe.

He didn’t realize how long he had been watching until her friend—dark-haired, sharp-eyed—caught him. She elbowed Y/N playfully and nodded toward Bob. And then Y/N turned her head.

Their eyes met.

Blue locked on hers.

Time did that strange thing it sometimes did when your heart lurches forward before your body can follow. Bob’s stomach twisted—not in panic, not in fear, but in something rawer, deeper. She saw him. And when her lips curled into a soft, curious smile, something in him cracked wide open.

She raised her hand in a little wave, not flirty, not coy—just... kind.

Bob flushed, eyes flicking away immediately like a schoolboy caught sneaking a glance. He heard John chuckle beside him, teasing something about “just go talk to her, man,” but Bob couldn’t move. He wanted to. More than he’d wanted anything in a long, long time.

But he wasn’t the kind of man you walk up to at parties.

He wasn’t safe.

And still—he looked back.

Just in time to see her slipping back onto the dance floor with her friends, disappearing into the movement of hips and laughter, head tilted toward the ceiling like she was finally giving herself permission to let go.

But every few moments, she turned.

Just slightly. Just enough to check if he was still watching. And he was.

Every goddamn second.

Waiting for the courage to find his feet.

Bob’s fingers tightened around his beer bottle until his knuckles ached, condensation dripping like nervous sweat down the glass. He watched her—the way her body swayed to the beat, her hair catching the lights, the soft curve of her smile as she laughed at something her friend whispered in her ear.

He should move.

He needed to move.

But his body didn’t listen at first. His feet were cement, his thoughts a blur of don’t be weird, don’t screw this up, she’s out of your league. Every instinct honed by years of hiding, of pulling away, of staying silent whispered for him to just let her be a pretty moment he’d remember from the sidelines. A passing, golden thing. Nothing more.

But then—

She looked over her shoulder again.

Just a second. Just a glance.

But her eyes met his, and something shifted on that one glance among so many, and that was what did it.

Bob set his drink down with a shaky hand and rolled his shoulders back like a man preparing for battle—not against her, but against the thousand ghosts inside him whispering that he wasn’t enough. That he never would be. He took a breath and let it burn.

Then he stepped forward.

Each step through the crowd was slow, deliberate. The music pulsed like a heartbeat in his ears—louder, heavier the closer he got. The sea of people parted just enough for him to see her again. She was swaying gently, eyes half-closed as she mouthed the words to the chorus of the song. Her friends danced around her, wild and laughing, but she was like calm in the eye of the storm.

She hadn’t seen him yet.

That was okay. He needed a second. Just one more.

He stopped a few feet away, not sure how to cut through the music, the noise, the sheer impossibility of her. She felt untouchable. And yet... something about her made him feel seen in a way he hadn’t in years. Maybe ever.

Then she turned.

Mid-spin, hips still moving with the music, she caught sight of him standing there—still, awkward, unsure but trying. And her lips parted slightly. Surprised. Delighted.

“Hey,” she mouthed.

And God help him, he smiled.

“Hi,” he said aloud, hoping she could hear it, even if the song swallowed the sound whole.

She stepped closer. Her friends were still dancing, unaware or maybe just gracious enough to let her be. The flashing lights painted her in blue and purple and gold as she stopped just in front of him, close enough that he could smell the hint of vanilla and citrus on her skin.

“You were watching me,” she teased gently, voice loud enough to cut through the song.

Bob flushed, his mouth parting to apologize, but she raised a hand and laughed—soft, real.

“I didn’t mind,” she added.

That broke the spell.

“I—yeah. I was,” he said, voice low, scratchy with nerves. “You just… you looked like the only real thing in this place.”

She tilted her head, curiosity flickering behind her lashes.

“That’s a hell of a line.”

“It’s not a line,” he said quickly. “I’m… I’m not good at lines.”

She laughed again. “Good.”

They stood there for a moment—just watching each other, drinking the other in. And Bob felt something unfamiliar rise in his chest. Not desire. Not lust. Something softer. More dangerous.

Want. He wanted to know her.

“I’m Bob,” he offered, holding out a slightly trembling hand.

“Y/N,” she said, taking it.

Her hand was warm. Smaller than his, but her grip was sure. Confident. The touch lingered just a second longer than it needed to, like neither of them really wanted to let go.

“I was gonna ask if you wanted to dance,” he said. “But I’m not great at that either.”

She smiled again—wider this time, brighter.

“Lucky for you, I’m not picky.”

He chuckled under his breath, finally, truly easing into her presence. “That’s… that’s very kind of you.”

She stepped closer, just enough that their arms brushed. “Come on. I’ll show you how it’s done.”

He let her lead him into the thrumming heat of the dance floor. He moved awkwardly at first, stiff and unsure, but she was patient, warm, gently teasing him out of his shell with every movement. Her fingers found his—tentative, featherlight—and when he didn’t pull away, she smiled.

That was the moment.

The one that cracked his heart open just enough for something to bloom.

For the first time in so long, he wasn’t thinking about what he’d done, or what he was afraid of. He wasn’t thinking about what came after, or what he wasn’t allowed to want. He was just there.

With her.

And when their bodies found a rhythm, and their laughter mingled in the dark, he knew—he knew—he would never forget this night.

No matter what came next.

Because Y/N? Y/N felt like the beginning of something real. Something terrifying. Something beautiful. Something he wasn’t sure he deserved…

After the dance, the air between them had shifted.

Bob didn’t know how long they had moved like that — clumsy at first, then warm, fluid, almost like they’d known each other for years instead of minutes. The music had faded into the background eventually, a dull thrum under the sound of her laugh, the flash of her smile. She’d teased him gently for stepping on her toes twice, but he’d caught the glint in her eyes — she didn’t mind. She liked that he was trying.

When the night wound down and her friends began gathering their things, shoes in hand and jackets tossed over shoulders, Bob had lingered beside her, not quite ready to say goodbye. She didn’t seem ready either.

They stepped out together into the night — the air cooler, calmer, away from the bass and heat of the bar. Her heels dangled from her fingers as they walked side by side, arms brushing occasionally, and Bob didn’t speak for a while. Neither did she. There was something comforting about the quiet that had settled between them, like they were tuning into each other in a way words couldn’t capture.

When she suddenly looked up at the dark sky and said, “Wanna see the ocean?” he didn’t hesitate.

“Yeah,” he said, simply.

They walked.

The city fell away gradually as they made their way toward the beach. Lights grew dimmer, buildings gave way to quiet streets, and eventually, to the vast open breath of the sea. The sand was cold beneath their feet, soft and wet in places where the tide had crept too far in. They both stood at the edge of the water for a long moment, watching the dark waves roll and sigh beneath the early stretch of dawn.

The sky was just beginning to change — from black to charcoal, hints of lavender and pale pink kissing the horizon.

Bob glanced at her in the dim light.

She was hugging her arms around herself, not in discomfort but as if holding something close — the moment, maybe. Her hair danced gently in the breeze. She looked peaceful. More beautiful than she had under any neon light or club spotlight.

He couldn’t stop himself from speaking.

“You look like you belong here.”

She turned to him, startled but not upset. “What do you mean?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. Just… something about you. Quiet, but impossible to ignore. Like the ocean.”

She laughed softly at that — not mockingly, but surprised. “That’s the most poetic thing anyone’s said to me in a long time.”

He flushed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry. That sounded better in my head.”

“No,” she said, voice softer now. “Don’t apologize.”

She motioned toward a patch of sand a little further up the beach, where a flat, half-buried piece of driftwood made a decent seat. They sat side by side, the way people do when they don’t quite know each other but don’t feel like strangers anymore either. Shoulders almost touching. Feet buried in the cold sand.

Bob’s hands were resting on his knees, fidgeting lightly with the edge of his sleeve. She was watching the horizon, letting the silence stretch again — not uncomfortable, just there.

And then she spoke.

“Do you ever feel like you’ve lived a thousand lives but never really started one?”

The question hit him like a breath held too long.

He looked at her slowly, trying to read the shape of what she meant in the lines of her face.

“Yeah,” he said after a beat. “Yeah, I do.”

She didn’t ask for more.

Neither did he.

That was the beginning of something fragile — a moment of mutual recognition, of wounds that didn’t need explaining. They sat there until the sun bled gold across the water, until the tide inched closer and forced them to scoot back, laughing under their breath. They talked a little — about music, old movies, places they’d always wanted to go. Nothing too deep, but nothing meaningless either.

At one point, she told him her favorite sound in the world was waves crashing when the rest of the world was quiet.

Bob told her his was laughter — her laughter, he almost said, but he bit it back and just smiled.

She leaned her head on his shoulder for a few minutes toward the end, eyes closed. Not romantically, not possessively — just tired and trusting. The kind of gesture that said I feel safe with you, even if I don’t know why yet.

He didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

Just stayed still, steady, holding the moment like it was something sacred.

Eventually, her phone buzzed. Her friends were ready to leave. She lifted her head slowly and looked at him with a sleepy smile.

“I should go,” she said, brushing sand from her dress.

“Yeah,” he replied. “Me too.”

But neither of them stood right away.

“Tonight was… unexpected,” she said, glancing at him.

“In a good way?” he asked.

She nodded. “In the best way.”

Bob’s heart clenched — gently, painfully.

He walked her back to the edge of the city where her friends waited.

But she turned back once before stepping into the waiting car, brushing her hair behind her ear, and smiled like she knew this wasn’t the end.

“Bye, Bob.”

“Bye, Y/N.”

And she was gone.

But Bob stood there for a long while, watching the tail lights fade down the street, feeling the weight of the night settle deep in his chest.

Bob stood under the faint glow of the streetlamp, watching the car carrying her disappear around the corner, taillights blinking like tiny red stars fading into the dark.

A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, the kind of smile that made his cheeks ache a little, like his face wasn’t used to joy stretching that far.

He took a deep breath.

Then another.

And for the first time in longer than he could remember, he actually felt good. The kind of good that didn’t come in a bottle or from pretending. This was real. The kind of good you wanted to hold onto with both hands.

So he turned on his heel, ready to head home, already replaying everything in his mind like it was a dream he was afraid to wake up from. Her laugh. The feel of her head on his shoulder. That perfect moment on the sand.

And then— Halfway down the street— His eyes went wide.

“Oh shit,” he muttered aloud.

He stopped dead in his tracks.

“I didn’t get her number.”

The words hit him like a slap. He spun around in place, staring at the empty stretch of road where her ride had vanished, and then pressed both hands into his hair, dragging his fingers down his face.

“Bob, you idiot!” he groaned.

A seagull screeched overhead as if mocking him, and Bob flipped it off on instinct. “Not helping, man!”

Panic started creeping in.

What if she thought he didn’t want her number? What if she was sitting in that car, slowly realizing that he hadn’t asked, and was now thinking he was just being nice with no intention of seeing her again? What if she was already telling her friends, “Well, it was nice, but I guess that’s all it was”?

“No, no, no,” Bob muttered, starting to jog—then full-on sprint—in the direction the car had gone. His shoes slapped loudly against the pavement, his breath puffing visibly in the cold dawn air.

He didn’t even have a plan. He just knew he had to try.

“Y/N!” he called out breathlessly, hoping maybe the car hadn’t made it too far. “Wait—damn it—Y/N!!”

He reached the main road just in time to see a car idling by the curb, her and her friends still climbing out—apparently one of the girls had forgotten her clutch inside the bar and they’d circled back.

Thank. God.

Bob skidded to a stop, chest heaving, hair sticking to his forehead. He must’ve looked like a lunatic, red in the face and out of breath, but she turned at the sound of his sneakers scraping pavement and her eyes lit up.

“Bob?” she asked, stepping away from the car. “Did something happen?”

He nodded, trying to speak but gasping like a fish.

“Did you forget something?” she asked with a smile, cocking her head.

He opened his mouth. Raised one finger. Gulped another lungful of air.

Then:

“I—forgot to ask for your number,” he wheezed.

She blinked. Then covered her mouth to hide a laugh.

Bob groaned. “I know, I know. I got all caught up in the whole mystical beach walk under the stars thing and then you smiled at me and I—I just—my brain stopped working.”

She was laughing now, hand over her heart. “You ran all the way back just for that?”

“I panicked,” he admitted. “I literally shouted at a seagull.”

That made her bend over laughing.

Bob grinned, red-faced, but proud. “So… any chance you’ll save me from dying of regret and give me your number?”

She pulled her phone from her bag and held it out to him. “Hand it over, seagull whisperer.”

He nearly fumbled pulling his phone from his pocket, fingers clumsy, but managed to pass it to her. She typed in her number with a grin and saved it under her name—then paused.

“I’m adding a little seagull emoji next to my name so you remember.”

Bob laughed, genuinely, head tilted back. “I’m never gonna live this down, huh?”

“Nope,” she said, popping the p. “But it’s cute. Endearing, even.”

He took his phone back and stared at her name glowing on the screen, feeling a little like he’d just been handed the moon.

“Thanks for running back,” she said, stepping closer. “Most guys would’ve just let it go.”

He met her eyes. “I didn’t want to risk not seeing you again.”

The humor in her smile softened into something warmer. Quieter.

“Good,” she said. “Because I didn’t want this to be the end, either.”

Then she leaned in and kissed his cheek, quick but warm. Bob’s heart practically punched a hole through his ribs.

“Now go home before you pass out,” she teased, heading back toward her friends.

“Right,” he said, dazed. “Sleep. Smart.”

She looked back one more time, gave him a wink, and got into the car.

And Bob stood there, in the middle of the street at dawn, with the number of the girl who’d danced with him, laughed with him, walked the shore with him… and kissed him.

He looked down at his phone again, still smiling.

Best. Panic attack. Ever.

--

In the Watchtower, Bob turned onto his side, pressing a hand to his chest. His fingers curled in the fabric of his shirt, gripping something invisible. That hollow ache was still there — had never really left.

He’d run because he was afraid. Of what she made him feel. Of how clean he had to be to deserve her. Of how deep he was already falling. He knew he’d ruin her, and he couldn’t live with that possibility. So he chose the coward’s road.

But that didn’t mean he’d ever forgotten her.

Not for a second.

He remembered the way she’d always tug his sleeve when she was about to say something vulnerable. The way she smelled after the beach. How she whispered “Shut up” when he made her laugh too hard in bed.

He remembered what it felt like to fall asleep beside her and believe — even for a minute — that he was someone good.

In her home, Y/N turned again, facing the window.

“God,” she whispered into the darkness. “You wrecked me.”

And in orbit above, Bob whispered, “I never stopped loving you.”

They both stared at the night in silence.

Different beds. Different lifes. Same ache.

Reliving the same memory. Same heartbreak. Same question echoing like a curse between two broken hearts who once promised each other more.

"How did this end like this?"

[hauntedhowlett-writes]

TITLE: EARN IT

PAIRING: JOHN WALKER X FEMALE READER

RATING: EXPLICIT

WORD COUNT: 1.6k

SUMMARY: You've been adjusting well to your new team, but there's one member who pisses you off.

John fucking Walker.

When you get the chance to spar with him, neither of you holds back -- in more ways than one.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I came out of Thunderbolts still a John hater and YET here I am. Big thank you to @dindjarinslegs for always hearing my ideas out.

WARNINGS/TAGS: thunderbolts spoilers, team member!reader, they are both mean to each other, descriptions of fighting, unreliable narrator style, explicit sexual content (18+, minors do not interact): dry humping/grinding, dirty talk, fingering, pet names - baby/sweetheart (derogatory), degradation, john doesn't get to finish because i said so.

There’s always an adjustment period with joining a new team, much less a team like the New Avengers. So far, nearly everyone has given you a surprisingly warm welcome.

Everyone, that is, except John fucking Walker.

You don’t know what it is about the guy, but you can’t stand him. He’s rude and loud and he acts like he knows everything. He has a snide remark for every occasion and every time you see him, the urge to smack the stupid smirk off his face grows harder to ignore. 

Today, you were supposed to train with Bucky but when you show up to the gym, you catch a glimpse of blonde hair and groan.

“You’re late,” John says. 

“And you’re not supposed to be here,” you snap back, crossing your arms over your chest. “Where’s Bucky?”

“He got called into a mission with Yelena.” He holds his arms out wide and you absolutely refuse to look at the way his biceps stretch the sleeves of his t-shirt. “So, you’ve got me.”

“Great,” you mumble. You drop your bag to the floor. “A chance to finally kick your ass.”

“You think you can kick my ass?” He laughs, head tipping back with the force of it. “I’ve seen you fight. You’re predictable and sloppy.”

John is full of shit. You’re an excellent fighter, graceful and strong and fast as hell, but he won’t tell you that. He likes it when you’re glaring daggers at him like you’re trying to flay him alive with your mind. He likes it when he bares his teeth and you bite back.

You charge toward him and bring your knee up, driving it into his chest. He backs up as you swing your other leg around, blocking your kick with his forearm. You strike out with your fist, grazing his jaw. He jabs his elbow into your chest.

The two of you keep going, a flurry of advances and blocked moves, a symphony of grunts and groans when a hit meets its mark. You’re sweating, breathing heavy, and John doesn’t look much better as you watch him shake off your last punch. His lip is split and blood pools in the wound before his tongue darts out to lick it away.

“Still think I’m sloppy?” You ask, a little breathless, and not just from the fight. He grins, sharp and feral.

“You still haven’t beat me,” he says. “Come on. You can do better than that.”

You duck when John throws his next punch, wrapping your arm beneath his to grab his shoulder and using the momentum of his turn to lift your body up, wrapping your legs around his head and swinging your upper body until you bring him to ground. He lands on his back and you roll away, leaping to your feet with a smug smile.

“You’ve been watching Yelena,” he says, slowly rising. “That’s cute.”

He rushes toward you, driving his shoulder into your stomach, tackling you to the floor. John keeps you caged beneath him, your legs spread on either side of his hips and a hand at your throat, fingers squeezing in warning. 

“Do you yield?” He asks. You press your lips together. “Come on, say it.”

“No,” you wheeze. Spots dance at the edge of your vision.

“You’ve got about fifteen seconds before you pass out,” he tells you. “You really should—“

John’s sentence is cut short when you get your feet on his thighs and press up, breaking his chokehold and giving you the space to kick him in the chest. He flies back, landing with a thud on the mat as you jump up. 

“Jokes on you,” you tell him. “I don’t mind a little choking.”

His brain short circuits at your comment and that momentary distraction is all you need. You run toward him, taking him down to the mat with another acrobatic move, grappling with him until you’re on top, pinning his arms above his head. Your chest is pressed to his, legs splayed open across his hips and all the blood in his body seems to rush south, his cock hardening rapidly in his shorts. His breath catches when you press your weight down into him.

You go still when you feel him between your thighs. You roll your hips experimentally and watch as his pupils grow impossibly wide before his eyes flutter shut.

“What are you doing?” He asks. God, he already sounds wrecked, even to his own ears. 

“I don’t know,” you murmur, but you do it again. The friction makes you gasp. 

John breaks your hold on his wrists, big hands grabbing your hips, but not to stop you. You keep moving, forward and back, the heat of you palpable even through the layers between your bodies.

You plant your hands on his chest and the muscles flex beneath your palms, strong and solid. He’s pretty like this, you think. Flushed and flustered, eyes half lidded and a little glassy. You pause and a whine spills from his parted lips. 

“Don’t stop,” he says, voice rough. His grip tightens and he urges you to move again, dragging you over his cock. “Does it feel good, baby?”

“Yeah,” you murmur. The endearment makes you shiver, makes your blood feel like fire in your veins. “Feels so fucking good.”

He groans and lifts his hips to thrust himself against you in time with your movements. The knot forming in your belly tightens with each drag of his length against your aching clit.

“Can you come like this?” He asks. “Just rubbing yourself all over my cock? You that desperate for it?”

“Shut up,” you snap, digging your nails into his chest until he gasps at the sharp pinch of pain. “I’m the desperate one? You should see yourself, John. You look like a fucking mess, ready to come in your pants like a teenager.”

John growls and sits up, flipping you onto your back. He balances himself on one arm above you, sliding the other down your belly and beneath the elastic of your leggings. Thick fingers trace over your soaked underwear and he smirks.

“You wanna talk about a fuckin’ mess?” He asks, words dripping in sarcasm. He slips his fingers into your underwear, gathering some of the slick before pulling his hand free and holding it up for you to see the way his fingers glisten. “What’s all this, huh?”

You open your mouth, no doubt ready to hurl another smart remark at him, but he presses his fingers to your tongue. You stare up at him, wide eyed and the way you look right now is going to be burned into his memory in a way that’s guaranteed to ruin him.

You close your lips around his fingers and suck, hard, the earthy taste of you exploding across your taste buds. John watches you with eyes so dark you almost can’t believe it’s the same man who’s keen blue eyes seemed to see right through you, down to your every deeply guarded insecurity.

“You look good like this,” he says. “I oughta keep your mouth busy more often.”

You bite down on his fingers and he hisses, wrenching them from your mouth. You grin at him and he shakes his head, mumbling something you don’t quite catch. 

John’s hand moves south once again, returning to your core. He circles your clit until you’re writhing beneath him, chasing the friction, desperate for him to move faster, harder, anything more than this maddeningly slow pace that keeps you teetering on the edge of release.

“What’s the matter?” He asks, tone light. The corner of his mouth twitches with the smile he tries to hold back. “You need something else, sweetheart?”

You bite down on your tongue, refusing to reply, a challenge burning in your eyes. He lets his fingers drift lower, circling your entrance and you moan.

“That’s what you want, huh? Want me to fill up this greedy pussy?” 

He presses one thick finger into the tight heat of your body, biting back a groan at the way you squeeze around him, imagining how you’d feel around his cock. Your head falls back against the mat, the smooth skin of your neck on full display and begging for his mouth. He drops his head and kisses the dip at the base of your throat. 

A second finger presses inside of you, stretching you more than your own ever could. His thumb circles your clit, pressing harder than before and yes, this is exactly what you needed. That knot is tightening in your belly again, threatening to snap, you just need—

John sinks his teeth into your neck, right over your frantic pulse, and your release rushes over you. You cry out, something between a sob and his name, and trying to close your legs against the onslaught of sensation but his body keeps you spread open, at his mercy.

It’s only when you collapse against the mat, boneless and spent from both your orgasm and the adrenaline of your fight leaving your body, does he finally pull his hand away. He sticks his fingers in his mouth, licking them clean with a satisfied groan.

You lie there, sweat cooling on your skin and your chest heaving as you catch your breath, until you finally muster up the energy to roll to your side and get to feet on shaky legs. John remains on his knees, watching you with a confused look on his face.

“What?” You ask. 

“That’s it?” He gestures to his crotch, where you see he’s still very, very hard. “You’re not going to return the favor?”

You smile at him and take a single step closer. He tilts his head back to look up at you and you run your fingers through his sweat damp hair before tugging the strands hard enough that he gasps.

“You’ll have to earn that, John,” you tell him, leaning down to kiss his cheek. You loosen your grip and step back, turning to leave.

The sound of John’s frustrated groan echoes behind you as you open the door, like music to your ears. 

Thank you for reading! Comments, likes, and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

LINKS: fic masterlists | main blog | AO3

[thenameswinter99]

NO PLEASE J I'M IN LOVEWKJFLSJKGFLBFDSJKGBDJKGBDFJKGBKFDJ

All this tooth rotting fluff, my heart can't bear this... I love Bucky, I love it with my whole heart and I love how you write him. You're a blessing of this fandom, I'll never stop telling you that.

Now, here's the part I loved, so see under the cut:

Truthfully, he hated the way his lips cracked, or how his hands were so dry they felt like sandpaper. He was a bit grumpier when the chill lingered in his body for way too long, and the cold made his joints ache a little bit more than usual.

YESSSS We love grumpy Bucky Barnes

The cold made Bucky feel like he was suffocating, it sent his mind back to the Cryostasis chamber. No matter how many times he had gone through it, it never got any easier. And it was the same every single time: His body was shaking from the shock treatments that had occurred only a few minutes prior — the tips of his fingers still zapping as electricity flowed through him — his brain had effectively been turned into mush. He couldn't think, couldn't speak, it was like had been living outside of his body. All he could do was watch as they strapped him into the chamber and shut the door.

MY POOR BUCKYYYYY GIVE HIM A FUCKING BREAK PLEASEEEEE (Already told you what I thought of this part)

HYDRA I SWEAR WHEN I CATCH YOU-

"Don't be so grumpy about it, Buck." [...] "I'm always grumpy."

SFKHNSDKJFSDLKJFSDKFLSDKJFHSD this dialogues made me fly, I love them so much.

"I'm not going back outside." "I guess I'll just go by myself then," you respond, your hand behind your back already on the doorknob. "I guess you will." "Alright, I'm going." "Okay, be safe," Bucky mutters, not moving from his spot. "I'll try my best." You turn the doorknob slowly, challenging Bucky with narrow eyes. When it's obvious he won't move and that he's testing you, you pull the door forward and disappear behind the door with a click.

Another funny and beautiful interaction that made me smile a lot

"Hey!" you whine. You know your hair is probably stuck to your forehead in a way that's simultaneously unattractive and crazy, but the look in Bucky's eyes? It's like you're the moon in the midnight sky and he's completely awestruck.

THIS LINEEEEEEE!! I melted. I love how he's helplessly in love with her, he has everything but heart eyes (and my heart is totally melted).

You were the greatest thing that had ever happened to Bucky, and he knew that. It kept him awake at night, when his hand would lightly trace the side of your face — only illuminated by the moonlight that leaked in from a window you always forgot to shut the blinds to. He didn't know how someone with as many ridged edges as himself found someone so … soft.

Me, crying for happiness because these lines are everything for me.

He's warm. He's in love. Somewhere in the distance the snow piles up, but the man in front of you isn't frozen anymore, he's as warm as the blood that pumps through his body — and he's content.

THE BEST LINES TO CONCLUDE A FLUFFY FIC OH MY GOD J I'M IN LOVEEEE

You're my favourite Bucky writer and I'll never stop saying this to you.

cold wind blows

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

summary: bucky hates the cold, you show him how enjoyable it is to warm up

word count: 3.2K

a/n: based on this request! it was definitely fun to write cold weather at the start of (almost) summer here. please enjoy this tooth rotting fluff!

Bucky despised the cold.

And like clockwork the season always changed, and each time it did he immediately felt the discomfort sitting on his chest.

Truthfully, he hated the way his lips cracked, or how his hands were so dry they felt like sandpaper. He was a bit grumpier when the chill lingered in his body for way too long, and the cold made his joints ache a little bit more than usual.

Most of all, Bucky hated the emotional response he had when the temperature dropped. He could usually handle a small breeze, but an overnight drop in temperature was usually met unfavorably. You could tell when it was sinking into his bones by the perpetual furrowed eyebrow and a frown.

The cold made Bucky feel like he was suffocating, it sent his mind back to the Cryostasis chamber. No matter how many times he had gone through it, it never got any easier. And it was the same every single time:

His body was shaking from the shock treatments that had occurred only a few minutes prior — the tips of his fingers still zapping as electricity flowed through him — his brain had effectively been turned into mush. He couldn't think, couldn't speak, it was like had been living outside of his body. All he could do was watch as they strapped him into the chamber and shut the door.

He always tried to take one last deep breath before it happened, before the cold took over and he was frozen until they needed him, but he was always too late.

Bucky was always mid-breath before it all stopped.

So now, even years later, when it was cold Bucky Barnes still couldn't catch his breath.

"They're calling for snow again tomorrow," you call out when you hear the front door open.

Bucky steps in, the heat instantly relieving his body from the freezing temperature outside. There's no response to your words, instead only the sound of boots stomping on the 'welcome' mat, snow that once peppered his hair and shoulders falling onto the ground — instantly melting. You can make out some grumbling and a curse or two as he hung up his coat.

He drags his feet as he heads in your direction — ready to say hello to his favorite person.

"Don't be so grumpy about it, Buck."

Bucky rounds the corner to find you sitting in the living room. The fireplace was lit, offering a source of light and heat as you wrapped yourself under a fuzzy blanket on the couch, the TV volume on low playing You've Got Mail softly in the background.

"I'm always grumpy."

You can see the small pout forming on his features as he gets closer, it almost made you melt.

"You've Got Mail again? That's the third time this week." Bucky asks, glancing at the TV for a half second before he sat down on the edge of the couch. You can feel the cushion dip under his weight and hear the sigh that leaves his lips, the tension from the day settling into his bones.

This was the time of the night where you got to assess Bucky for any damages from his mission. There was nothing too bad this time; only a small cut above his left eyebrow that had already stopped bleeding. He was home safe, that's all you really cared about.

Just as you assessed him, it was Bucky's turn to assess you. Your cheeks were still that familiar shade of pink and your eyes were a little heavy from the day, but all in all, still the same person he loved all in one piece. "Comfy?"

Bucky's hand raised to tuck a piece of your hair back before leaning down to press his lips against your forehead. Your eyes flutter close, your hand instinctively reaching out to rest on his thigh. His fingers grazed the side of your face, his skin is still icy from being outside. This is your favorite part of the day, the first few moments after not seeing each other for hours, where every touch whispered I missed you.

"There's nothing better than a comfort movie during a snowstorm," you remind him as he pulls away. "And I'm very comfy, thank you very much."

"I don't know how you manage to enjoy this weather," Bucky says, his fingers still tracing your cheek. "I'm counting down the days until this passes."

"I think you're focusing too much on the cold and not enough on all the ways to warm up."

Bucky scoffs, shaking his head at your words. You weren't wrong per se, but how could he focus on anything other than this extremely uncomfortable weather?

"I'm not, it's just everywhere. We go to bed at night and all I can feel is the air from that drafty window that I've tried to fix. I wake up in the morning and no matter how high the heat is set to, I feel like our house has turned into a chest freezer. And forget it, the second I walk outside my hand gets all red and my metal one cramps up."

You soothingly rub his thigh as he airs out his grievances. You were fully aware of the visceral reaction that this had on him, and it didn't make it any easier to know what he went through that triggered such memories.

"I know, I know," you assure him.

"Two more months of this is going to drive me up a wall."

Instead of responding, a brilliant idea pops into your head and you flip your blanket open, sitting up on the couch. Like most things with Bucky's recovery, sometimes you needed to show him things would be okay rather than tell him.

"Where are you going?" Bucky asks, raising his eyebrow.

"We're going back outside," you clarify as you maneuver around him to stand.

Bucky doesn't move, his eyes following you as you leave the living room, rounding the corner he had just appeared from; you never cease to surprise him.

"I'm not going outside," he calls out, though he knows there was no use in trying to argue. His fingers ran across the fabric of the couch, feeling the warmth of where you once laid. Deep down, he wishes he could pull you right back.

"Yes, you are," you call back as you slip on your boots. "Don't let me stand out there alone."

You pull on your jacket and your beanie, finally hearing Bucky shuffling over towards you. There's a scowl on his face and his arms are crossed over his chest, his biceps flexed under the long sleeve tee. He says your name — not in the cute whiny way he did sometimes when he wanted your attention. No, this time it was as if he wanted you to know he was serious.

"I'm not going back outside."

"I guess I'll just go by myself then," you respond, your hand behind your back already on the doorknob.

"I guess you will."

"Alright, I'm going."

"Okay, be safe," Bucky mutters, not moving from his spot.

"I'll try my best."

You turn the doorknob slowly, challenging Bucky with narrow eyes. When it's obvious he won't move and that he's testing you, you pull the door forward and disappear behind the door with a click.

Fuck its cold you think to yourself as the wind hits you immediately. You make your way over to the porch swing, clearing off the snow that accumulated before sitting down. You had a point to prove though, and you weren't going to back down now.

Maybe it was tough love that Bucky needed — not that you ever pushed him too far out of his comfort zone though. But, something like this? You were confident that if you couldn't change his mind, you could at least ease it, show him the joys of life.

Although, it didn't help that you and Bucky could both be a bit stubborn.

You could already picture him standing behind the front door, his arms still crossed over his chest as he waited for you to make your way back inside. You chuckled to yourself at the thought, you weren't leaving until he joined you — even if it killed you. Which, with your teeth chattering and your hands shaking, didn't seem like it would take that long.

The hinges of the door creak as they swing open, the sound of Bucky's boots crunching against the ground filling your ears. You turn your head in his direction, a smile immediately lighting up your features as you see him bundled up in his coat. His hands are tucked inside of his pocket, the scowl still imprinted on his face — sometimes you thought it was permanent.

"You know," Bucky mumbles as he approaches you, groaning as he sits down on the swing, his thigh pressed against yours. "Whatever this plan of yours is, it better be worth it."

You laugh crosses your lips as you nudge his side with your elbow, his coat ruffling as he takes his hand out of his pocket to wrap his arm around your shoulder, pulling you closer to him.

It's dark out, save for street lamps that cascade their light onto the newly snowy ground. To you, it's a beautiful sight to see all the flakes fall and accumulate, but you can feel how tense Bucky is next to you while he innately flexes his metal hand.

"It will be."

"Tell me, does your plan include letting me freeze to death?"

"You're so dramatic," you tease, elbowing his ribs as you lift your chin up to look at him. "I figured if you can brave the cold for a few minutes then I can show you the good that comes with getting out of it. Do you trust me?"

Bucky looks down at you for a moment, tracing over your features as he feels the cold seep into his bones. In addition to the natural flush of your cheeks, the tip of your nose has turned a shade of pink and your bottom lip is quivering. He hates to admit that sitting here and focusing on you is taking his mind off of how his body wants to completely shut down — something he hasn't been able to do before.

He does his best not to focus on how his metal hand feels compressed, like each little grove is frozen in place, or the way his throat feels like it's starting to constrict. Instead, he focuses on you and the way you press against him as the only source of warmth, and comfort, he has for the time being.

"Of course I do."

The two of you turn your heads and sit in silence, trying your best not to think about the cold wind or the fluttering snowflakes.

Finally, after a few minutes of silence, you stand, holding your hand out for Bucky and nodding your head over towards the front door so the two of you could head back inside.

"Mm, I was starting to think you were going to keep us out there for good," he teased, his figure towering over yours as he stands. He playfully pinches your side before grabbing your hand and intertwining your fingers together, tugging you along.

The warmth of the house hits you as soon as the door opens, both you and Bucky letting out an audible sigh as you step inside. Snow piles up as your boots stomp on the 'welcome' mat again, jackets sliding off your shoulders as you try to get all of your gear off.

"I'll take that," Bucky says as he snatches your beanie off the top of your head.

"Hey!" you whine. You know your hair is probably stuck to your forehead in a way that's simultaneously unattractive and crazy, but the look in Bucky's eyes? It's like you're the moon in the midnight sky and he's completely awestruck.

His free hand lifts up to ruffle your hair hearing you whine once more. You loved how different he was at home with you, how he could let his guard down and not be so alert at every moment. There weren't many times that Bucky felt like he could be truly free — but with you? It was never a question.

"Now what?"

"Now, we warm up," you state matter-of-factly.

Bucky wants to ask, he wants to pick your brain and know exactly what's going on in that big, beautiful head of yours, but he's cut short. He watches as you pivot from where the two of you are standing and head towards the stairs, ascending two at a time until you reach the top.

It doesn't compute in Bucky's brain what you're doing. He hears the thumping sound of your feet against the hardwood floor then the sound of a door opening, immediately followed by the trickling of water.

Of course, a hot shower.

He shakes his head as he ascends the stairs next, noticing your discarded clothes now littered the hallway. You were always causing trouble, and he never wanted to stop chasing it.

The bathroom is already filled with steam by the time he steps in, and Bucky strips down to his boxers after he closes the door behind him. Despite how badly he wanted to just be with you, the feeling of the warm humidity of the shower has him already melting from the inside out.

"You're trouble," he says, opening the shower door and finally sliding his last piece of clothing off.

Bucky tries immediately to find you, but the second he steps under the hot running water he's brought to a sense of relaxation he could only describe as euphoric. His eyes close and a soft groan leaves his lips, that chill inside of him beginning to thaw out.

If he's completely honest? He forgets you're there with him for a split second, his head bowing so the water can hit the back of his neck. It's not until he feels your hands running up his arms does he remember he's not alone. When you wrap your arms around his neck, he envelops you, pressing you against his chest as his forehead drops onto your shoulder.

Bucky breathes in your scent — he can't pinpoint exactly what it is, but he knows it's something sweet, something that reminds him of him — as he holds you close.

Neither of you speak, instead letting the water trickle down your bodies and onto the tile floor in complete silence.

The moment isn't sexual either, there's no attempts by either one of you to initiate anything further, because this wasn't about want, or need, it was about safety. Even as you comb your hands through his now wet hair and as he runs he trails his fingers up and down your spine, this was only about healing.

You were the greatest thing that had ever happened to Bucky, and he knew that. It kept him awake at night, when his hand would lightly trace the side of your face — only illuminated by the moonlight that leaked in from a window you always forgot to shut the blinds to. He didn't know how someone with as many ridged edges as himself found someone so … soft.

He never wanted to question it though, if it was luck or a higher power, then so be it.

Soon you help him clean up, holding him carefully as you lather his body with soap. Carefully using the shower head to wash off the day and any remaining bits of cold that clung to him.

By the time the two of you were clean and dressed (both of you in some form of Bucky's sweatpants and tee since they were your favorite to steal), you could see the sleepiness begin to take over.

"You should lay down," you say, combing his hair as he brushes his teeth — barely able to keep his eyes open or head up.

"Mm, not tired yet," he mumbles, though the words are hard to make out.

"Liar."

Bucky makes a noise that's a mix of a scoff and a laugh before he rinses his mouth, turning to face you afterwards. You can tell that he's exhausted, but that there's also a new sense of ease

"How about you," you start, grabbing the waistband of his sweatpants to pull him in closer. "Go lay down in bed, and I'll make us some hot chocolate, and we'll throw on a movie?"

"Will it be You've Got Mail for the fourth time?"

"Is that a yes?"

Bucky's lips curl into a smile then he leans down and presses a kiss to the side of your face, right on your temple. Once. Twice. Three times.

"Fine, yes."

He turns on his heels and heads back down the hall, looking over his shoulder to get one last look at you; even from a distance you can see the way his eyes shine when they meet yours. He gives you a quick wink before he disappears into the bedroom and you make your way downstairs to the kitchen.

When you return, two cups of steaming hot chocolate in your hands, you find Bucky laying down under the covers. His eyes are closed and there's a lazy, sleepy smile on his face that makes your heart melt.

Bucky opens one eye as he hears you shuffle in, running a hand through his damp hair as he sits up on the bed, resting his back against a pillow. He holds out his hands to grab the mugs from you, waiting until you're situated in the bed next to him to hand yours back, his free arm then wrapping around your torso to pull you in closer; just like he did on the porch.

"Cheers," he says.

"Cheers," you respond, taking a sip of your drink afterwards.

You can feel the way that Bucky is melting next to you, every ounce of tension that once was there had left his body. He was actually enjoying himself.

Bucky's head is turned away from yours, he's staring in the direction of the window — the same one neither of you remember to close the blinds to. It's still snowing, heavily actually, you're sure both of you will need to shovel in the morning, but Bucky doesn't seem bothered by it.

Right now the cold doesn't seem to sit on his chest, and maybe one day it will again. Maybe it won't always be this easy to forget what he went through, but right here and now? With you? He could see how easy it was to like this, to embrace the cold. Bucky takes another sip of his drink and gives your side a squeeze.

"I hate that you were right." He's teasing, of course he was.

"Aren't you nice and comfortable now?"

"Oh, I am extremely comfortable. Might even fall asleep just like this," he mutters, leaning his head against yours — a yawn escaping his lips. "You spoil me."

"I'm only trying to show you that you're allowed to enjoy yourself."

"Exactly. I'm spoiled rotten."

You sink further against him as you take another sip of your drink, Bucky had already finished his in a few quick sips, placing it on his bedside table, now opting to bury his face in your hair. He closes his eyes once more.

He's warm. He's in love. Somewhere in the distance the snow piles up, but the man in front of you isn't frozen anymore, he's as warm as the blood that pumps through his body — and he's content.

[athenaluciscaelum]

Okk so how about a dmc 3 Dante x stoic reader! Like Dante could pull cheesiest stuff and reader will just respond with a wink and Dante assuming we just don't care enough about him and back off only for him to find out that we do like his advances but just don't know how to respond to that. A comedic scenario igggg. Sorry if' it's confusing, feel free to ignore!

Note: I can relate to this personally. You might think that, writing all this, I might appear to be flirty or at least understand flirtatious cues... Nope... I still remember the artist who said my eyes were pretty at the India Art Fair, and I was like, "These are contacts." Only to later realise he was trying to flirt. And lots more instances; my love life is non-existent.

And the smut was totally necessary...trust me, I know you wanted it to be just funny. But I added a few more layers; I hope you like it. Let me know in the comments; I always appreciate them

Confidence

Pairing: DMC 3 Dante x Fem!Reader

Rated: Mature

Words: 3569 words

Warning: Sexual Content, Unprotected Sex, Oral

!!MINOR DO NOT INTERACT!!

Dante is confident. That is one way to describe Dante. Even if he proposed to a broom when he was drunk, it was with confidence. But you made him question his confidence. Were his good looks lacking? Were his lines trashy? At least he was original...right? You appreciated originality; you laughed when he mocked his opponents, so his humour was not missed on you.

You met Dante after the Temen-Ni-Gru incident. Few of the demons who escaped the tower were able to get into adjacent cities and towns of the Capulet City. By the time Dante reached your home, you were the only survivor. You were the same age as him or a year younger; he could tell. You were slumped on the floor, trying to stop bleeding from where your mother was stabbed; you cried, "Please...help!" Dante rushed by your side and touched your mother's corpse; it was cold. He removed your hands from the wound. You screamed, "Are you mad!? She will die!?" Dante looked at you with sympathy, "She is dead...." You frowned as you thrashed him, "No! Just help me!" Dante stood up, "I am going to check for survivors...." You cursed him; you were not sane anymore; you kept shouting and crying, "She is alive! She is alive! Why won't you help me!?"

Soon firefighters, paramedics, and police arrived. Most of the area was burnt to the ground; you were sitting in the burnt porch of what used to be your house, covered in a blanket. Dante was about to leave; he didn't like to mingle with authorities. But he saw your face; he saw himself in it. The face who lost everything and every hope. He walked over to you, sitting down beside you. You spoke in a monotone, your heart heavy with our loss, "I'm sorry... you were right..."

Dante sat beside you. "Do not be... Do you have anywhere to go?" You thought and gave him a logical answer, "Home was insured...." Dante looked at you with concern, "It will be considered an act of God," You screamed at him, "It was a demon!" Dante looked at you with pain in his eyes. "That statement is more likely to land you in a psychiatric ward than get you money from an insurance company..."

You looked up at the dark sky,"I do not care... I have nothing left..." Dante nods, "Nothing except your whole life..." You looked at him as he continued, "Live...I'm sure that is what your mother would have wanted..."

It was that day, and now it's been a year. Dante helped you bury your dead family members. The funeral home was paid magically, and you found money in your account, out of nowhere.

You never questioned it; there was so much in this world that didn't make sense to you anymore. Dante let you live in Devil May Cry. No question asked, no strings attached. You were so nervous on the first night. A fear that he might want to get something in return. He didn't, but he did give you free pizza.

It was a healing journey for both of you; he had a lot of pain in his heart that a stoic person like you could take and never utter a word about. And you had someone to lean on who had gone through the same. As you two spent those lonely nights together basking in each other's pain. It gave you both desire to live. Moreover, It gave Dante a desire to live with someone; he was daring to dream. It will be nice to hold you when you let him shed each layer of vulnerability in front of you.

But do you feel the same? Dante never knew how to talk. It was not a Sparda trait to talk about your feelings. It was a Sparda trait to stab and fight your nearest living blood relative. So how? Dante could only do what he does best – mask his feelings, put on his confidence and nonchalant mask, and flirt with you. In hope that you will reciprocate and maybe will become a haven for freaks of nature like him in more than one way. Does he deserve this in his eyes? No. But he wanted to try. No! No! He must not. His greed can be the death of you.

After much contemplation, Dante decided that he could just flirt, bask in your little laughs and flustered cheeks. It will be enough. He won't be greedy. So it begins.

Dante called you babe all the time. And you never paid much heed; he called everybody babe, right? Flirting is like his second nature, or first?

You didn't mind when he complimented you as you wore a barmaid dress and were making your way to the bookshelf in the corner. Dante whistles as he looks you up and down, impressed, "Hiding all of these curves under the hoodie all this time, babe?" You shrug and speak technically, "I mean, barmaid dresses are made to accentuate curves; it is actually the bodice and structure of the garment that give the chest a lift and cinch the waist... The flare makes your hips look curvy... Do you like it?" You smiled. Dante just blinked dumbfounded, "Ummm...yeah...that's what I said." You smiled as you picked up a book, "Okay!" And left. Dante frowned, "What!?"

Or when you did a full glam makeup with a perfect cat eye, blush and red lipstick. Dante looked at you from his desk as you came down, "You are looking extra gorgeous today..." You smiled, "Ohho...it's all makeup, not my real face......" Dante opened his mouth to say something but stopped. You smiled, "Thanks!"

Dante thought to himself, 'Okay, maybe verbal flirting doesn't work.' You need something more direct; you're a visual person, that's right! So how about something a little more explicit? Dante was in the Devil May Cry office with you. He was always interested in tattoos but couldn't get one due to his healing abilities. And you promised to give him one (temporary) with jagua gel. Dante sat on his chair, and you were sitting on the desk to reach his shoulder properly and get the angle. Dante spoke, "How about like a tattoo sleeve on my shoulder?" You nodded, preparing the jagua gel cone... sealing its tip with tape to make the point more fine. You nodded while squeezing the cone a bit to check the fitness of the line, "Sure.... Let me just get a towel and sanitiser; any oil will interfere with the staining process. Just pull up your sleeves, okay?" As you walked to the kitchen, Dante took off his coat and shirt; it will give you better access to the area and a good view of his body. Maybe you might see him in a different light?

You came back with sanitiser and looked at his body. It was chiselled, perfect, built like a Greek god on a marble. But the look on your face was unreadable as you stared. Dante saw you staring and smirked internally; he thought, 'At last, babe.' You frowned, confused, "Where are your clothes at?"

Dante smirked, so you want to play coy? He smirked, "Won't this give you better access?" You spoke dismissively, "No... You can just pull up your sleeves and wear your shirt back. It's cold... I do not want you to freeze..." Dante wanted to protest that he could not freeze but decided to throw his shirt back if you were not interested...he would never make you uncomfortable. He was many things but not a creep.

So is he going to give up on you now? He looked at you. You just came back from the office, sitting on the red leather couch, taking off your heels to massage your foot lightly. You sighed and unbuttoned the top two buttons of your white shirt. You were exhausted; Dante was observing you like a hawk and thought to himself, 'Was there any thought behind those eyes?' You were smart, sure. But are you that naive? Or were you still too deep in sorrow to understand his cues? Maybe you just need time and space, or maybe you were not interested.

He won't give up so easily. You looked at Dante, "Dante?" Dante got back to reality, "Yes, doll?" You yawned, "I need to go out with my colleagues tonight." Dante frowned, "You look exhausted..." You nodded, "Yeah...but it is not social...more like a work thing..." Dante understood, "Okay...and?" You pleaded, "Please...drop me there...I'm too tired...and also maybe stay there with me. You can take me back home, if you're free. You like to drink as well." Dante agrees, "I have my bike...are you comfortable?" You nodded...

You came down wearing a little black dress; Dante's heart started to beat faster; he could feel his blood going south. It was just a black dress; he needs to get a grip. He got on his bike. Maybe a nice ride through the city with your arms wrapped around his waist will make you appreciate him in a different light? You just need to feel how good and warm he feels?

Dante can't deny he was excited, and he was never this excited for anyone. Not for romantic interest, but to be honest, he never had a problem. His face card was lethal. His excitement shattered as you held onto the grab handle in the back. You spoke, putting on your helmet, "Let's go...?" Dante spoke defeated, "Yeah...let's go..."

Every now and then, he sudden jolt to enclose the space between you two. His mind thinking he has been being flirty all this time. You pulled closer to his ears, and Dante's heart waltzed. At last you understand, but your voice came out irritated, "You're a pathetic rider, Dante..."

You climbed off his bike as you reached your destination. He was sitting alone at one side of the bar, lamenting. Now you think he is a pathetic rider. This hurts more than all those failed attempts. You were on the other side of the bar, nodding to your colleagues and drinking.

He stayed because you requested him to stay, if he can stay.

You drank too much and made your way to Dante when your colleagues left. You slung your arms on his shoulder and spoke tipsily, "Not even one attempt to flirt with me all night? Not one compliment?"

Dante sighs defeated; he swirls his whisky in his glass, "You look good, babe... I flirt all the time. But I see you do not want it... so I thought I would stop bothering you." You giggled, poking his cheek, "I love it...my pookie...you're so cute...when you're confused…" You giggled, and Dante pouts, "Do not lie..."

You sat on the table in front of his seat... it was dark there. You cup his cheeks as you slide between his legs... "I'm not lying... it's just so fun to see you try... I could barely resist flirting back..." Dante turns his face away, "Liar…" You turn his face back and press your forehead to his, combing back his hair away from his icy blue eyes. "Sitting shirtless in front of me, you were giving me a heart attack... I could barely resist... My heart was about to leap out... I had to ask you to put it back on... How am I supposed to concentrate? If I start to flirt back with you… I don't think I will be able to stop at just flirting... Are you ready for more than flirting?"

Your lips inches away from his, Dante cannot tear his eyes off your sweet lips. How badly he wanted to taste them. Dante looks into your eyes, "Who asked you to stop?" You guide his hands to rest on each of your thighs...and he starts to massage them. You moan, "I know humans die... easily... but that shouldn't hold you from loving them... I don't want you to regret it..."

Dante's mind was hazy; he kissed your lips softly, "I am broken." You cup his cheeks and kiss him back, "So am I." Dante kisses you back, his tongue licking your bottom lip. You understand his cue now and part your lips to let his tongue slide. He explores your mouth, tilting your head as he grabs a fistful of your hair to pull back gently and deepens the kiss.

Dante pulls back, and you gasp. Your hair tousled, lips swollen and cheeks flustered. He is going to paint you tonight… Your body will be his canvas.

Dante helps you stand up, but your legs are shaky. He can't keep his hands off you anymore. He picks you up, paying the tabs, and heads out to the parking lot.

Dante puts you down and quickly puts the helmet on your head, securing it. "Can't risk you." You smiled as you climbed back behind him. You wrapped your arms around his waist this time. As he speeds through the city and back to Devil May Cry.

Dante picks you up and keeps kissing you as he walks through the door quickly, closing the door. He throws you over his shoulder, making his way to his desk. You giggle as he deposits you on his desk. You look at him and smile, "In a hurry?" Dante turns you and bends you on the desk while quickly shrugging off his coat and taking off his shirt.

Dante trails his finger from your neck to your spine.... making you tingle and moan. He smiles, "My little vixen...you will taste your own medicine tonight." You smile and look at the front. You hear his belt unbuckling and unzipping. Your body feels hot with anticipation.... You wiggle your ass, but Dante places a hand on your spine to hold you still, "Shhhhh...patience...doll..."

You laugh, "I'm not patient..." Dante rolls the hem of your little black dress and bunches it around your waist. He squeezes your ass in lacy black panties; he was literally drooling as he felt the wet spot; it was drenched, fuck! All for him? He gets on his knee and buries his nose in your clothed cunt to inhale while spreading your cheeks; his sharp nose pokes your already sensitive flesh, making you moan and wiggle your ass. But he holds your ass firm. He places open-mouth kisses on the clothed cunt and sucks on it, making you whimper... "Dante..." Dante smirks. "Yeah, doll... I'm just making sure you understand what I want..."

Your mind was fuzzy, and as you look back, you beg, "Dante...I want this..." Dante acts innocent, like his face is not buried between your ass cheeks: "Want what, babe?" You cry, "Want you to fuck me .... " Dante chuckles, "Now I can't deny my favourite girl."

Dante gets up on his feet... He unzips your dress and peels it off... You were wearing the matching bra... He unhooks your bra strap, the dreaded red lines... must be so painful... He rubs it soothingly, and you hum. He smiles, "It feels good?" You smile, "That feels good..."

Dante hums, "You can totally not wear them around me... Look how they marked your pretty skin...." You laugh... "Absolutely not... I might think..." Dante helps you take it off. His one hand is still on your hip to hold you in place.

Dante leaned to kiss and bite your neck, shoulder, back, and trailing from your spine to your ass. It was a slow torture. You tried to rub your ass against his crotch. It felt so heavy; you were sure he was big...but he kept you firm in place. He littered your back with little bite marks. Licking and kissing the red marks left by your bra a bit extra. He stands back up, slipping your panties off till your knees. He holds both your wrists back with one hand, while the other gives a few light smacks on your ass, making you yelp and shiver in pleasure. Dante looks at you and speaks, his breath hot against your ear. "Safe Word?" You blinked and thought, "Ummm....Strawberry…"

Dante chuckles as he lands another hard smack on your red and hot ass cheek. You cry in pleasure, "Feels good, baby..." Dante pulls on your wrists to arch your beautiful body...his free hand slides in front to squeeze your tits...he groans, "God...they are perfect...." His hand slides from your soft stomach to cup your pussy, giving a gentle push to squeeze your ass against his clothes' crotch. He moans in your ear, "So sexy..."

You turn your head, and he captures your lips. As his middle finger rubs your pussy and his crotch grinds against you.

Dante turns you around and makes you sit on the table. You look up at him with lustful eyes... You look at his clothes bulge; they looked so heavy and big... You cupped it, and he hissed, your hand moving slowly to stroke him, "May I?" You asked him softly. He nodded, "Go on, babe...FYI...I'm a little big." You nodded and thought, 'Sure, how big can it be?' As you pulled down his boxers to take his cock out, a bit of fear settled in you...he was big...quite a lot... Dante could read your face; he spoke reassuringly, "It will fit..." You doubted, "Ummmm......"

Dante sighed, "We can stop if you want....." You shook your head, "No!" Dante laughed; he was flustered, and so were you. "Never thought you could be so responsive." You just give him soft strokes in response.

Dante cupped your face, kissing the crook of your neck, curve, and shoulder, coming down to your chest, starting to bite gently and create a trail to your nipple. You moaned as he took your nipple between his teeth and sucked on it gently. You cursed, "Hell… you're so good... Dante..." Your hand kept stroking him, and he hummed in agreement. He trailed his kisses and bites to your other tit and then your stomach... swiping his tongue down to suck on your puffy clit. Your hand on his cock slides off as he dips to spread your holds and lick your clit flat. The tip of his tongue playing with your nub, your legs squeezed around his head, your finger in his soft white hair. You cry as he sucked hard on your clit, "Dante.....umm...just fuck me already..." He smirked, "I just want to make it clear what I want, baby; I know you don't take on cues well." You were frustrated, as your grip on his hair tightened, pushing his head further in your pussy. His sharp nose rubbing against your clit while his tongue fucked your cunt, your legs started to shake. Dante spread them on the table. You beg, "Dante! I'm going to cum!" Dante's chin was already covered with your juices, "Sweet baby....." You looked down at him; he looked so handsome, your hair sticking to your forehead, and you were panting.

Dante stood up. He looked down at you with a smile, leaning down to kiss your lips. "You are sweet..." You cup his face, "Ummm ....Dante....." Your ankles reached either side of his neck, and he held your legs firm. Dante pulled back his face. "Let me know if you're uncomfortable, okay?" You nodded. As he guided his tip to your entrance, he was thick, heavy and long. You squeezed your eyes shut, and he pushed in. It was a stretch; Dante kept caressing your face. He hung his head, his hair framing his handsome face and icy blue eyes. He was like an art, his face contoured in pleasure, brow frowning, a bead forming on his forehead, lips agape. You were mesmerised... He groaned and pushed in inch by inch, "You're so perfect, y/n."

You took your time as he pushed himself all the way in, he stayed there for few second for you to adjust. He clenched his teeth and pants. You moan, "Dante...move...please..."

Dante started to move slowly at first, hitting all the right spots, making you scream his name, and cum, "Dante! Right! Feels so good, going to cum!" Dante increases his pace as he holds legs with a bruising grip. As you came around his cock, it only fuelled him to hit that sweet spot again and again.

You were overstimulated and talking slurred, "Dante....no more....." Dante brought your legs down to let them wrap around his waist and leads down to pepper your face with soft kisses. "Just one more, babe?"

You nodded, your head lulled to the side...he didn't stop. He kept thrusting, pulling all the way out and ramming all the way in, skin slapping skin. He feels his balls tighten and rubs your clit with his thumb to come together. "Do it for me, babe?" You nod hazily and come around him, and he spurts his load in you.. Your legs fall limp, and Dante rests both his hands on the desk on either side of your body...to catch his breath, his head hanging low. You look so pretty, all flustered and blissed out, with his cum dripping out of your cunt and glistening on your inner thighs. He feels hard again. But he can see you need to rest... your eyes were barely open. He leans down to lick you clean.

You push his head away, "No more..." He smiles, "Fine..." Dante wraps you in his coat and carries you upstairs to let you rest in his bed.

JACKPOT!!!

[gay-dorito-dust]

just some random one piece stuff.

buggy didn't get to experience kindess or deep understanding from anyone other then you in his entire life, he was the flashy fool and the occasional punching bag for those far more powerful then him. Yet all you've ever done when coming into his life was wordlessly patch him up when he was roughed up by others, sit by him as he ranted about anything and everything, and even comb his hair when he couldn't bring himself to do it without getting annoyed with how it didn't seem to listen to him.

Despite eveything you've been told about him you stayed regardless, and somehow that meant more to Buggy then he could ever fathom, never having seem himself as someone worth staying for at all. It made the man feel feelings he onced wanted to ignore, now it was something he couldn't deny to even himself no matter how hard he tried, for he couldn't bring himself to imagine a life without your kindness and paitience that you've shown him constantly.

So you defying everything he's ever believed about himself thus far has made him think that maybe, just maybe, he was worthy of being loved after all. This all comes ahead when your just about to drift off to sleep, when you felt him kiss your cheek as your eyes opened to look at Buggy as the tip of his ears blossomed in a nice shade of red, his eyes kept glancing at the now red lipstick mark that might as well have glowed vibrantly in the dark. 'Buggy?' you asked softly.

'you're too kind, too good for me at least.' he told you in equal soft voice, resting his head on your shoulder, secretly worried of what your expression would be which meant he didn't see how you visbly softened at this.

'And you're too hard on yourself.' You replied as you kissed his head, coaxing him to lift his head from your shoulder and look at you once more, pressing a kiss to his furrowed brows. 'far too hard on yourself, that you don't get to see how some people could see your beauty and see you shine.' you add as you kiss his lip quickly before pulling away, some of his lipstick having passed over on your lips from the sweet action. 'but i see you, i see you shine my sweet show stealer and i couldn't be more proud of you.'

Needless to say you were bombared by rapid fire kisses to your face, lips, neck and more by a restless Buggy, who wanted to reciprocate your affection by smothering your face in kisses, so that you might not comment on the fact that he was indeed tearing up while doing so.

kidd doesn't express his affection as much as you'd hope he would, yet accepting that doing such things weren't Kid's style, and also accepting that the only level of such affection was bound in possessivness and territorial feelings that would be brought up every now and then.

It made you feel less sometimes, being somewhat loved by a man who felt the need to uphold his reputation by ripping his arm away whenever you tried reaching for it, glaring at you from the corner of his eye while doing so to show his disapproval. Though the same couldn't be said when he felt as though someone else was trying to make a move of what was his, it had often left you confused more or less of the time as he bared his teeth at others.

'do you actually love me? or do you just love the idea of having someone to claim as your own, uncaring of how they feel when you make them feel as though your love is a performance or an act you only do when felt threatened, like an injured animal?' was the biggest question that lingered within your mind when you watch Kidd from afar, for you didn't feel as if you knew where you stood with him on most occasions, it made you put into question most -if not all- of your interactions with the red haired man.

So even when he did kiss your cheek, leaving his signiture shade of red upon your skin, much like a glaring warning to anyone who crosses the path no one should cross. You ended up wiping it off with the back of your hand, though not entirely as streaks of his lipstick clung to you possessively as the man himself. The kisses didn't feel genuine and it made you feel sick enough to rip yourself away from Kid and leave the bar that you and the rest of the crew were rasing hell within.

Killer would have to talk sense into Kid as to why you weren't pleased with the affection given to you, telling him why to you it felt disingenious and a tactic he only uses when it only applies to combating the wandering eyes of others on you, and nothing more. 'They think you don't care kid, that you stop them from showing affection but only show yours when you feel threatened and even afterwards your doing anything but reinforce that you two are infact together.'

Kid felt conflicted at this, brows furrowed as his jaw clenched. He is aware of the person he is and knew that you did also, having made peace with that the moment you got with him, yet it seemed that it had gotten to the point where you belived that you were just arm candy for him, which wasn't true but Kid recagnised that his inaction to change that didn't make anything better either. So Kid knew he had to do something to make up for it and fast in fear he'd loose it all.

You found a series of Kid's handy crafts work in the form of various sea beasts carfully made from weilded metal at your door the next morning, alongside with a crude note that read: 'i know you may hate me, but at least let me try and make it up to you before you decided to kill me with your gaze ok?' It wasn't much but it was indeed a start.

corazon is experiencing cutness agression for the first time.

It was unfair how cute you were being, how perfect you were in his eyes, how perfectly fitting you were in his life as his safe haven and someone whom he could rely on. Someone who makes everything feel right, make him feel as though those cloudly days were a thing of the past, while guiding him through them with a calm he's never had when those cloudy days do make their reappearence.

It doesn't take much for Corazon to reach out and hold your face before smother it in kisses, leaving his lipstick stains upon your skin in the process, making you smile and giddy as you felt him pepper you in kisses that tickled and lingered upon you as if they were made out of magic themselves.

You loved it as it was a high you didn't want to come down from, especially when you got to take a good look at his handy work within any refecltive surface, and smile widely when you saw just how much of your face was more Corazon's lipstick then anything.

If anything it made you fall even more in love with him somehow, waving off his attempts to wipe it off out of embarrasment, uncaring of the face that his lipstick was smeared across his own cheek. 'let me just-'

'no.' you stopped him. 'i like being covered in your lipstick.' you told him, watching as his eyes widened and his body stiffen for a second, before he seemingly took a wrong step and landed on his backside, and his legs sticking out in a comedic way that made you laugh as you helped him back up to his feet; and seeing his cheeks a shade of crimson that made you wanna kiss him sensless in equal measure. 'seriously don't wipe it off, i wanna be reminded that you love me so much.'

you might as well have killed the poor man with your words with how speechless you've left him, but the smile that crept upon his his lips and threatned to split his face in two spoke of another story. One where he was profoundly happy and in a state of personal euphoria as Corazon couldn't take his eyes away from you, taking in the sight of you caked in his lipstick and finding some sense of joy in such a sight; a sight he could only hope to see constantly from now until forever ended.

[anitalenia]

˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ ౨ৎ˚₊ 𝓱𝓮𝓵𝓵𝓸 𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓻𝔂𝓸𝓷𝓮!! I’ve been getting so many requests and messages about the resources I use to make my graphics + dividers soooo I made this cheat sheet for the resources + apps I use. Please keep in mind not everything is free to use or easy to use!!! These are the apps & browsers that I’ve been using for years and they work for me. I’m sure there are better & easier ways of doing things but this is what works for me and that’s okay <3 I also didn’t have the patience to make this aesthetically pleasing like I always do… so forgive me 😭

જ⁀➴₊⊹ 𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐓 ᝰ.ᐟ Pinterest is a visual discovery and bookmarking platform designed for inspiration and idea curation. Unlike traditional social media apps focused on social interaction, Pinterest centers around interests.

‧₊˚✧ 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒊 𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒊𝒕 𝒇𝒐𝒓: I use pinterest for PNGs, theme inspo, basically what the app is used for. My Pinterest is this, you can follow me if you want and see all my boards!!! I’ve had it for years so it’s a little chaotic, but one thing at a time…

‧₊˚✧ 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒔: You can create your own boards + sections. It’s very good for organizing your different thoughts and aesthetics. Can be used for different purposes. I have boards for writing, my OCs, really just random things. Has a lot of different aesthetics, every one you can think of from angelcore, mcbling, Sanrio, cybercore, goth, etc. You’ll have a harder time not finding something you want or like.

‧₊˚✧ 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒔: A lot of artwork is published on there with no clear credit to the original author who made it. A lot of photos are also recycled so you’ll start to notice there’s a lot of the same aesthetic icons or photos under different accounts. This can be a pro or a con just depends on how you see it.

‧₊˚✧ 𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒄.: I love this app a lot, I use it for so many things. A lot of my PNGs come from here for my dividers and what not. Usually I edit them too so I’m not directly taking something without giving it my own twist.

‧₊˚✧ 𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒕𝒂'𝒔 𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈: 10/10

જ⁀➴₊⊹ 𝐆𝐈𝐏𝐇𝐘 ᝰ.ᐟ GIPHY is a GIF search engine and creation platform—basically the internet’s go-to hub for finding and sharing short looping animations (GIFs), stickers, and reaction clips.

‧₊˚✧ 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒊 𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒊𝒕 𝒇𝒐𝒓: I use GIPHY strictly for stickers. They’re animated PNGs I use for dividers from time to time. GIPHY is a pretty goofy place so there’s a lot of goofy things that don’t fit my aesthetic. With that being said there is also a lot of stuff that is cool and worth using once you take the time to find it. You can find accounts that are more professional & aesthetic that post cool stickers.

‧₊˚✧ 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒔: Has png animated stickers you can use. Has accounts that are pretty cool and post cute & aesthetic stickers. Easy to download images and easy to use in general.

‧₊˚✧ 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒔: Doesn’t really go by aesthetics like Pinterest does. If you type in an aesthetic it doesn’t really post things relating to it. Hard to find cool stickers worth using (in my opinion)

‧₊˚✧ 𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒄.: none

‧₊˚✧ 𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒕𝒂'𝒔 𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈: 7/10

જ⁀➴₊⊹ 𝐓𝐔𝐌𝐁𝐋𝐑 ᝰ.ᐟ Tumblr is a microblogging platform and social network that blends creative expression, personal aesthetics, and niche community vibes all in one. It’s a hybrid space where users post multimedia content—text, images, GIFs, videos, quotes, and audio—onto their customizable blogs.

‧₊˚✧ 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒊 𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒊𝒕 𝒇𝒐𝒓: I think it’s pretty obvious what i use tumblr for. But on a business basis it’s good for PNGs and divider inspo when you need it.

‧₊˚✧ 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒔: Creative freedom, fandom & subculture heaven, expressive & honest environment, aesthetic curation, no algorithm timeline, anonymity, ad-light. You can really find your community here and stick with them. You can post whatever you want, design your blog however you want, expression is fun and encouraged. A lot of creators give dividers & PNGs for free with only a credit requirement.

‧₊˚✧ 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒔: Bots, gets political sometimes, trolls. I never deal with them or have to deal with rude comments or bots, but they exist. People can steal your works as use as their own (hasn’t happened for me but ik it’s happened to some). Sometimes the database doesn’t work randomly (can’t tag others, can’t queue, etc.) minor grievances that happen randomly and can take hours to days to randomly fix itself.

‧₊˚✧ 𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒄.: Overall I use this app for running my own blog (obviously). I do use it for inspo a lot but because I make my own graphics I try not to use anybody else’s. And if I do use someone else’s graphic I always try to edit it my own way to fit my blog. Be aware of creators rules & guidelines if you’re going to use their things, everyone has their own regulations when it comes to content recycling.

‧₊˚✧ 𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒕𝒂'𝒔 𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈: 10/10

જ⁀➴₊⊹ 𝐄𝐓𝐒𝐘 ᝰ.ᐟ Etsy is an online marketplace focused on handmade, vintage, and unique goods. It’s the go-to platform for shoppers looking for personalized, artistic, or non-mass-produced items—and for creators who want to sell them.

‧₊˚✧ 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒊 𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒊𝒕 𝒇𝒐𝒓: To be honest, I might only use this option like once or twice a year but I’ll go ahead and add it anyway. Sometimes if I’m feeling lazy or unmotivated I’ll buy a digital set of dividers I build off of. Obviously Etsy is its own thing but I’m just speaking on a divider editing purpose.

‧₊˚✧ 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒔: You can find digital downloads of dividers, PNGs, anything virtual related you might need. Sellers have cute borders and PNGs handmade from them that they sell for others. A good starting point if you don’t have any entirely original or creative ideas but need to start somewhere.

‧₊˚✧ 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒔: Obviously because this is a store you have to buy the products. They’re usually pretty cheap for a set of lace borders or PNGs, nothing I’ve used in the past was over $5 but I don’t use this option enough to have real understanding of its cons and pros 😭

‧₊˚✧ 𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒄.: none

‧₊˚✧ 𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒕𝒂'𝒔 𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈: 10/10

જ⁀➴₊⊹ 𝐏𝐈𝐂𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐆𝐄 ᝰ.ᐟ PicCollage is a fun, beginner-friendly photo editing and collage-making app that lets you easily create aesthetic collages, scrapbooks, cards, and digital layouts using your photos, stickers, text, and backgrounds.

‧₊˚✧ 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒊 𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒊𝒕 𝒇𝒐𝒓: This is my primary way of making gif dividers. It’s a weird option for sure but it goes to show you don’t need really high tech software and fancy apps to make beautiful things!!! I’ve been using this for a while and it does the job so I never bothered looking for anything else. Maybe someday I’ll upgrade lol

‧₊˚✧ 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒔: You can add gifs and still images to the same post.

‧₊˚✧ 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒔: There are no transparent background options, you have to remove the background from another source. Unless you pay for its services it gives you a watermark when you’re done. Makes the collages into videos if there is an animated GIF in it.

‧₊˚✧ 𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒄.: This one is iffy for me as I use it in my own way with my own understanding of how to make it work. I’m sure there are better options out there like actual photoshop I just don’t have the patience to buy a pc and do it. I do everything from my own phone so this is from an entirely IOS standpoint.

‧₊˚✧ 𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒕𝒂'𝒔 𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈: 6/10

જ⁀➴₊⊹ 𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐕𝐀 ᝰ.ᐟ Canva is a graphic design platform that makes it easy for anyone—beginner or pro—to create beautiful visuals. From social media graphics to business presentations, Canva gives you drag-and-drop design power without needing to learn complex software.

‧₊˚✧ 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒊 𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒊𝒕 𝒇𝒐𝒓: I actually don’t use Canva, maybe once or twice in my history. I do reference it from time to time but it’s very rare. I’m only adding it in because it is a good platform to use with reliable PNGs and beginner friendly software. You don’t need to be a pro.

‧₊˚✧ 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒔: Has a lot of good resources and once you find aesthetic and cool creators you can follow them. It’s easy to use and has a lot of good stuff made my people or uploaded by others.

‧₊˚✧ 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒔: Some stickers / PNGs you need to have some kind of subscription for them or pay for them + AKA many features have a paywall. Doesn’t include advanced photo editing software.

‧₊˚✧ 𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒄.: I do like this app I just don’t use it personally. It’s good for business / professional matters with a lot of good templates to use. It can also be used for aesthetic tumblr purposes if you know what you’re doing :).

‧₊˚✧ 𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒕𝒂'𝒔 𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈: 9/10

જ⁀➴₊⊹ 𝐕𝐈𝐓𝐀 ᝰ.ᐟ VITA is a mobile video editing app that’s perfect for creating aesthetic, stylish, and professional-looking videos—especially for social media. It’s beginner-friendly but packed with trendy, powerful features.

‧₊˚✧ 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒊 𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒊𝒕 𝒇𝒐𝒓: I use it to make my edits of the gifs I use for my very once in a blue moon super rare fics.

‧₊˚✧ 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒔: You can add effects and words to gifs and make an aesthetically pleasing short edit. It’s a good beginners point if you do want to go into editing videos. I really like the effects and the way I can write on gifs. I believe it’s pretty easy to use for editing purposes and offers a lot of cool effects and options.

‧₊˚✧ 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒔: VITA uses a watermark but I believe you can turn that off for free. It saves any animations you make as videos so you have to turn it back into a gif using a second source. Some features are behind a paywall but I’ve never needed them so I don’t worry about it.

‧₊˚✧ 𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒄.: I really do like this app for making a small cutesy edit for a fic or a pinned post or something. It’s not something to use for real video editing where you can manipulate more specific cuts, audios, etc.

‧₊˚✧ 𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒕𝒂'𝒔 𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈: 9/10

જ⁀➴₊⊹ 𝐏𝐈𝐂𝐒𝐀𝐑𝐓 ᝰ.ᐟ Picsart is an all-in-one photo and video editing app that lets you turn ordinary content into aesthetic, creative, and eye-catching art. It combines the power of Photoshop-level tools with the ease of a mobile app.

‧₊˚✧ 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒊 𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒊𝒕 𝒇𝒐𝒓: I use picsart for just about any divider I make. My account is this, where I also provide stickers and resources on there. Of course I haven’t posted everything I’ve ever used as I couldn’t be bothered to edit every single png and post it but you get the idea. I use the transparent background which is key to making dividers. You want to avoid having to remove the background from images as much as possible as it can make it look grainy and weird.

‧₊˚✧ 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒔: Has soooo many cute and aesthetic PNGs & stickers for making dividers. Like I said, I use this primarily to make mine. It’s very versatile for a photo editing software that incorporates cropping, drawing, effects, overlays, collage making, transparent backgrounds, etc. Many core features are primarily free. You can follow accounts with cute stickers and reference them for any post / divider you make.

‧₊˚✧ 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒔: Like many other services Piscart’s pro features are behind a paywall, you’d need a subscription to access everything (which I have because that’s what I want to do and it makes it easier for me). When you’re like me who makes dividers a lot having the subscription is a lot easier than not. With that being said you can still access very cute and aesthetic things to make something dazzling, you don’t need the subscription in order to use the app how you want to, it’s just a bonus.

‧₊˚✧ 𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒄.: None, I think I got my point across.

‧₊˚✧ 𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒕𝒂'𝒔 𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈: 9/10

જ⁀➴₊⊹ 𝐏𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐎 ᝰ.ᐟ Phonto is a simple yet powerful mobile app (iOS and Android) focused exclusively on adding text to photos—perfect for creating quotes, social posts, invitations, and more.

‧₊˚✧ 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒊 𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒊𝒕 𝒇𝒐𝒓: I use it for a lot of my posts, especially my pinned posts or more aesthetic posts. I use it anytime I need an image of works or when I need words for my dividers.

‧₊˚✧ 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒔: Has a simple, user-friendly interface. Has a massive font library where you can also upload your own fonts (I use dafont.com and always have). Has highly customizable text options where you can make your own colors, resize, curve, center align, shadow, spacing, etc. The app is completely free and so easy to use. I use it for everything honestly. No sign-up required, you start creating immediately.

‧₊˚✧ 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒔: none really, it’s not a photo editing software it’s strictly only text on photos.

‧₊˚✧ 𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒄.: I’ve been using this for years. Get it if you don’t have it trust me.

‧₊˚✧ 𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒕𝒂'𝒔 𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈: 10/10

જ⁀➴₊⊹ 𝐏𝐎𝐋𝐀𝐑𝐑 ᝰ.ᐟ Polarr is a robust and versatile photo‑ and video‑editing platform available on mobile (iOS/Android), web, and desktop (macOS/Windows). It blends professional-grade features with an approachable, user-friendly interface—ideal for both beginners and seasoned creators.

‧₊˚✧ 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒊 𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒊𝒕 𝒇𝒐𝒓: I use it to edit any PNGs or dividers I want to make a more cohesive color. I use it to edit photos, change hues, etc. Another app I rely on religiously.

‧₊˚✧ 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒔: Despite the many advanced photo editing features it’s very easy to use and understand. It has precision masking and selective editing, my go-to for editing photos or dividers to match the theme I’m going for. It’s also good for a lot of professional photography as well. I really love how many aesthetic filters are on there and you can follow the creators you love as well as make your own filters. You can also find a lot of filters on Pinterest and easily upload them to Polarr.

‧₊˚✧ 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒔: Like many other things advanced features are behind a paywall. In my opinion if you don’t have the subscription to it it’s not worth using unless you wanna watch a 30 second ad after every filter you apply and save to camera roll. When you use it once in a while it’s fine but when you’re like me who’s constantly editing something it’s better to have the subscription than not. Also, while it does have advanced features I can see that those would be intimidating to new users. It’s a learning curve you need patience with if you do wanna apply effects to your own photos.

‧₊˚✧ 𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒄.: I will say this is one of those apps that if you don’t have the subscription to it’s kinda annoying to use, but the subscription is so worth it and it’s not that expensive. Obviously I pay for the subscription but there’s other alternatives like Photopea you can apply filters to for free. I just like this one more because I’m comfortable with it and it’s more convenient than having to get a PSD, go on Photopea, duplicate layer, blah blah blah 😭

‧₊˚✧ 𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒕𝒂'𝒔 𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈: 9/10

જ⁀➴₊⊹ 𝐃𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓 ᝰ.ᐟ DeviantArt is a social platform where artists and art enthusiasts connect by sharing, discovering, and critiquing all kinds of creative work—digital art, traditional drawing, photography, literature, animation, sculpture, and more.

‧₊˚✧ 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒊 𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒊𝒕 𝒇𝒐𝒓: I use it strictly for PSD’s that I use for my gif edits. I don’t really use it or actually go on it only when I need a photo effect or PSD.

‧₊˚✧ 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒔: Speaking on a strictly divider making premise it’s not really used for that but there are PNGS and virtual download options you can use. I only use it for PSD’s for Photopea and most of the time I can get them for free.

‧₊˚✧ 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒔: Some PSD’s you need to pay the creator or however DeviantArt works 😭 I just don’t get those and get a free one instead.

‧₊˚✧ 𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒄.: none really

‧₊˚✧ 𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒕𝒂'𝒔 𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈: 10/10

જ⁀➴₊⊹ 𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐈 ᝰ.ᐟ Remini is a powerful AI-powered photo and video enhancement app—available on iOS, Android, and web—that specializes in restoring low-quality visuals through one-tap magic.

‧₊˚✧ 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒊 𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒊𝒕 𝒇𝒐𝒓: I actually don’t use this anymore, I used to back in the day and thought it was worth mentioning. I used it to enhance any photos that were blurry or grainy. It makes them smooth and removes the blurriness & graininess.

‧₊˚✧ 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒔: Helps make dividers or PNGs AI-enhanced and gets rid of any grain or blurriness.

‧₊˚✧ 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒔: The free version is limited and ad heavy. You have to watch an ad before the photo or video is enhanced. I don’t use it that often or really at all so I don’t mind the ad every once in a while.

‧₊˚✧ 𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒄.: none

‧₊˚✧ 𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒕𝒂'𝒔 𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈: 9/10

જ⁀➴₊⊹ 𝐏𝐈𝐗𝐄𝐋𝐂𝐔𝐓 ᝰ.ᐟ Pixelcut is an AI‑powered photo and graphic editing platform—available as a mobile app (iOS/Android), web tool, and even via API—designed especially for e-commerce sellers, content creators, and small teams.

‧₊˚✧ 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒊 𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒊𝒕 𝒇𝒐𝒓: Another website I don’t use as much. I use it to remove the background from photos from time to time and it’s not that bad in my opinion. I’m offering it as a second option to my main option.

‧₊˚✧ 𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒄.: none, just a backup for remove.bg.

‧₊˚✧ 𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒕𝒂'𝒔 𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈: 9/10

. ݁⋆ ۶ URL ৎ ݁˖ . ݁ pixelcut website . . .

જ⁀➴₊⊹ 𝐄𝐙𝐆𝐈𝐅 ᝰ.ᐟ Ezgif.com is a free, web-based toolset focused on creating and editing animated GIFs—but it also supports formats like APNG, WebP, AVIF, and offers basic video editing functionalities.

‧₊˚✧ 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒊 𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒊𝒕 𝒇𝒐𝒓: I use this website for anything gif related. Cropping, resizing, removing gif background, turning videos into gifs, etc. It’s a website I swear by and if you don’t use it yet or haven’t used it yet you really really should. Whenever I make dividers I use this to make an image into a gif (moving sparkles, moving objects, etc).

‧₊˚✧ 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒔: It’s totally free and easy to use. You can add simple / basic effects, adjust settings + hues, remove background, crop, etc. for gifs and it really comes in handy for simple things you need to do.

‧₊˚✧ 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒔: It doesn’t use advanced features for video / gif making like Photopea. I’ve found that some of the tools are a little wonky to use like overlays. It can seem confusing at first when it comes to optimizing, tint hue, things like that that are a bit more specific.

‧₊˚✧ 𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒄.: This is my go-to for any basic function I need to use on a gif or divider. For simple animated dividers like moving sparkles, moving hearts, etc. This is what I use by making several still images into gifs.

‧₊˚✧ 𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒕𝒂'𝒔 𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈: 10/10

. ݁⋆ ۶ URL ৎ ݁˖ . ݁ ezgif.com . . .

જ⁀➴₊⊹ 𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐕𝐄.𝐁𝐆 ᝰ.ᐟ Remove.bg is a fast, AI-driven background removal website and app that automatically isolates subjects—people, objects, animals—and removes the background in just seconds, with a single click.

‧₊˚✧ 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒊 𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒊𝒕 𝒇𝒐𝒓: This is my main go-to for background removal on PNGs or anything I need the background removed from. It’s my first option and is always super reliable.

‧₊˚✧ 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒔: Easily removes backgrounds clean and easy with a tap of a button. Provides eraser or restore tools to areas you don’t want erased or need to erase.

‧₊˚✧ 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒔: Back when I started using it everything was completely free, but I’ve noticed that for an hd version of the finished protect you have to pay for it. I’m not sure what the difference is but it looks like the site is getting popular enough to put a paywall on its features. Be wary 😭

‧₊˚✧ 𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒄.: I’ve never had to pay for anything, and I’m sure that it offers other services but I just use the remove background tool, so you’d have to explore on your own.

‧₊˚✧ 𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒕𝒂'𝒔 𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈: 9/10

. ݁⋆ ۶ URL ৎ ݁˖ . ݁ remove.bg website . . .

જ⁀➴₊⊹ 𝐏𝐇𝐎𝐓𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐀 ᝰ.ᐟ Photopea is a browser-based, ad-supported graphic editor that runs entirely in your browser—no uploads, no installations. It processes files locally, keeping your data private.

‧₊˚✧ 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒊 𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒊𝒕 𝒇𝒐𝒓: Okay so Photopea is definitely a more advanced software even I haven’t fully understood yet. I use it to add PSDs, combine gifs, or whatever else I need to do that involves gifs or photos. I’m not perfect at it and really only know how to do the things I need to if that makes sense. It’s another version of photoshop but I just prefer using this one as I’m on my phone and it’s easier for IOS users 😭

‧₊˚✧ 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒔: It offers many advanced features like photoshop, and is my favorite one to use since I can’t really use photoshop on my phone. It supports a wide range of file types like JPG, PNG, PDF, etc. It’s free to use and you don’t need to pay for anything. It’s a browser and there is no installation needed. It’s fairly simple to use in my opinion when you have experience with photoshop / editing (as I do), so it’s even easier to use once you really know what you’re doing.

‧₊˚✧ 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒔: There are ads in the free version but likeee I don’t use it as a professional so idk what a paid version would offer as the free version offers everything you need. The interface is definitely complicated to new users and can be intimidating. Not as refined as Photoshop itself but it’s definitely a good mobile version.

‧₊˚✧ 𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒄.: I personally really do love this browser and once you learn the basics of what you’re doing it’s much easier to understand.

‧₊˚✧ 𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒕𝒂'𝒔 𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈: 9.3/10

. ݁⋆ ۶ URL ৎ ݁˖ . ݁ photopea browser . . .

જ⁀➴₊⊹ 𝐓𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐓 ᝰ.ᐟ This website is what I use to edit my text colors & gradients. It offers, single color, three color gradients, two color gradients, & rainbow gradient.

‧₊˚✧ 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒊 𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒊𝒕 𝒇𝒐𝒓: This is your go-to website for making gradient texts on your posts. It offers variety on what kind of gradient you want and is so easy to use. I obviously use it for any colored text I have in my posts.

‧₊˚✧ 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒔: Gives you a variety of gradient options and is very simple and easy to use.

‧₊˚✧ 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒔: none

‧₊˚✧ 𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒄.: none

‧₊˚✧ 𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒕𝒂'𝒔 𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈: 10/10

. ݁⋆ ۶ URL ৎ ݁˖ . ݁ text gradient website . . .

જ⁀➴₊⊹ 𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎 ᝰ.ᐟ Amino is a mobile-first community-based social network where users join or create “Aminos”—small, interest-driven communities (like anime, K-pop, gaming, art, writing, LGBTQ+, and more) to chat, share, and connect .

‧₊˚✧ 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒊 𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒊𝒕 𝒇𝒐𝒓: I don’t use this much anymore but I definitely think I should mention it. I know Amino is its own thing but it has good pages with cute symbol combos and aesthetic blog designs. That’s all I ever used it for.

‧₊˚✧ 𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒄.: This app isn’t used specifically for symbol combos but you can find pages that offer cute aesthetic symbols and designs. I used to go on here a lot for them but then I just started making my own for the most part or going to my other website mentioned below.

‧₊˚✧ 𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒕𝒂'𝒔 𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈: 6/10

. ݁⋆ ۶ URL ৎ ݁˖ . ݁ amino website . . .

જ⁀➴₊⊹ 𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐉𝐈 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐁𝐎𝐒 ᝰ.ᐟ This website is used for the majority of my aesthetic symbol combos I use on posts if I don’t make any myself.

‧₊˚✧ 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒊 𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒊𝒕 𝒇𝒐𝒓: I use it for every symbol combo you’ve ever seen on my page. I make a lot of my own symbol combos using these and sometimes I just copy and paste.

‧₊˚✧ 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒔: Has many aesthetic symbol combos made by users + you can make your own. There’s a search engine where you can type in what kind of symbols you want and it always provides based on what you searched. This is my go-to.

‧₊˚✧ 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒔: There’s not really any cons but I definitely see political statements from users from time to time.

‧₊˚✧ 𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒄.: none

‧₊˚✧ 𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒕𝒂'𝒔 𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈: 10/10

. ݁⋆ ۶ URL ৎ ݁˖ . ݁ aesthetic emoji combos website . . .

જ⁀➴₊⊹ 𝐂𝐑𝐎𝐏 𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐄 ᝰ.ᐟ This is a website that offers many photo editing services such as cropping, resizing, rotating, any more. All free of charge with no account or sign up needed.

‧₊˚✧ 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒊 𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒊𝒕 𝒇𝒐𝒓: Pretty self-explanatory. I use this to crop really really thin dividers because picsart has a limit on how thin you can crop something.

‧₊˚✧ 𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒄.: none

‧₊˚✧ 𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒕𝒂'𝒔 𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈: 10/10

. ݁⋆ ۶ URL ৎ ݁˖ . ݁ crop image website . . .

જ⁀➴₊⊹ 𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐏𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐑 ᝰ.ᐟ ImageColorPicker is a streamlined, web-based tool that lets you extract exact color codes from any image, entirely within your browser—no uploads or accounts required.

‧₊˚✧ 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒊 𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒊𝒕 𝒇𝒐𝒓: I use this to help me make gradient text to match a color centered post. Every fic I’ve ever written follows a color scheme mostly, and I’ll use this to help me pinpoint exactly what color to make my gradient text to match the theme I’m going for.

‧₊˚✧ 𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒄.: none

‧₊˚✧ 𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒕𝒂'𝒔 𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈: 10/10

. ݁⋆ ۶ URL ৎ ݁˖ . ݁ color picker website . . .

જ⁀➴₊⊹ 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐑 𝐇𝐔𝐍𝐓 ᝰ.ᐟ Color Hunt is a popular, curated platform for discovering and sharing beautiful color palettes—perfect for designers, artists, developers, and anyone in need of color inspiration.

‧₊˚✧ 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒊 𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒊𝒕 𝒇𝒐𝒓: I use this as another way of editing a photo to a certain color scheme / mood. I upload my color palettes from here to Polarr and use that as a coloring scheme / overlay whenever I need to.

‧₊˚✧ 𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒄.: none

‧₊˚✧ 𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒕𝒂'𝒔 𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈: 10/10

. ݁⋆ ۶ URL ৎ ݁˖ . ݁ color hunt website . . .

At the end of the day making dividers or graphics takes time and effort. I’ll spend all day on just one or two things 😭 It takes creativity but there’s nothing wrong with taking inspiration from others. I hope this helped a little bit for those who wanted help in getting started on their own. Once ya’ll get into it and find your own websites + apps that work for you I’ll be out of a job 😫🩶🤍

[interact-if]

Writing Spotlight: The Golden Rose

We interviewed @anathemafiction, author of the IF, The Golden Rose, Book 1. It’s a game that delivers everything it sets out to do, with its sweeping, ambitious scope and beautiful, intricate detail. It was an honor to pick her brain about bringing such a rich, complex, and truly immersive world (and its wonderful characters) to life.

In one of my favorite quotes in the interview, she writes:

[…] We Portuguese sometimes still call ourselves Lusitanos, and it always saddened me to some extent. That loss of history, of identity, is one of the major driving forces behind the Rose. What if there's a world where it's Rome that's forgotten? Where Latin is forbidden so that the languages born from it, the kingdoms, and the civilizations never came to be?

Without further ado, here’s the full interview!

What drew you to interactive fiction as a storytelling medium?

The very nature of it. I'm a big fan of RPGs, where you can shape your character and make key decisions in your adventure, and, of course, I'm also a big fan of books and literature in general. So, when I encountered my first IF game (Choice of Dragon), I was instantly hooked.

It's the perfect blend of two of my passions — storytelling and player agency. The fact that it's entirely text-based gives a kind of freedom and depth that's hard to match in other gaming media simply because the only budget it needs is the author's time and effort. It's quite literally, corny as it sounds, fuelled by your imagination.

2. Is there a part of your background—personal, cultural, professional—that finds its way into your work?

In a land that is today a region of Portugal, there used to be an agglomeration of tribes collectively known as Lusitanos. They were eventually conquered by the Roman Empire, but not before putting up such a fight that even Roman generals acknowledged their spirit. Their culture was largely eradicated, and the pieces that weren't were assimilated into the empire. We Portuguese sometimes still call ourselves Lusitanos, and it always saddened me to some extent.

That loss of history, of identity, is one of the major driving forces behind the Rose. What if there's a world where it's Rome that's forgotten? Where Latin is forbidden so that the languages born from it, the kingdoms, and the civilizations never came to be?

I'm also fascinated by the Catholic Church and its monopoly over some of the wealthiest, most powerful kingdoms of Europe. The Pope was the king of kings, so to speak, and all that power, that opulence, was born from something as simple and as human as faith.

That control, that God-like power, not only over the body but the very mind of its subjects, is another big part of the story I'm writing.

So, in summary, my cultural background was and is a major influence on this IF.

3. What does your writing process look like?

I'm what's generally called a pant-ser; I like going where inspiration takes me. Still, in a project as big as The Rose, I did write a general outline, and I have a very clear idea of where I want the plot to go and the major story beats that will get me there.

But the in-betweens are often left blank. I think, even if I tried to plan every single detail beforehand, I wouldn't be able to. Even the scenes and chapters that I have planned, I'm always open to changes or deviations from the outline. If a character, a situation, or, especially, the MC decides to surprise me, I kind of roll with it.

To be honest, most of my favorite scenes, dialogues, and even characters that I've written were born as a sudden inspiration and not from the pages of an outline.

But as for my actual writing process, it goes like this: I go chapter by chapter, and I always begin by handwriting the first draft. I don't know why, but handwriting, when it comes to just getting the ideas out of your head, with no finesse, no grammar checks, just the pure chaos of materializing your thoughts into tangible words, is the best medium for me.

After that, I write the second draft on the computer. There, I fill in all the choices and paths I didn't write in the first draft, and, of course, beautify the text, make the dialogue fit the characters, discard or expand on rudimentary ideas, etc. Basically, it's where I write the text that'll appear in the game.

This juxtaposition between the first draft and the second allows me to rethink story beats, adjust the progression of the characters' relationships, postpone scenes, etc. Basically, it allows me to think about where the chapter is going.

The third step is to put it all in code and make it playable. As I go through the Word document, I make minor edits here and there, but nothing major.

The actual editing is made later, in what I call a 'deep edit.' I usually do this when I finish writing the following chapter because looking at a text with fresh eyes allows you to spot mistakes much better than if you do it right away.

4. What’s one piece of advice you’d give to someone just starting out in interactive fiction?

To follow up on the last question, I will say that you need to know yourself. Just as I operate better without a clear, bullet-proof plan, other people thrive with a structured outline, a character glossary 20k words long, chapter charts, and multicolored graphics. My advice is that before you embark on such a complex and often big project as an IF game, you should know your own writing process, and the only way for you to know that is if you write.

I'd say start with short stories or small fables, but honestly, just write anything. Dive right in, and with time, you'll begin to know yourself as a writer.

When you know yourself and your own style, then begin the IF. You'll never be truly 100% prepared — we're always learning and adjusting. I'm not the same writer I was when I first started The Rose, and I won't be what I am now when I finish this second book. We're constantly evolving, so allow yourself space to fail and fall short of expectations. This is, after all, a marathon, not a sprint.

5. What’s a common mistake you see in interactive storytelling, and do you have any tips on how to avoid it?

Not so much a mistake but a misconception. I think people, especially those with little to no experience writing (or any creative hobby), believe that it's an inspiration-based activity. That you write whenever you feel like it.

This is completely wrong. If I only wrote whenever I felt inspired to, I wouldn't have made it past the third chapter of book one.

Some days — most days — you won't feel like writing. You sit at your desk, and you do it. You have to face it like a job, almost. You clock in, do your work, and leave. Does this mean I have no joy in writing? Of course not. I get really into it once I begin, but it's not every day that I wake up and want to leap for my pen.

Sometimes, I'd rather go out hiking with my dog, meet a friend for coffee, or watch another episode of whatever show I'm watching. But, when writing IF, you often will have to make these sacrifices, and, many times, you won't even be blessed with inspiration, so that sacrifice is made easier.

This is made even worse in IF. Due to the nature of the medium, you will get days where you're stuck writing repeating passages or paths you're not entirely interested in. You will want to pull the hair out of your head. You'll have to clench your teeth and do it — otherwise, you won't make it to the fun, rewarding bits where everything comes together.

It's not an exaggeration when people say, 'writing is hard.' Anyone can do it. Very few actually do. I think it's less about talent and more about commitment.

End of interview

—

A big thanks once again to Anathema for her insightful answers, and @veswrites-if for taking the time to coordinate the interview. Hope that this was a fun and interesting read.

Stay tuned for more of these interviews, both for the Writing Spotlight AND for Pride Month!!

[deathlyalcohol]

Drunken Touch

Toby Rogers x F!Reader (NSFW)

Words: 2.5k Time to read: 20min

Summary: You're drunk at a bar with your friends, when you notice this bartender giving you a couple of free drinks..

CW: 18+ Content, Alcohol, Mention of readers past relationship, drunk reader (also she consents), female reader, reader is a heavy drinker & smoker, Toby also smokes (yes it's hot) -toby seems to get a somewhat normal life but he still had that car accident, uhh fingering, unsafe sex, praising

Side note from the author: I am intoxicated and it´s 1AM so please note the spelling mistakes, THAT´S also my first blog SO have mercy on me thank you!! Also English is my second language. Tips on how to write better are always appreciated just don't be harsh/mean. - HAPPY FRIDAY 13th 😆

-NSFW UNDER THE CUT! MINORS DON`T INTERACT-

You and your friends decide to go out on a Friday, typically you always go out on Fridays. But this one, this one is different, it´s Friday the 13th and in your town there's always a party on that day. It´s been a year since you moved on from your ex but it seems you still haven't found anyone or any situationship at that matter. It feels like there is no one right for you. It´s difficult to find the perfect partner although today is different.

You guys meet up at your house and continue going to some random´s party. You first buy alcohol at the near by gas station - everything is already closed so it´s your only choice. You go up to the registers buy some cheap alcohol and head out. Layla, your friend, tells you the party is right at the corner.

„Better hurry up drinking this bottle of Eristoff." she says.

You down the rest of what´s left. The syrupy-vodka burning your throat but who cares you love doing it every time.

"HEyYy Y/N!" some people at the party are greeting you, you're not really popular but you know some people from going out this much. You say hi back, a bit tipsy but continue through the home. You sit on a couch, knowing it hasn´t been cleaned for ages, a matter of fact never. Still you sit down grabbing another bottle that's lying around and try to drink it. Fuck this tastes awful you think. Nevertheless you drink it empty and suddenly.

Shit... you see your ex, he didn't see you, but in a moment you get up and try to go to your other friend that came with you.

"Y/N do you see him?? Holy shit why is this piece of shit here??" Nova yells.

"PSSSH keep it down. God are you already drunk??" you try to keep her quiet but she is already walking up to him and you try not to make ANY eye contact.

Why is he here? He doesn't know anyone here and why now? I need to get the fuck out. You sneak out by a backdoor and light up the last cigarette you have. The smoke looks so beautiful in the moonlight. Layla coming out of nowhere asking for a cigarette, you just stare at her and share the one in your hand.

"Oh.. sorry didn´t know that's your last one but anyways do you want to go to a bar? It´s really boring in here and the alcohol tastes like shit."

"Sure but what about Nova she looks like she wants to stay?" you ask.

"Oh don´t worry, her boyfriend is here too and he has to drive, so he will look after her!" Layla replied.

So the next thing you both do is putting out the cigarette and go away from the party. You walk from bar to bar until it´s midnight and lastly you find the last bar to go to tonight. It’s cramped up in a small alleyway. Shaby but in a cool way, dark and small lightening. Inside there is playing metal music. You notice that the song that is playing in the background is Aerials by System of A Down. You sit on a near by window, cool summer air blowing into the room. Cozy yet mysterious, a bartender is coming, he asks

"What can I-I girls get you for tonight?"

"Two rum and cokes, please." you reply to the stuttering waiter.

You don´t think much of it. Continuing the conversation with Layla. You talk about how dumb your ex is and why he shows up in the first place.

"Man I can't believe he STILL is wearing ripped skinny jeans and that awful cap with his oily hair" Layla says laughingly.

"Yeah, why did I ever date that guy? Please remind me!!"

"Oh I don´t know but you have a SHITTY taste" she exclaims.

Right as she says the last word the brunette is handing you both the drinks. You didn't notice at first but HE was tall, he had a tape on his mouth - no wait, a bandage, you wonder what was up with that. He winked at you when he notices you staring at him. Gosh the alcohol must be finally working. Your friend still talking about your ex and sipping her drink while you drift away in your thoughts. I must be crazy for thinking he is so hot by just serving me a drink. He was. Oh how he is just cleaning the cups and putting away the dirty dishes. His arms circling the glass with the semi-wet towel. It made you feel something. Thinking about his hands rubbing you.

"Earth on Y/N!! Are you listening? I am talking to you.!"

"Yeah sorry I was just thinking why I dated that asshole" you lied but could you possibly tell your friend that you think the bartender is just hot by serving you both drinks?

"OHH I know what's going on!" your friend states.

"You think about how to get revenge on your ex."

"Y-yea you're right" you reply.

"Come on let´s go outside smoke a cigarette."

"Um I don't know if you forgot but we don't have any anymore" you state.

"Fuckk you are right. Well let's just ask the bartender he seems like he smokes." she implies.

Both of you get up. You adjusted yourself without knowing it. "Heyyy uh.. sir" Layla asks unknowingly. "Toby! You c-can call me Toby. What can I g-get you?" "Just some cigarettes if you have any of course." God my friend is so embarrassing. "Y-Yeah no problem, the only thing is, I h-have rolling cigarettes but if you w-want t-to -twitch- I can roll them for you." Toby smiling says. "YES thank you!" you loudly say and push your friend away before she says something rude or even more embarrassing things. "Can you stop shoving me?" - "No! before you do any more stupid shit."

You wait outside of the bar. No one is around but it is 1AM. How could there be no one at this time? You tap your foot, badly needing a cigarette when finally Toby is approaching both of you. You both thank him, he is trying to leave when you say "Hey uh do you want to join us? Tell us, why do you work here? I kinda want to get to know you." that's when you realised what the hell you said. Ugh what the fuck. WHY did I just ask him that he has a job to do. "Mhmm? Oh yeah I d-don´t see why not. She is a p-pretty straightforward lady mhm?" Toby asks your friend who is minding her own business. She doesn´t reply so instead he goes up to you and asks again. "Well if you say it like that maybe I am and maybe you know what I want from you" the alcohol hits more than ever. You are completely drunk but you don´t care anymore, you only think about Toby. He's so shy but smug at the same time, like he never really talked to a woman before. He was caught off guard by the last sentence but brushes it off "You kn-know you are pretty drunk, yo-you better be careful or else something is going to happen to you!" he leans forward to tell you. You get red, he is so close to your face. You practically can feel his breath. Smoking the cigarette faster, you inhale so much, the smoke gets in your eye. "Agh. My eye!" - "Huh are you o-okay?" Toby asks. "Yea just smoke. in my. eye." ouch it hurts. All of a sudden he holds up your chin to look if everything is alright. She is so mesmerising, I could look into her eyes forever toby thinks. After your eye stops burning you notice how close both of your faces are. You want to kiss him so badly and so does he. He saw how you swung into the bar, laughing and smiling. He knows you'll get to know each other better after this night. He was already captivated by your beauty the first time you stepped into the bar. He couldn't help but flirt with you. Her skin is so soft. He could kiss you but you are drunk this would totally go wrong. You try to lean in for a kiss when you get interrupted by Layla. "Hey uh buddy. Do you mind letting go of my friend? We would like you to serve us more drinks now." Buddy? I barely know her. "Oh-h s-sorry.. Let me make you s-some drinks." Layla is just looking out for you but you want this, you want him to look at you and hold him, you wanted more than just looks. Still all three of you went inside. Toby making some shots. After one there were two and then three shots, Toby actually drinking with the both of you due to being the last two people in the bar.

You look at your phone 3.56 AM. Layla has gone home earlier with a cap, leaving Toby and you alone. She was so drunk, she forgot trying to "protect" you. But you know Toby would be the one protecting.

You both are chatting and flirting "You know you're a good bartender and a hot one at that!" - " You think t-there are only ugly bartenders?" Toby laughing. "I mean NoO but you are so so handsome. I can't resist your beautiful eyes." you just stare at him happy and drunk. He can't help but also feel tipsy. "Sorry but I h-have to close the bar n-now, it is already 4AM." he announces. I better bring her home, she seems to fall at every step she takes. I can't risk her getting hurt. "I w-will walk you home, it´s not safe and it's late" - "Alright big guy, but don't expect sleeping at my place. IT´S a mess." Even if it is, he wouldn't mind it. His place has always been a mess. But maybe he can crash at your place, he wouldn´t try to convince you but the way you have been flirting with him all night tells him differently. "You know yo-you´re pretty cute when you stare and giggle at m-me. It t-tells me you want me." you are stunned but it's true. The whole night you've been thinking how he could touch you. With his rough hand, kissing your neck, fingering you. God maybe you really really need him badly. It´s not even the alcohol in your system. It´s your body that is craving for his touch. Imagining him on top of you caressing your face. The thought of it melts your brain.

You both stumble to your home, your arms hugging him not even letting go when you try to put your key into the keyhole. He's warm, you can feel his toned muscles. You're getting wetter the more you both touch each other. "There y-you go gorgeous, do you need anything e-else?" - "Mhmm I need you, I want you Toby please" you beg not even recognising what you just said but that's all Toby needed to hear. He picks you up, closes the door behind him and looks for your room. You kiss him, slowing on his neck. "Hah- Fuck.. Y/N" After walking for a while he finds your room settling you down on the bed. He gets on top of you and starts kissing you sloppily. "S-So good- you taste so f-fucking- good." You were practically clinging to his body slowing taking off your clothes. "That's it baby hmm~" his breath getting heavier. One hand holding your hip and the other one travelling down. "Hah.. you are so soaked f-fuck. That's all because of me?" He laughed breathlessly, you can't help but moan as he circles your clit slowly.. Fuck I barely know him but why is he so fucking hot. Your moaning turning his dick harder, throbbing against his jeans. He starts to put one finger in, stretching you open, slowly working a second on in and curling them forward. "Ahh.. Toby" you whined.

"Y/N-..please fuck.. Let me f-feel, mhm.. you" He can barely keep it together, craving your touch all night. You can feel his cock behind his jeans on your thigh, rubbing it, only getting painfully harder.

He pushes his finger deeper inside you, grinding them against your g-spot, his palm pressing down on your clit. You struggle to keep it together. Your whole body belongs to him, you can't keep up with his pace. You were so close when he unexpectedly stops. "You are such a good girl f-for me do you know that, yeah?" You tried to focus but you only feel your pussy pulsating. "Y-You do want my cock pretty girl, right?" You eagerly nodded. He stood up pulling off his shirt and zipped open his pants to yank them away.

"You really r-really want it that bad baby, huh.?" He was slim yet muscular, a weird tattoos on his arm and chest, scars and scratches. He seemed to be through a lot.

You could feel his impatience, ripping off your panties than his. His tip, a light pink, teasing your entrance. It was coated with pre-cum. "Fuck..You are so wet. Only mine."

"Please.. I- I can´t take it anymore...Toby". you whimpered. Feeling his throbbing cock against your clit was too much. You needed him inside you. now before you went insane.

"C´mon you can beg nicer than that" He keeps running the tip over your swollen cunt. "Please Toby.. I need your cock inside of me"

"That's a good girl." He groans before slowly pushing his cock inside. He needs to stop for a moment, trying to not loose control. But when he sees you rolling your eyes back, he thrusts harder and deeper.

"God.. Fuck.. How could I have ever lived without this pretty cunt of yours." You were melting by every thrust. One deeper than the one before. You look so pretty being fucked by him. His hands wrapping around your waist to get a better grip fucking you. He can feel him getting close and so were you. His cock slamming harder into your cervix, pressing so deep, practically a moaning mess.

"Fuck.. baby-" The feeling of you milking his cock while you also experienced a wave of ecstasy brought the thrusting to a stop.

He carefully pulled out when you realise he didn't wear a condom.

"Fuck.." you breathe heavily. You don't care right now but you look at Toby who also stupidly smiles " I uh I will give you the money for the m-morning after pill. How much is it? Like 20 bucks?" You stare at this idiot and just snuggle up to him "More like 80."

You both will just get it the following morning. Now you just need rest.

Side note from the author: sooo Its now 6:40AM It was fun to write it but holy fuck I should NOT do all-nighters. Anyways I am sorry if the time is wrong I think I have a mix of past and present but its early in the morning my brain is functioning on water and energy.

TELL ME IF YOU WANT ANOTHER PART - I am going to sleep goodnight y'all 🫶

Inspired by @noctiva please check out her blog she is probably my biggest inspiration 🫶

MY MASTERLIST

[thelastcetra]

One of the things I have issue with fandom is that they tend to kind of package aro/ace together and as someone who is in the ace spectrum and definitely not aromantic, I find it baffling that people who read the Murderbot books say so confidently that Murderbot is aromantic. To the point that if I (as someone who relates to it immensely) imply that I think it has romantic feelings, people are acting like I am invalidating its identity?

The books explicitly state that Murderbot is ace. It never explicitly states it as aro. You are free to read its romantic orientation as you wish. If it feels aro to you, yeah sure. But it's equally (and I think more) likely that it does have romantic feelings! Just because it doesn't like any kind of physical intimacy (non-sexual included), it doesn't mean that Murderbot is aromantic. Romantic intimacy can be more than physical. It's not the neat little categorization of "if you don't like sex you are ace and if you don't like cuddles you are aro".

I just feel like we don't have nearly enough alloromantic ace people in media and when people insist on Murderbot being aromantic, I feel like people are invalidating my identity based on strict definitions of what they think being aromantic is and then come to me and get angry at me as if I am being delusional or being acephobic somehow? I just feel so frustrated with that!

Also!

Spoilers for books under the cut

Marta Wells herself calls ART the love of Murderbot's life in one of her interviews! Also I think it is in love with Mensah too. Not the way it is with ART but in a different way. Because love can take many forms and it's something you share with people! I have never fallen in love with someone the way I fell in love with another person. Every person is unique and so the way that the puzzle pieces of you and them coming together will make a unique picture. In a book where there are many poly couples and constructs who have varying levels of sexual/romantic urges (so they aren't necessarily aroace by default), how is it that difficult to imagine a. multiple romantic relationships and b. non-physical romantic intimacy. I am just baffled.

Murderbot is just too new to everything to have names for stuff like that and it is not experiencing its emotions in a way that is recognizable from media and its interactions with people! And it doesn't like labeling stuff with human terms because it is not a human! It has its own unique feelings and experiences! I honestly relate to that so much because everyone try to dictate how I should feel too...

Again, if you are aroace and thinking Murderbot as one resonates with you, I respect that! But let me have my alloromantic ace bot too. Thank you.

[croquettish]

Listen please feel free to ignore my idle ramblings. You just inspire me to bring my thoughts to paper and I always love to read your take on everything.

Honestly I also very much read Hans as a comphet gay man all the way.

He feels like the most overcompensating character ever. He makes loving women his whole entire brand which is so sad to watch sometimes.

The way he is expressing his attraction to Henry feels leagues removed from the way he is trying to court every single woman in the game.

He doesn't need flashy gestures or words for Henry. When it's real you dont need as much embellishment so to say.

For the first time in the games he sounds and acts natural with someone else he expresses interest in. Like it's not just a show he has to put on for everyone else except for his own enjoyment as whenever he interacts with women.

He looks like he is freaking melting with Henry.

I honestly also even think his constant trips to the bath house in the first game are just for basically spa treatments and not much else happens there. I think I even remember him saying something along the lines of he just likes being pampered.

It makes me really confused how people can think there were no signs of him being gay in the first game. What do these people think gay people would have acted like in a time when it might as well be a death sentence or a life as a monk AT BEST to express your true feelings.

I think Hans reaction, trying his best to be perceived as the most women loving giga chad ever is honestly the only sign I needed to realize that that can't be quite true. It feels fake all over. I sometimes wonder if they originally intended this whole attitude to feel genuine, but realized in the making how that just doesn't feel right at all and switched up his character accordingly? Like he's a character breaking free from his own pre intended writing somehow?

If you're reading him as Bi absolutely a valid opinion as well though! No hate only love!

Another point I just saw in your most recent post I wondered a lot about is the part of gaining reputation with Hans in the first game when being talked back to/down to (I think there also is at least one instance in the second game when I called him a brat and got reputation).

Honestly I think it's much to do with his low self esteem and probably not great metal health.

When you're struggling with your mental health because of your family situation like he does with Hanush you never get to develop a clear sense of self and deep self love and self respect. And various people deal with it in different ways, wheather they pull back into themselves and become people pleaser or they go another route like Hans and build this air of very high self regard around them. Of course either way it's all just a charade hiding his very vulnerable and self loathing core. Which sometimes makes flattery feel uncomfortable and being talked down to like self affirmation even if that's super twisted.

The way he talks to Hanush in the first game especially is so different from his snarky self. He is utterly defeated in the face of that man. He doesn't get angry how he usually does until after talking to him, he only ever meekly tries to even get a word in. He's belittled, not taken seriously and treated like a completely useless person and he doesn't really do anything. I think that's how a lot of people act in the face of a parental abuser that they learned not to set off even more.

(Honestly why I loathe Hanush. He's not one of the "bad guys" the games try to present. He is portrayed as a likable if hot headed guy, but he's an abuser in my eyes and is absolutely to blame for how Hans sees the world and himself).

Same as the unhealthy way of self harm Hans developed in making sure he stays unlikable so to say. For instance when trying to push Henry away when they are in the pillory. Even Henry sees that Hans is just saying mean things that he doesn't mean at all, just saying them to make sure Henry stops liking him and leaves. He never learned that he is allowed to be cared for like that so he has to make sure it stops. He has to make sure he is alone, uncared for, deprived of his only friend. That's a form of self harm if I've ever seen one. It honestly blew my mind that they added that. That whole scene is very rich when looked at from a mental health point of view in their interactions. When using the "Swear" option when playing as Henry he says something like "Who could ever be proud of you?!" and that seems to hit Hans like a ton of bricks crushing him. He looks like he is going to cry immediately and doesn't even come back with something to say like before, because that hit home like nothing else.

Like in their divorce era he snaps out of his self imposed agony and split from Henry as soon as Henry gets hurt because that's too much, that's not related to his self imposed denying himself his happiness. Even when you're fighting Old Semine at the wedding in swordfighting he is freaking cheering you on like he isn't really mad with you. It's not Henry he wants to hurt but himself.

I think that man is wildly unwell mentally and that's one more thing I really love about the way he and Henry interact with each other.

Henry seems to be somehow aware of that whole struggle and doesn't interact with it in an unhealthy or harmful way most of the time.

He is a caring man at the end of the day and that is exactly what Hans needs to heal, strengthen his sense of self and become a better version of himself.

Sorry again for putting like 5 different points in here. But I would honestly love to read your take. You always inspire me to think more about these characters I love.

Why would I ever ignore your idle ramblings when they're so insightful!!!! Also thank you so much, it honestly makes me super happy that people find value in my hyperfixation of picking this game and its characters apart. The fact that my own ramblings inspire you to think about these games and their characters in more depth makes me extremely happy ❤️

So for starters I'm so glad that I'm not the only one that reads Hans as a comphet gay man. There are honestly so many hints that he's overcompensating in the biggest way. As I said in my initial post about why Henry pushes Hans away at first, @hallowedlore pointed out that Hans' vibe of "love? I never knew love till now!" [five minutes later] "love? I never knew love till—" can be VERY indicative of queerness. Because of course he hasn't found the right girl; he was never looking for a girl at all. There are so many examples of this. Similarly, as @codeword-art pointed out here, noblemen are "supposed to be proud, stern, with a love for women," which, as they put it, most likely "stems from Hans' own doubts about his own sexuality." I could not agree more with this.

It's honestly not surprising to me that Hans has no idea how to act around women because he didn't grow up around them at all. His mother is either dead or ditched him and he didn't grow up with much of anyone, let alone any peers. But he did at least have Hanush around to act as a sort of male rolemodel. He had Captain Bernard and semi-frequently saw other noblemen. Women of his status, not so much. It's no wonder he doesn't really interact with either Rosa or Katherine, but even there, he seems more comfortable around Katherine because she's more like the women he was exposed to, castle staff and bath wenches.

I'm also inclined to agree with you about his trips to the baths. And not just because we find out he tried to convince one of the women to strip for him by playing dice with her (when he could have just asked her to) and then, after failing, used that as a conceit for how to try and get Henry naked… but also because he's so fucking bad at it. I tried for quite a while to find the post here but someone recently showed off a conversation Hans can have with one of the bath maids near Devil's Den, which is just so, so profoundly pathetic. Iirc this is during the fake Karolina era when he is white knuckling down on the last vestiges of heterosexuality that he thought he had.

It's interesting too that there is a non-zero chance (not a large chance, mind, just the possibility of it) that Hans could be a virgin. Like I think that's kind of fucking hysterical that for all his showboating it is possible for it to all be 100% fake pretend bravado. Do I think this is likely? Not really. But it's possible. Because we have only ever seen him strike out with women and we know for a fact that it is canon that he struck out with the real Karolina as well. He's bad at this! He fawns over Klara and goes to the baths to see her even though she's the only one of the bath maids there where touching is off the table. We also know that he's an idealist and a romantic who loves love. It wouldn't surprise me if he would look at sex he could pay for at a bathhouse as a sort of... hollow thing that wouldn't appeal to him. But by god, he'd pretend up and down and left and right that it does.

Another thing that should be commented on here that you brought up as well to a degree is this scene—and here I have to draw attention to @audentesfortunaiuvatt as usual magnificent tags. We know that they're canonically nude here. And @komorebian's wonderful gifts beautifully illustrate how much this motherfucker is just straight up checking Henry out. It's not even remotely subtle. And this is far from the only time stuff like this happens in KCD1! Like I shipped them like crazy after playing the first game and I can't imagine that was entirely unintentional on the part of the dev team. I mean look at this shit!

So much of Hans' character is faking it till you make it. Except he can't fake this well enough to pass as straight. He tries so hard and even then he's fucking transparent.

I maintain that I do think part of the reason that he enjoys when Henry gets smart with him is because he's willing to treat him like a person instead of an object, but like I said in my last meta post I do think part of it does have to do with a lack of self-esteem. The reason he does so much showboating is in order to try and fake who he thinks he should be. He masks and plays the mimic at every possible turn.

I also agree with you that Hanush had a big influence on his mental health (and lack thereof). But I think there's a bit more nuance here than you're suggesting. Because while you can 100% read Hanush's behaviors as abusive, the real issue (for Hans as well!) is that he's not actively and consciously trying to go for that result. Hanush genuinely thinks he's doing right by Hans and leading him toward what's best for him. And lbr here, even with something like the wedding, while the thing he's leading him toward is undeniably self-serving, Hanush is also… technically correct. Divorced from Hans' emotions, it is the "correct" choice. Hanush has raised Hans into a capable ruler in concept. This, to Hanush, was undoubtedly the most important thing. He just didn't realize he had to show him love and help him grow as a person as well. As I've said before, he's a great guardian, but he's a fucking godawful parent because he has no idea what he's doing.

If you're still sitting there going "no, he's evil" then I want you to look at the tiny tiny insight we get into Hanush's psyche here. It's just five seconds long and occurs at the very end of the scene where he lectures Hans during Clothes Make the Man. I brought this up as well in my meta post about Hans' relationship with Hanush. Hanush has no idea what he's doing. He (a former robber baron and perpetually broke gambler) was handed this extremely young child to raise out of nowhere. He's not a father. He doesn't know how to raise a kid. When he agreed to raise Hans in the event that something happened to his father, Hanush (like most people who agree to be a child's godparents) most likely didn't anticipate actually having to do it. And while it was quite common in medieval Europe for nobles to "foster" their children with other noble families as a way of cementing bonds and alliances, that doesn't mean that Hanush automatically knows how to parent.

You can read his stern talks with Hans and his emotional neglect of him as abuse. But the key thing here is imo intentionality. That abuse is borne from ignorance, not malice. And in a lot of ways that lack of intentionality makes it far, far more insidious. If Hanush hated him or hit him it would be so much easier for Hans to sort of recognize that what's happening here is emotionally damaging. He can walk away from this thinking that Hanush loves him and wants what's best for him, leaving him to internalize it all without second-guessing it. Because he's never had any reason to question it. It's also why him bringing up his parents here is especially poignant. Only with Henry, only placed outside of the bounds of society, only when surrounded by people who see value in him (so much so that Zizka assigned him control of a company of men!) does he start to question the things that he's taken for granted all this time.

And it does lead to things like the self-harm you mentioned, which I've commented on, if in no other way, at least in meme format:

(That's a lie, it comes up in my fic.)

That boy hates himself so much and thinks he's so fucking useless he literally actively pushes Henry away just so he can't let him down later. He knows this whole scene was his fault and is (even if it's just subconsciously) so angry with himself and insecure about how he's dragging Henry down that he flees. Even when Henry keeps forgiving him, over and over again.

You mentioned what happens if Henry bitches him out while they're in the pillory, and I agree that it makes a ton of sense that Hans, caring about Henry's approval as much as he does, would feel absolutely gutted. But I don't think that's the most telling thing you can get out of that conversation. If you play it nice the whole way through (my preferred route of choice, bc it ends up only making Hans feel all the worse for it after), you get this bit of dialogue:

Which... hoooooo boy.

I understand you need to take it out on someone. I can take it.

And that's exactly what Hans is so terrified of! That one day Henry won't be able to stand him anymore and will leave. So he leaves first. I mean, we get front row seats to his psyche later on that confirms exactly that. Because this, the "I wasn't good enough for you," is his take on what happens regardless of how nice you are to him.

@tsinavar and I had a conversation recently where they brought up what convinces Hans to keep poaching or not is whether or not Henry brings up his own safety. Which floored me bc, yeah, it really is that simple. Hans doesn't give a shit about his own hide because he doesn't think his hide is worth all that much to begin with. But Henry? He's worth the world to Hans.

And I think Henry recognizes this. He knows Hans, inside and out. It's why he can gut him in two seconds flat but then can choose not to. A Henry who is good enough at persuading people can use that ability, combined with how well he knows Hans, to talk him out of poaching by knowing to invoke his own safety. Like, no wonder Henry means everything to Hans. He sees Hans, inside and out, and stays by his side anyway.

[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

[shintaru]

Apple bobbing

Theme ♡ board ♡ m.list ♡ taglist

(click theme & board separately I have two of them!)

Tagging ~ @ravenwritten @dzvelinaskebiyars @sylith @sanzuslutttt @zyart-jpg @wthphe1n

History lesson before we begin bobbing for apples has roots dating back to at least the 14th century in Britain. The game originated in Europe centuries ago as a courting ritual to help young lovers determine if they were soulmates. In European traditions, apple bobbing was once a popular courting ritual. Each floating apple represented a potential husband. With one successful try, a young woman was destined to marry her desired mate. Two attempts meant that her love interest would court her, but the relationship would be ill-fated. If it took three or more tries to snag an apple, the marriage was not meant to be. Middle English was the language spoken and written during this time in England, Scotland, and Ireland from roughly 1100–1500 AD. It evolved from Old English and influenced the development of Modern English.

Now for my idea the European tradition from my understanding was mainly for women to partake in looking for insight into their marriages/ relationships it kinda reminds me a bit of fortune telling in a way. I want to use the courting ritual and parts of its history to inspire and bring my fanfic to life, however I’m going to change some things for this fanfic. Since Hajun is not from Europe in my fic I’ll say that the tradition had made its way over to South Korea and I also want to have Hajun be the one bobbing for apples to win the reader’s affection instead of the other way around. I find that a lot more romantic. I'm going to try to use Middle English for this fic. I've always wanted to write a piece using Middle English but I was too scared but I want to try to have fun with it since a few of my friends here love history. I’m not too big on lots of history myself because too much information makes my brain want to shut down. However, I do enjoy lots of things from history.

Royals: Kings, Queens, and their families formed the highest tier of society. They held the top position in the feudal structure and interacted primarily with their court, which consisted of lower-ranked nobles.

Commoners: This broad category included peasants, serfs, clergy and other individuals who were not part of the nobility or royalty. They were typically at the bottom of the social hierarchy, often under the authority of a noble lord. Some commoners worked in the royal household in lower-level positions.

Once upon a time

Your whole childhood lacked everything a normal child would receive. You were raised to be nothing other than a wife and mother. From as far as you can remember you never got to play you were taught the rules of motherhood and how to be a fit wife. You were also taught about becoming queen the day of your marriage.Your family didn’t know love, they knew money and roles. Everyone in your family had a role to play and nothing less was expected. You were no exception being the first born daughter of your country.

You had just turned of age to be married and your father wanted to waste no time in getting you hitched. You wish you could be as joyous as him but how can you find joy in marrying someone that you don’t know and worst of all don’t love. You’re currently being fitted for your blue cotehardie (symbolizes purity), a long luxurious dress that your mother had worn for her marriage with your father at your age. The seamstress just needed to make some adjustments to accommodate for your differences in sizing.

After your measurements were taken down you were requested to head to the grounds where the courting ritual would partake. Upon arriving at the great hall you saw tables lined with individual buckets full of water and apples. Apple bobbing has been a huge tradition in South Korean originating in Britain and it made its way all over the world. Every man who is of age is allowed to partake in the ritual, even commoners.

A timer is set and players must have their hands bound behind their backs to begin. If a player cannot get an apple the first try it’s the next player's turn if a player gets one apple and cannot pick up the next they’ve lost their turn. A player must get every apple out of the tub without dropping an apple to win the ritual and your hand in marriage. Your father and mother arrive hand in hand to announce the start of the ritual.

Hours had passed and hundreds of men had lost, some almost drowned, some choked, some had no skills. You were beginning to grow anxious. What if you are to marry a cruel man you can hardly stomach that thought. You decide to finally pay attention to the game instead of your racing thoughts that didn’t help your aching heart. An oddly large man takes up the challenge.

You couldn’t see his face, his back was turned to you as his hands were being tied behind him. Many gasped at the sight of him. You were positive it was because of his unbelievable height. You’d never seen someone so tall, especially in South Korea. “I want a proper challenge for one minute” you hear him request causing an uproar from the crowds. “Art thou a driveller?” Your father turns to ask your mother.

“He’s gone mad” someone from the crowd shouts. The timer starts and the large man with fair blue hair wastes no time gathering apples. He has you on the edge of your throne. One by one he’s getting them so swiftly and neatly into the basket. Your fathers jaw has dropped as far as it can drop. He truly has no competition; he even beat your fathers record when he had won your mothers hand in marriage during her courting ritual.

His win caused an uproar “A commoner is going to marry a royal” “a commoner marrying a princess?” Back to back voices gasping and shouting questioning the situation. A commoner has never won the ritual before. You follow as you were raised walking down the stairs just beneath the thrones that seat your family and close friends. You go to meet your soon to be husband. Upon a closer encounter you see he has a large scar across the bottom side of his face.

He’s also full of tattoos, you burst into a fit of laughter. Your father is going to have a heart attack when he takes a closer look at your husband. Your father marches down the stairs upon hearing your laughter he doesn’t spare a look at the blue haired man yet. He’s too busy scolding you. “By much laughter you may distinguish a fool.” He shouts. You try to hold it in but once your father looks at the man to apologize his eyes widen in shock upon the sight before him.

“A plague upon thee! Your only desire is to form the beast with two backs with my only daughter!” Your father shouts an accusation stirring up the crowd even further. “Father!” You gasp. “By my troth, I desire not to marry your daughter for my own lustful pleasures but to save my younger brothers and I from poverty” the man replies. Your father faints and has to receive medical attention and your mother rushes to his aid.

You take thy man’s hand and run past the guards sneaking off somewhere in thy castle to get away from thy crowd. You take him to a room you always hid in when you needed space “thou shall not find us here” you reassure him. “My apologies” he says to you bowing down. “You need not to apologize, my father has a bit of a temper” you reply.

You fetch a towel from the bathroom and you sit him down on thy bed. You begin drying his face and hair gently. “May I beg your byname?” You ask whilst still drying his hair. “Joker but you may call me Hajun,” he says. You softly smile at him “you may call me Y/N” you reply to him. Being a royal everyone knows who you and your family are but it’s common courtesy to still introduce yourself.

Your mother wanted you two to marry right away so you had to leave your hiding spot with your soon to be husband aka Hajun. You headed to drop him off to be fitted for his embroidery suit. “A bloody commoner to marry a royal” the guards whisper to themselves at the seamstresses door but you heard it. You take his hand rubbing your thumb alongside the top of his hand giving him reassurance.

“That’s no way to talk about my husband” you say, warning the guards they immediately apologize to Hajun. You bid your shirt farewell to him to get dressed for the ceremony. You’re fully dressed and ready for the ceremony and your father is expected to walk you down the aisle. You enter the room where the ceremony is to be held with your arm locked around your fathers. You notice your blue cotehardie matches Hajun’s hair. Your father leads you to stand in front of Hajun allowing the ceremony to begin.

“Hajun, do you take my daughters hand in marriage in sickness and in health until death do you part?” Your father asked grudgingly. “I do!” he says, looking into your eyes. “Y/N do you take Hajun hand in marriage in sickness and in health until death do you part?” Your father says looking at you shaking his head as if he wants you to say no. “I do!” you say. Your father faints yet again “oh dear heavens the king has fainted again” a noble shouts.

His lips meet yours and his hands meet your lower back pulling you in as close as possible to him. Your two bloodlines are joined together in eternity by a single shared kiss. His hair brushes against your skin softly as he deepens the kiss. You don’t pull away just yet wanting to enjoy your first kiss. He pulls away “I didn’t just marry you for money, I’ve liked you since I was younger” he confesses. The sudden confession makes your worries about marriage fade away you’re glad you got married to him instead of some pervert looking to become a royal.

The end.

[snarp]

When you're very frustrated with repeated experiences with bad human behavior, you may feel the need to try to make rules that will help you avoid Risky People. Like,

"I will not interact with people who use the word [whatever]"

"I will not listen to political opinions of people who [voted in a specific way or didn't vote]"

"I will not interact with people of [demographic] who pay for [service]"

"if someone asks me [specific personal question] IRL I will avoid them forever"

"people who feel [x] about genAI cannot be trusted to [y]"

This type of categorization is a standard and usually-unconscious human behavior, and not something to be ashamed of. It can be self-protective; it can lead to fabulously-stupid decisions and conflicts that are impossible to resolve; it is, ultimately, what's going on in the head of every bigot everywhere.

It doesn't feel like a conscious decision: just an emotion, fear or anger or disgust or maybe pity.

You're most likely to form these mental categories when you're under a lot of stress. It can be hard to recognize later that something has changed in the way you're treating people, and if you notice you may categorize the change as "growth" or "maturity." From a biological standpoint, this is probably even true: mature animals are less-curious about the world, and find it harder to change their habits.

It's tiring to pay enough attention to your own thoughts to recognize when you're forming a bias. It's possible to over-correct and monitor yourself obsessively - questioning whether it's right to feel fear and anger even towards a specific person who has intentionally hurt you.

But if you don't do it sometimes, you lose the ability to think about what you're doing at all: you've made rules for everything. You don't even recognize that you're making bad choices, because you don't think you're making choices at all: it's all become reflex. You're just doing what you "have to" do.

At that point, there's a sense in which you're already dead: what happens to you is no longer under your control. It's all up to Toby "Radiation" Fox, now, an