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sinisterexaggerator · 1 day

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Hancock x F!Reader [ A03 ]

Summary: You are important to John Hancock; there is a radstorm brewing. As a skilled and reformed scavver, you’re after a part for a decommissioned lounger—it belongs to Doc Amari’s famed Memory Den.

Hancock's tense; he should have gone with you, but it’s not too late to search you out. He would be glad to have you home safe in his arms, only things don’t always go as planned, nor do you go unpunished for your negligence.

Explicit: NSFW / 18+ for PWP, PiV sex, fingering, cunnilingus, dirty talk, whump / hurt and comfort, angst, gun violence, light bondage, praise, light sub/dom undertones, edging, use of chems, alcohol, foul language, and canon-typical violence and behavior. Other worthy mentions include fluff, romance, a worried and protective Hancock, and love confessions.

Notes: I am normally a Star Wars writer. This is my first time writing for Hancock, and my first fic for the Fallout fandom. I see Hancock as multifaceted, which I am having fun exploring. I have many ideas, but one fic can only contain so much! I used a few lines of dialogue from the game because they stuck with me T__T. I will also most likely try my hand at Nick Valentine at some point, (and maybe even Coop), but this ghoul stole my heart.

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Feedback appreciated. Like? Reblog! <3 Requests accepted!

Eyes as black as tar pits searched the ground at his feet, though no answers would present themselves, the cold, grimy filth of the Commonwealth something he could relate to on an atomic level. Flecks of barren soil and bits of detritus vaulted upward in a stagnate aggregate of dust, cavalier leather boots—having seen better days—leaving a swirl of varied particulates in their wake.

Hancock paced, the Mayor of Goodneighbor impatient as a hungry mole rat, the man left to stalk before the door that led to the Financial District. A dreary, dark green pall signaled to anyone with brains that there was a storm looming on the horizon, and yet you had not returned.

“Where the hell is she?” a raspy voice asked its sparse audience, two ghouls dedicated to his cause doubling as bodyguards, though if he felt safe anywhere, it was here among his brethren. Besides, it wasn’t his safety he was worried about, it was yours, and he wasn’t afraid to convey his feelings to the whole of town.

“Startin’ to get antsy. Gotta hand it to her, she’s got me sweatin’ like a whore in church over this. Hope she’s havin’ fun at my expense.”

Scavenging was lucrative, or it could be if you managed to score the right loot. You had to know where to look, or where not to look; danger was always in the cards. It was a game Hancock didn’t like to play, and especially not now, not when lightning streaked the sky, rain clouds pregnant with radiation threatening to burst open like a feral’s head looking down the muzzle of a sawed-off shotgun.

He knew what it was like to be forced to scour the bare bones of buildings, filching anything that was ripe for the picking. A single find could feed a man for weeks, and places like Goodneighbor just didn’t just build themselves. People needed things. Lucky for them, Hancock was able to provide. It was his one claim to fame—his rep was solid—but he didn’t look down on you for being one to scout for buried treasure.

“She’ll turn up,” one of his companions offered. It was a piteous attempt to console him, Hancock all but ignoring his dismissive comment. He felt his concern was obvious, yet his bedfellows were none of their business. Either way, he brushed it off like a decent man instead of snapping like he wanted to—the guy’d done nothing wrong.

Thunderclaps echoed through town, the first of many droplets pelting his marred face, the ghoul’s faithful tricorn not doing much in the way of shielding him from the dirtied water that had begun to trickle down onto its weathered surface.

He rued allowing you to go out on this wild-mongrel chase to begin with, not to say that you weren’t capable. What he might say is that you’re too good for this world, too good for him, but that hadn’t stopped him from falling head over heels.

You weren’t anti-social like most of your kind; you had a good heart, gave paying customers fair deals, and somehow you had kept the ruins from tarnishing your cheerful outlook; you sported a chipper disposition even at the worst of times.

In other words, you were his little ray of sunshine; Hancock had no qualms with telling you that to your face. And things as precious as you were to him? They needed protecting. It was becoming more obvious by the minute that he should have done the job himself.

“If this is her definition of ‘fast,’ we’re going to need to have a little chat to clear a few things up. Should have fucking gone with her, don’t know what I was thinking,” fried vocal cords scratched out, words tinged with worry as he made his way to the reinforced slab of steel that was Goodneighbor’s single entry point, not counting the alley behind Rexford.

“Maybe you weren’t thinkin’ at all, John…” that little voice inside his head nagged at him, reminding himself at every turn of the ways he’d failed, this on the verge of being one of them.

“Want us to look?” the other rejoined, aware you had been sent out on a job to find a replacement circuit board for Doctor Amari, as one of the memory lounger’s had been marked out of service. The doc would pay you well; everyone’s gotta eke a living somehow. Hers was made by sellin’ a man’s own memories back to him, and yours was made by sellin’ spare parts.

Didn’t mean he couldn’t have skipped out on his Mayoral duties for one evening, Hancock mentally scolding himself, his sentiments leading him toward the need to kick his own ass.

Quick, adept and clever, he had no doubt you could pull it off, but you were used to traveling in a group, used to back up and a lookout. You had willingly ditched your crew and settled here for him, making Goodneighbor more or less your permanent home. He couldn’t help but feel like he was ultimately responsible for you and your well-being—so far, so good. He’d be damned if anything happened to you on his watch.

The coming radstorm was starting to sound like a stampede of angry Brahmin. Not even those of his ilk should be out in this mess. Technically immortal, sure, but not immune to accumulating all that bad stuff brewing in the atmosphere; he was comfy right where he was, but not without his lady by his side.

Their self-elected leader ignored the question, reaching into the confines of his red frock coat to unveil the firepower hidden just out of sight. His break-action, double-barreled 12-gauge had most of its stock removed for easy concealment; he knew better than to step foot outside Goodneighbor without packing heat.

“No, you might say this is a personal problem. Not to say she wouldn’t make a damn fine Ghoul,” he stated with deadly calm, kicking the door open with reckless abandon despite his unflappable demeanor, not caring what awaited him on the other side.

“I’m going with you, ain’t safe,” words spoken over harsh winds, a breeze not in the least bit refreshing having descended upon the Commonwealth as Hancock slipped out into the mounting tumult, both men following close behind. Truthfully, he was grateful for their loyalty.

“Suit yourself, but don’t go gettin’ yourself killed. Would defeat the purpose of a search and rescue, ya feel me?”

A question not needing a response, he ventured forward, running headfirst into the growing tempest, chaos reigning overhead in the form of a blinding light show.

Hancock called out for you, yelling your name over the deafening commotion that was going to get worse before it got better, not about to go home empty-handed, even if it took the whole damn rest of the night. He hoped you were smart enough to know when to quit, or that you’d taken those Mentats he’d stuffed in your pocket on the way out.

“Get back here, scavver!”

Footfalls echoed in the dark, brisk in pace, inky, depthless eyes narrowing as the ghoul searched out the source. He had taken no more than half a dozen steps before he was forced to witness you at a full-fledged run, two burly raiders belting out insults and expletives hot on your trail.

It all seemed to happen in slow motion, but he was stone-cold sober, time standing still as you dove into Hancock’s open arms.

“There’s my girl,” the scoundrel purred into your ear, sinewy limbs enshrouding you as the sound of gunfire and discarded ammo casings nearly went unnoticed. Hancock let his own weapon fall to the ground to accommodate you, your pursuers dispatched like the trash they were. The members of the Neighborhood Watch who had accompanied him outside the walls made short work of both men; they deserved a drink and some chems on his dime.

“John,” you breathed out, smiling up at him, eyes sparkling with mirth as you held up that piece of scrap you were so proud of. His name off your tongue was musical, a warm sensation spreading through him like wildfire, better than drugs—it was a high he would never come down from.

“I—I got the part,” you spoke softly, your tepid breath tickling the remnants of a disfigured ear.

Hancock almost shivered.

But oh, no. He wasn’t about to let you off that easy, not when he’d felt that pang of anxiety and the sickening feeling in his gut like someone had shanked him with his own knife. He held you back by the shoulders, breaking your embrace, his face taking on a displeased, stern shade.

“What’s wrong with you, huh? Makin' me all kinds of nervous. Scarin’ me half to death. And some might say I don’t look too far off.” He breathed in nice and slow, exhaling through exposed nasal cavities, Hancock emitting a sigh to emphasize his disappointment. “Can’t be doin’ things like that, or you’re liable to give this old ghoul a—”

“—Sunshine?” His heart sank, as if the universe was out to prove he had every right to worry, Hancock’s attention inexplicably drawn to the red staining your fingers—it neared the color of his coat. You only now seemed to notice, that radiant light swept from your beaming face as you acknowledged the presence of your own blood on your hands; no wonder it had been so hard to take those last few steps.

“I didn’t mean to,” you whispered, eyes blown wide as you apologized for upsetting him. You would collapse into a heap, the adrenaline that had carried you home seeming to dissipate all at once—at least your fight-or-flight response had done its duty.

---

“Move over, out of the way. I ain’t askin’ twice,” Hancock seethed, the distraught man’s threat to bowl over anyone who stood in his way not to be taken lightly, though his tone was traitorously even and his despondency well-masked. He stormed the Old State House, ascending the spiral staircase to the second floor, carrying your limp body to a tattered red couch.

Refuse and empty Jet inhalers, along with half-drunk bottles of alcohol and boxes of Mentats, were all swept aside, Hancock throwing open cabinet doors and dislodging drawers in his haste.

“Oh, you’re really in it now, aren’t you, sister? Just had to make a few extra caps!” he chided, the ghoul’s husky voice rising in volume as he took to another part of the room.

Having not yet succumbed to blood loss, you were barely cognizant as you fought to stay awake, your beloved Mayor nothing more than a blur of motion and splotches of red as he systematically searched every nook and cranny for the syringe that would save your life.

“Hang on, dollface, you’re not dying today. Not if I have anything to say about it—and you know how much I love to run my mouth.” Hancock spoke to reassure you and himself, filling the silence with something other than the curses he wanted to dish out every which way to the wind. You couldn’t help but to smile again despite your predicament, eyelids drooping as you thought about the idea of sleep.

“There you are,” he growled, your vision starting to glaze over, though you were aware Hancock had come back to your side. His scarred, yet deceptively handsome face hovered inches above your own; it was an acquired taste you had no trouble in accepting.

“This is gonna hurt, but it’s better than the alternative,” he provided in short warning, withered fingers fumbling to unbutton your top, exposing first your sternum, your ribs, and then your belly.

“Shit, they got you good,” Hancock grumbled, your hand rising to cradle his jaw as he had peeled back the flaps of fabric to inspect the wound in your side. You were surprisingly calm, thinking that if today was your last day on Earth, at least you had been blessed to experience his company.

“I’m glad it’s you here with me,” your voice, meek and mild, declared. Hancock hesitated for one precious second, caught off guard, but pleasantly so.

“Don’t go gettin’ sentimental on me! Ain’t like these are your final moments or nothin’,” he assured, an audible tremble causing his words to waver, voice rising in pitch. He went on to stab you without ceremony, the needlepoint of a stimpak and its revitalizing medicine at once injecting itself into your damaged flesh and pulsing through your bloodstream.

You moaned in pain, hips arching as you lifted slightly up off the cushions before you settled once more, allowing yourself to finally relax as Hancock watched the regenerative process take hold, much to his relief.

---

You awoke, finding yourself supine atop a mattress, with Hancock crossed legged on the floor beside you. He had brought it down from upstairs, wanting you to have somewhere more comfortable to recover; the drifters weren’t using it, but he was sure he could scrounge another one up should the need arise.

The door was shut, the rest of the room empty, the man teetering off the edge of a high he wished he could prolong; he had pumped himself full of all those things that made him feel better. Riddled with guilt, he had imbibed both chems and alcohol, his body slightly swaying from left to right as he could not sit entirely still, yet he was too far off in his own head to notice you had come back to him.

You shifted, realizing he had draped his frock across your body to act as a temporary blanket. This simple gesture caused a flutter behind sore ribs, biceps activating so that you might push up and rest on the flat of your palms.

John was idle, near-dead to the world, eyes closed as he kept up that gentle rocking, back and forth, as if lost in music or in deep meditation. You only desired to watch him, studying the intricate, striated patterns of his ravaged flesh, gazing over the hollow of his once human nose, and admiring his sullied, foppish tunic that was a part of his infamous ensemble.

While some might consider him a monster, he was a being of light. He had superficial, obvious flaws, but he was no more guilty of sin than anyone else in this day and age. He was a beautiful soul, inside and out, and your opinion was the only one that mattered to you. Hancock always tried to do the right thing—it’s what drew you to him—even if that meant taking out a few loose ends.

Your heart stirred, natural chemical processes taking hold that would prompt you to touch him, your hormones dictating that you wanted this man carnally.

The ghoul’s eyes bolted open as you shuffled forward on your behind; you set his coat aside almost reverently, folding your legs like his, knees brushing as you leaned forward to kiss his wiry lips. Soft flesh against textured skin, rough in comparison, felt no less wonderful, Hancock groaning out a throaty sound of appreciation as he slowly shut his eyes again.

That was all the encouragement you needed, pressing closer, crawling onto Hancock’s lap as his hands found the meat of your ass to give it a squeeze. “Someone’s feelin’ better…” he quipped, allowing himself to lie back on the floor. His smile was lackadaisical and content, his touch roving to your thighs as he gazed up at you, noting you were tugging off your already unbuttoned top to reveal your shapely breasts.

“How’d a guy like me get so damn lucky…” he drawled, Hancock’s normally assertive way of speaking temporarily replaced by a calming cadence—it was dreamy—his indolent tone arousing your most base instincts.

You didn’t answer at first, thinking you’re the one who’s lucky. You had wanted and needed a change of pace, not happy with the way your business partners were operating, willing to bring death to others in order to get what scrap they could. You only took things from the ruins, or from those who deserved to be robbed, the idea of senseless violence proliferating thanks to people like your ragtag group something you decided you couldn’t live with.

You’d come to Goodneighbor looking for work; Hancock had been willing to give you a chance, and you didn’t disappoint. After a few heady conversations and risqué flirtations at the Third Rail, you had wound up in his arms—a place you found yourself never wanting to leave.

“I could ask you the same question,” you finally muttered, grazing his mouth, kisses repeating, small pecks placed from one side to the other in a physical show of adoration. The ghoul laughed a wry, salacious little laugh, head turning to allow for this impromptu bout of affection, stretching one arm out behind his head to act as a pillow as he relished the attention.

Then, his smile faded, the chem’s effects lingering like background radiation, less intense than before—the high lasted mere minutes if that, his faculties gradually returning. The hand left free gingerly touched your side, just below where he had administered the stimpak hours earlier. Concern was apparent in glistening eyes, so dark and lovely, starry pupils reflecting the faint luminescence of his surroundings.

“Not lettin’ you out of my sight again,” he promised, every shred of levity fleeing to be replaced by austerity, low, somber notes causing a visceral reaction as the onset of something warm and fuzzy spread throughout your core.

“Bein’ out here with me? Means you don’t gotta work, but I should have had your back, sunshine. Ain’t got no excuse.”

“You can have me on my back,” you playfully retorted, the simple suggestion unleashing a purr from the bowels of the ghoul’s throat. The idea of being a kept woman pleased you, but you were more interested in pleasing him.

“You better watch your mouth, or I can’t be held responsible for all those things I’m going to do to you,” Hancock countered. He talked big game, but he was still feelin’ shook. He didn’t want to risk getting too frisky on the off chance your body needed more time to heal; you were only human, after all.

“I’m shaking in my boots,” you simpered. Hancock was quick to snark back.

“I know that’s a lie, ‘cause you’re not wearing any.”

You gasped as Hancock flipped you without warning, pinning both your wrists to either side of your head. He drank in the smooth, supple flesh of your curves, hungry eyes making damn sure to get their fill.

He couldn’t stop himself, exploring the swell of a perfect tit, Hancock’s mouth becoming newly acquainted with the sensitive flesh of your nipple. He flicked its pert tip with the point of his tongue; you brazenly rolled your hips as you tried to contain the lewd sound that threatened to escape you.

“I double dog dare you, ” you tempted, not in the least bit afraid of what he might have in store.

Hancock didn’t take the bait.

“Don’t want to hurt you, love, but let’s say I give it to you nice and slow… Or as slow as I can give it; hard to keep promises, lookin’ the way you do,” he argued, ruined lips applying pressure as he began to suck, his growing erection gently grinding into the meat of your thigh.

“You won’t hurt me.” You shuddered as he pulled back, gazing into murky, otherworldly eyes, their glow hypnotizing. You half-assed a struggle, wanting to pull your hands free if only to touch him, Hancock chuckling mildly at your efforts.

“Don’t be so sure, ‘cause I got a hankerin’ for human,” his voice dropped emphatically lower, toying with you, his dire inflection sending tingles down your spine. Coming from a ghoul, most people would run the other way, but you knew from experience, Hancock had a twisted sense of humor—it was something you loved about him.

“Eat me,” you jeered, snapping your teeth playfully like some creature that roamed the wasteland, Hancock pulling his head back just enough to satisfy you, as if he had a nose to bite off to begin with.

“That’s the plan, sister,” he snickered, finally releasing his grip on your arms.

You took the opportunity to take hold of Hancock’s already tousled vest, guiding him down to meet your lips. Your fingers busied themselves with its unbuttoning as the ghoul had his hands full, cradling the plump, healthy tissue of your blushing cheeks in the crooks of his palms.

Hancock fed a grating moan into your mouth before asking a pointless question he already knew the answer to, not one to miss out on a chance to have his ego stroked. “Somethin’ about me.. turnin' you on? Don’t know why you’d go for this ugly mug,” he conceded, fishing for a compliment.

“You. You turn me on,” you whined plaintively, “everything about you,” you confessed, furling your tongue around his, willing him to shut his trap long enough for you to kiss him properly. He aided in the undressing, whipping his sash off in one fell swoop, an idea blossoming only to come into fruition shortly thereafter.

“That why you’re actin’ so desperate for me?” Hancock laced that bit of ragged flag around both your wrists, constricting them once more, his own arm extending to tauten its hold. He wouldn’t give you the chance to kiss him the way you wanted to, cinching its loose ends around the legs of the coffee table just behind your head, giving it a good tug to make sure you couldn’t break free.

In reality, it would have been easy to wiggle loose, but he knew you were the type to play along.

“What are you doing?” you asked, feigning alarm. The ghoul only grinned a shit-eating grin, crawling backward across your lap to adjust to a better position for his next course of action.

“Makin’ sure you can’t skip out on me,” he said matter of fact, a mischievous lilt to his voice, “gonna have to punish you for all that worryin’ you made me do.”

“But, Hancock—” you protested, realizing he was barring you from the one thing you wanted—full access to his person, unable to grope and caress all those parts of him you were so eager to touch and kiss.

“—Hmm?” he hummed, the bastard having the nerve to stand. He left you in a recumbent position with hands tied, unable to do anything but gaze up at the seductive set of motions he was now subjecting you to.

The ghoul painstakingly unfastened the remainder of his buttons, wizened digits fondling each in turn, his manner suggesting something that for now would remain unspoken. Then, Hancock shrugged his vest off, allowing his arms to hang as the garment dropped silkily to the floor. It was followed by a festooned shirt, leaving the man bare chested and amused; he wasn’t sure you had blinked even once.

“Like what you see?” he asked lazily, tracing a line across his gaunt pecs toward his navel with the curl of a finger, black eyes glinting impishly at the sight of you jostling your wrists as you failed to liberate yourself.

“Yes,” you breathed out shamelessly, unable to deny the effect his little striptease had on you. This in and of itself was torture, finding his brand of punishment entirely unfair.

“Good,” Hancock crooned, doing the unthinkable as he vanished from view. He even went so far as to walk beyond your peripheral vision. Instead, you were reduced to listening out for him, the ghoul shuffling around somewhere behind you.

“John,” you whined, sitting up and scooting back against the coffee table the best you could. You endeavored to crane your neck, hearing the clink of glass preceding other innocuous sounds, the gentle thud of Hancock’s boots echoing across the rotting floorboards as he made his way back around.

“You can say my name all you want to, princess, but it ain’t gonna change a damn thing,” Hancock stressed, words clawing their way out of cracked pipes as he nudged your knees apart with his foot; he knelt between your legs, a dispenser of Jet in one hand, and a dose of Rad-X in the other. “Open wide,” he instructed.

You should have known what he’d been after, the drug-addicted ghoul popping the lone anti-radiation capsule inside his mouth after dispensing a heavy spray of the illicit substance into his lungs; its potency was limited in his case, but you were easily susceptible to its high.

You gratefully obeyed, wanting any excuse to be close to him, Hancock’s silver tongue molesting you as easily as it had persuaded you to listen. He deposited the pill into your mouth, kissing you deeply, your beloved Mayor giving you a shotgun of thick, odorous chems without so much as a single protest on your part.

Your heart thrummed, Jet leeching its way into your bloodstream to trigger a bodily response via your nervous system. In the meantime, you had almost forgotten to swallow your dose of Rad-X, Hancock prompting you by trailing the full length of your throat with a single, sallow finger.

He massaged it down, feeling for the activation of those muscles that would help ferry it along, his thoughts drifting to the memory of his cock once upon a time being slopped on by the wet whorl of your tongue. His prick had throbbed almost painfully, sequestered snugly inside your zealous gullet, the powerful suction of your hollow cheeks threatening to wrench his soul from his body, or it sure as hell had felt that way.

He was drawn back to the present moment by the look in your eyes, your pupils dilating to rival the circumference of dinner plates. You gazed at the man before you; Hancock pulled back the edge of your bottom lip, exposing your gumline, the ghoul snaking another of his fingers inside your partially open mouth.

The slender extremity would bypass your blunt teeth, saturating itself in your saliva. Even in this state, you had the wherewithal to pucker up, intaking that explorative digit to the knuckle, your plush maw behaving like a deluxe pre-war vacuum cleaner.

The ghoul shuddered, though keeping his cool intact, lost in the depths of your unwavering stare. He slowly slipped back out, releasing your lip for it to snap gently back into place, Hancock satisfied with the knowledge you had swallowed the pill.

“Look at you, bein’ such a good girl for me,” Hancock praised, speaking in a low, sultry whisper. You did not reply, your desire for the man at its all-time high, that warmth in your belly having spread to complement the unparalleled ache of your loins.

“Hancock,” you whimpered, once more tugging at the cloth that bound you. You felt delirious with longing, your heart racing as you saw stars, euphoria overtaking all of your senses. You pushed forward, halted partway by that fucking flag that had you fettered like some common criminal, too blazed to even think about squirming loose.

“Please,” you begged, lips reaching for his. Hancock evaded you, trailing a divot devoid of cartilage across your sateen cheek, directing it toward your lovely, intact nose.

“Please, what, sister?” he ruthlessly teased, watching as your tongue tried to skirt his teeth; its vertex barely met its goal. Still, Hancock would return the gesture with a sweep of his own, flitting his against yours, inhaling deeply the scent of Jet off your breath as he was suddenly consumed by an almost feral need to taste your neediness—it was nearly palpable.

“Please.. touch you? Please kiss you? Please.. fuck your pretty little hole?” he asked in a derisive tone, though his movements were languid, Hancock in no rush to oblige you, even as his veiny hands glided over every inch of your sleek skin.

“Is that what my little ray of sunshine wants?” the ghoul taunted, moving to unbutton the clasp at the top of your pants, then pinching the pull of your zipper, teeth parting to reveal clean cotton. You were nearly embarrassed by how damp your panties were, the chems only making your arousal ten times worse; Hancock wasn’t helping matters, a lecherous moan reaching your ears as the man slid back and realigned himself, bending forward to bury his face in the moist outline staining your skivvies.

“Shit, you’re so fucking wet—” he marveled breezily, “—is it all for me?” Hancock rasped, nipping you through the fabric, a desiccated finger tucking itself into its elastic hem. Hancock dragged it down just far enough to expose your sweet-smelling sex, the ghoul’s tongue slithering easily between slick folds.

You inhaled a disjointed gasp for breath, voice cracking as you cried out in ecstasy, Hancock having barely swiped your thrumming clit. That alone was almost too much, your hips bucking beneath him of their own volition as you pleaded with him to keep his promise.

“Don’t tease,” you sighed, naked breasts rising and falling with every labored breath. Hancock’s eyes traveled up your fine as fuck body before meeting your gaze, a twisted hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his ghoulish mouth.

“That’s exactly what I’m doing,” he snickered, fingers grasping the entirety of your waistband to help you shimmy off your bottom layer of clothes. Your hips wriggled all too desperately, overjoyed to finally be free of their constraints.

“But that’s not fair!” you entreated, unabashedly spreading your legs in the hopes of providing him a suitable meal, ready and willing to be devoured if you could only convince him to take the plunge.

“And why not?” he asked in all seriousness, nuzzling into the lush flesh of your labia as his silky tongue entombed itself, gathering your moist heat from its source. He dipped back out to your chagrin—you had inhaled sharply in preparation only to be left disappointed—Hancock licking a stripe to the cusp of your throbbing bud.

“Because I’ll die,” you replied, overexaggerating, writhing in bliss, albeit temporary; Hancock seemed out to drive you mad, retracting once more to glance back up at you, reedy lips downturned in a disapproving frown.

“No, you won’t,” he asserted, voice taking on a sobering, sincere quality; even if you were being hyperbolic, after the events that had just transpired, Hancock didn’t find it funny, resolving to dine on you good and proper, as if it would be the thing to save your life.

“I—” You were cut off mid-thought, lightning crashing thunderously outside, the ghoul introducing two coarse fingers into your clenching cunt as the radstorm raged on. Hancock’s neck sank low as you arched your hips, the flat of a thick tongue bringing you toward rapture as he succinctly lapped your clit in delicious combination, playing you like some Old World violin.

“Aren’t you glad you’re trapped in here with me instead of out there cookin’ alive?” Hancock asked offhand, digits curling to find the seat of your pleasure, warm, wet muscle dancing slow, precise circles across your sensitive nerves. You halfheartedly yanked at your bindings once more, wishing for nothing more than to ravish him like a woman starved, deprived of sustenance.

“Yes, yes— please, just like that,” you answered, urging him on, the man encouraged to keep at it, long, languorous strokes titillating you toward release.

Then, he simply stopped, fingers glossy upon exit, Hancock sucking your slick clean off with a scarecrow smile, tilting his head like a curious animal as you bemoaned your plight, left to suffer on the edge of an orgasm.

“Relax, I ain’t through with you yet,” Hancock remarked, lifting himself up to a seated position on his knees. You whined indignantly, made to watch as he unbuckled and unzipped his own pants.

The rogue stood completely, giving you another show, kicking one boot off after the other before slinking out of the rest of his clothes.

You took a moment to admire him, skin pockmarked with scars, deep pits of tissue missing where cells had inevitably healed all too quickly, John a mosaic of gnarled, misshapen flesh and keloid. Yet he was so handsome, charming, and cavalier, the man leaving nothing on but his tricornered hat, returning to his previous enterprise by way of interring his roiling tongue into your aching center.

“Oh, John,” you murmured, voice hushed, the man’s thumb working itself concentrically atop your little pearl.

For once, he was quiet, his strokes inside you meticulous, the nearly silent room filled with a plethora of obscene sounds as he feasted on you like a Yao guai over a fresh kill. Just a little attention was all it took, nails digging into the palms of your tied hands as you twisted beneath him, vocalizing loud enough you were sure the whole State House would hear.

A shiver rocked you to your core, riding out your climax for as long as you could stand it. You were unable to push Hancock’s head back even if you wanted to, the ghoul finding a new way to punish you, continuing to stimulate your already oversensitive clit.

“Hancock, please—” you begged him under different circumstances, the ball of your foot gingerly pushing against his blatant hard-on. The ghoul finally let up just enough to chortle dryly, obviously nonplussed.

“Done already? Thought we were just gettin’ this party started,” he flouted, sitting up properly, probing fingers caressing the curve of your slit as they trailed upward, ghosting over your navel to tweak your nipple. They didn’t stop there, reaching just behind you to nab a cigarette off the edge of the coffee table, your expression giving away your confusion as he struck a match to ignite the end.

“No, John— you’re supposed to fuck me!” you berated, another devious little chuckle let loose from wilted lips. The ghoul inhaled a deep drag of nicotine laced with radiation, though the amount contained therein was so trivial he didn’t bat a lash—not that he had any.

He gazed at you through a thin veil of smoke exuded from eroded nasal passages—a short burst of pressure from his lungs propelling it outward—a freakish sight to some, but you had grown accustomed to it.

“So, that is what you want,” Hancock digressed, snubbing the end of his cig on the floor after a few more laggard puffs. The Jet was wearing off, Hancock having already sobered completely, its side effects leaving you feeling used-up and exhausted. Hancock had forgotten what it felt like to come down from such an intense high; you pouted pathetically up at him.

“Baby,” you whined, immediately capturing Hancock's attention. He dropped the act, eyes softening around the edges, colorless voids somehow the most expressive you had ever seen them.

“What is it, sunshine? Feelin’ all right? Need somethin’ to take the edge off?” he asked gently, concern present in his tone, the ghoul finally being kind enough to reach over your head to free you from your bindings.

“I need you,” you implored, your speech sounding childishly irritable, tired, heavy arms lifting to wrap themselves around John’s neck; you couldn’t help yourself, having been prohibited from touching him for what felt like hours, when in reality it had only been a short length of time.

“I’m all yours,” Hancock vowed, whisking a stray strand of your hair away. A soft kiss was pressed into even softer lips; the man was two sides of the same coin, like night and day. Part of you prayed you would never cross him, his temper volatile, like an active volcano lying dormant until such a time the right conditions were met, inevitably causing an eruption.

But he was also kind, genuine, and a good person, only wanting to make the Commonwealth a better place; he held within him a righteous anger, and for good reason, determined to stick by him through thick and thin.

"Nice and slow?" you asked, bringing the conversation full circle, ushering the ghoul down on top of you as you laid back, gazing up with heavy-lidded eyes. He searched your face, as if double-checking for something, needing to know beyond a shadow of a doubt that nothing was wrong—you were only sulking.

“You got it, sister,” Hancock replied coyly, the fullness of a finger returning to you as he tested the waters; you were still so unbelievably wet. It was a stark contrast to the dry, desolate landscape that stretched for miles just beyond his little town, the ghoul humming in gratitude as you kissed him once again.

You wasted no time, slipping your hand between the depression of your bodies where hip meets hip, his weight a warm, inviting presence that comforted you like nothing else. Your fingers toyed with his variegated shaft, thumbing a bead of loosed pre-cum to moisten its tip; Hancock moaned lustfully as he buried himself deeper into the column of your throat, teeth raking tender flesh, barely withholding the intention to bite.

“I’m thinkin’ you must be the single best thing to ever happen to me,” Hancock confessed in a dulcet whisper, voice quavering with emotion as you carefully escorted his cock inside you, one delicious inch at a time. Jagged breaths found their way into your ear, distorted, ribbed flesh, more than adequate in length and girth, stretching you open, a subdued sound of longing and relief birthed from parted lips.

“I love you,” you blurted out, unable to keep your feelings at bay, any and all movements ceasing before they had wholly begun.

You had closed your eyes; they fluttered open, fear wheedling its way inside your heart as Hancock gazed at you in silence. You cursed yourself, having never before expressed such a sentiment out loud, unsure how the man would take it, or if he even felt remotely the same—all signs pointed to yes, but you refused to be presumptuous.

Then, he pushed up into your tight cunt with one slow, smooth stroke of his cock along your anterior walls, stimulating your G-spot. Pleasure radiated through you as you emitted a stilted breath, Hancock cradling your cheek, resting his forehead against yours to stare penetratingly into your eyes.

“Took you to be smarter than this, but I feel like I’ve been waiting my whole life to hear you say that,” he breathed against your lips, slipping a motile tongue into your mouth, wanting to desperately deepen your connection.

You readily accepted, your own tongue writhing and contracting in unison with his, heart beating fervently behind a wall of blood and bone. Your fingers clawed and grasped at his narrow shoulders and the tendinous flesh of his back, exploring every inch of your ghoulish lover, from head to jutting hipbone.

Hancock drove his cock into you, back and forth, keeping a steady, equal rhythm like the beat of a drum. “Why now?” he asked, voice tempered, each pump of his thick prick inside you unhurried and sensuous.

“Nearly dying may have had something to do with it,” you jested in-between indecent, muted moans, Hancock’s deliberate pace driving you toward orgasm. The arm not supporting his weight curled tightly around you. He clutched you to his chest, and you wrapped your thighs around his waif thin waist in return.

“Mmn.. that it?” Spindly fingers moved to grip the back of your head, digging into tufts of your hair; your back bowed to support you in joining with him more fully, Hancock massaging your scalp as he massaged your insides, debauch, rich sounds filling both your ears.

“And because I have nothing to lose,” you reluctantly answered, breath picking up speed as you pushed back against firm, rawboned pectorals with the palm of your hand; you had the intention of arranging yourself at just the right angle to please— a simple slant of your hips would make things all too easy.

Within moments, you came, pinpricks of light overwhelming your senses. You were elated, as if your consciousness had been overtaken by a nebulous cloud of love and electromagnetic radiation, a soul set adrift in a swirling haze of thoughts, feelings and emotions that would amalgamate into something beautiful—it caused you to cry out a sound of intense, heartfelt bliss.

Your mind went blank, only registering that John had simultaneously shared in the experience. It would take you both a moment to calm.

Then, you squeezed Hancock tightly between your legs, a signal for him to not withdraw, but to stay awhile, the tension in your body settling as you laid back down.

“That’s where you’re wrong, sweetheart.” Hancock would smother you with his scant weight, caressing the point of your chin, his thumb snaking across your bottom lip. He gave a faint exhalation of breath, the concave outline of his nasal cavity grazing the convex shape of your nose; it tickled.

“Nothing to lose but each other.”

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heyhay13 · 2 days

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Lightning Round QnA!

We had over 250 questions in the form and we focused on ones that were very open to anyone in the cast. So specific detail questions got left out :(

Here's a lightning round of questions to answer for y'all and my ask box is open if you have more!

Rae/Heyhay Questions

What happened to Icarus's birds?? We know Rae said he'd take care of them, but with the birds being wacked and Icarus whole memory type thing, what would happen with that.

Sherb and I talked about this a bit and landed on the birds seeking out Rae and he builds an aviary for the strange new little friends following him around. I might even write a fic for it!

Heyhay how long did the scrapbook (shown at the end) take to be made?

I worked on it for nearly a month and a half between organizing with the artists and making it myself!

How did you come up with Vaeh's Name?

It's from Fenris' sister Nevaeh!

Will you continue to cosplay the characters after this?

Absolutely!

To Rae/Hayhay: what was your favorite memory to make in the Always Remember Book?

I think probably all of the wedding details. I loved talking with my friends to plan out the details and outfits SO MUCH and a lot of the poses are based on my own wedding photos!

Are there any plot lines that you wish you could have done or explored more in depth, but couldn't due to time?

We initially had some ideas for finding a few more Telchin temples, including Project Protetus. I really like building the temple/facilities so that would have been fun!!

How did lore planning/pre stream work?

We usually plan out rough ideas for a stream in dms and then meet 30 minutes before a stream to go over everything, dry run some things like flight paths, and do sound checks!

Out of all the characters on fable smp, which one do you think you could win in a fight against?

Ven lol

Will we see other versions of the fable characters in other smp's like Bound?

You might >:3

If your character didn’t ascend, what would they be the god of? And if they did ascend, were there any other domains they could have been the god of other than the domain they got?

Rae's took FOREVER to actually land on. I was really stuck on wanting something that felt more correct than Knowledge and we tossed around a lot of ideas until landing on Wonder.

How much of the relationship constellation was planned?

Literally only Raax and Ocie's original partners (Rust, Jerry, Shawn) were planned! The others came about naturally as the lore progressed.

Did Rae ever get better at baking/cooking?

YES! At least slightly-

How old is Rae in the time period that Rye made in Rae’s epilogue

Not an exact age for Rae, but his epilogue takes place when Vaeh is roughly 4-5 years old.

The first two seasons have “names” (endstone reset and skulk reset) but what would be season three’s?

I like to think it'd be called the "Last Reset"

What is your favourite kind of fanfictions written about your character? (Tropes/themes/etc)

I'm a massive sucker for Hurt/Comfort fics-

Clarification Questions

What was that one gold aura building near the temple of creation in S1?

It was a build from Sherb's hardcore world at that time!

Why did Rae remember Icarus? I thought everyone was supposed to forget but I might’ve misunderstood

Rae remembers Icarus as a child up until when Icarus' first death would have been! Isla would also remember Icarusa as a child as well.

Was the release me book from season one written by fable?

Yes!

What is Haley? She came back from the dead but no body ever said if Midas made her come back or if she was a god.

Midas brought her back, switching her and Fable's places so he would go back into Purgatory

Why couldn’t Haley see quixis’ changes from purgatory?(and fable)

There is no record of Quixis in the Akashic Records. This is also why Icarus is missing from the records in Rae's epilogue!

General Questions

Are you guys gonna do another smp where its everyone as the same cast?

Nope, not with this exact cast at this time, but we all are on a bunch of other smps you can check out! Mer, Bound, Siege, and more!

Is there a reason behind all of the seeds you use in Minecraft? Or is it just the first biome that pops up is the new setting for the season?

We actually look really hard for a good world seed that we like. For season 3, we really wanted a good spot that the tree could be near the ocean and this seed worked out great for that!

Will we be able to have a world file of S3?

YES - it's coming soon!

#fablesmp #fablesmpqna #qna #rae morningstar

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rumisgf · 2 days

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“GET MY F**** NAME TATTED SO I KNOW IT’S REAL” - DENKI KAMINARI x BLACK!READER

summary: your boyfriend has it all: tattoos, blonde hair, nice sleeper build, can dress, funny— he’s on the way to becoming one of the top 5 heroes for lord’s sake. but, even with all that, he can’t help but feel some type of way when he sees other dudes trying to get as his girl. he doesn’t know what comes over him, and he always starts thinking a little irritational.

includes: college!au eventual smut, tatted!denki, little plot (i sorry), females pronouns used once or twice, jealous!denki, denki calls reader ‘mama’, denki refers to himself as ‘daddy’ once, penetration, dom/sub undertones unprotected sex, recording, squirting, spit!kink, implied relationship, assumed that denki and reader record themselves fucking a lot, possessiveness, breeding kink if you squint, mentions of potential pregnancy, nasty sex

this isn’t fair. he’s finally got a hot, amazing girlfriend and everybody wants her. it makes him sick.

“woah kaminari, that’s you? how’d you bag that?” all his friends always seem to ask this same question in different variations, and their laughs afterwards seem to be filled with malice in his ears. and what’s worse is that you have no idea. you post all these pretty pictures and thirst trappy tiktok’s for random people in your comments to fawn over you. so, denki could not possibly be seething with more anger right now when someone he only sees in the dorm hallways come up to you.

“hey, um, you… seeing anyone? sorry i just saw you in class and couldn’t stop thinking about you, you are gorgeous.”

he watches as you smile, looking over to where he is as he’s supposed to getting his lunch. “o-oh, uh… thank you but i’m taken.” you shyly respond. the dude follows your eyes, and he only smirks. “well, he doesn’t seem like too much competition.”

you roll your eyes at the corny ass guy talking to you, and cross your arms. as you tell the guy he has no chance, you fail to notice denki look down at his own feet as he contemplates causes a scene at this very moment. but clearly, he didn’t care to think logically. you’re his.

suddenly, you feel a set of haste footsteps followed by two hands slowly find your waist. your movements halt as they massage the skin and pull you closer to the figure’s chest. “hey cutie, who’s this?” your boyfriend asks so innocently, making direct eye contact with the guy who’s face is beginning to flush. “mm, some dude who won’t leave me alone..” the guy furrows his eyebrows as he struggles to open his mouth. “woah, it’s like that, bro?”

“don’t know what you’re talking about.” denki says, responding for you. he softly kisses your shoulder, “she’s mine though, so you should go on somewhere.” with that, the guy reluctantly walks off, failing to hide his embarrassment.

you slowly push denki off of you, giving him a quick peck on the lips as a thank you. then, you both head back to your dorm to get away from the crowd of people at your university’s cafeteria— the habitat of horny, and corny men.

denki closes your door and plops onto the edge of your bed, holding his arms out. “c’mere mama.” you find your way on his lap as you face his grumpy face. he looks down at your body as his hands massage the sides of your waist. “so tired of that, i wish everybody would leave you alone…” he pauses, and it’s the same pause before he’s about to say one of the most outlandish things you’ve heard.

“tattoo my name on your neck.”

you smack your lips, lightly pushing his chest as you roll your eyes. “boy, i am not chrisean rock.”

“well how else are dudes gonna know you’re fucking mine?” he slowly dives into your neck, teasing the skin with his mouth as your lips part, threatening to let out a moan. “kami, you know i don’t want anybody else.” you say shyly, beginning to writhe in his lap as he’s know placing full mouth kisses on your neck. “but they don’t know that,” he mutters. he pulls away and immediately grabs you by your neck, bringing your face centimeters away from his. “if you won’t get me tatted, i’ll find another way to make sure they know you’re mine.”

he closes the space by kissing you fiercely, yet slowly. you drag your hips up on his lap, his hand gripping your waist once more as your back arches with the kiss. you wrap one arm around his neck while your other hands finds his chest, feeling his thumping heartbeat. his other hand doesn’t leave your neck as he plunges his tongue into your mouth, deepening the kiss. you moan into his mouth, making him subconsciously buck his hips upwards. with that, you slowly start grinding on his lap and he begins to grind on your clothed crotch himself. you move in rhythm with each other, chasing the burning feeling of lust in your stomachs. then, he shoves his hand under your shirt and you finally gasp into his lips. he fondles with your soft breasts, wishing your bra wasn’t it the way. this makes you grind on him harder, and you’re sure he can feel the throbbing pulse of your now soaking pussy even through his pants. denki goes back to your neck, licking and biting your skin until several hickeys begin to show. he was serious, he was gonna find a way to mark himself on you one way or another. his hands now find your ass, squeezing both cheeks as he moves you faster on his laps and his own soft moans begin to spill out his mouth.

kaminari pulls away, both of you breathing heavy. “i’m about to fuck the shit out of you, you know that right?” he says in a direct tone. looking at him half lidded, you nod. without another word, he lifts you off of him and moves fully onto the bed. you follow him and immediately get pulled under him by his tattooed arms. his lips crash back onto yours, your hands frantically grabbing at his body. he grinds onto you, making sure you feel his hard bulge on your cunt that’s close to soaking through the panties under your jeans. “kami, please…” you whine, not knowing entirely what you’re begging for— you just know you need him in every way possible.

he quickly discards of own your jeans, then his own. immediately, his eyes meet the thong that perfectly displays your arousal dripping out and staining your folds that are halfway shown. he nearly drools, running his finger through your clothed slit. “mm-!” you moan, wincing at the pleasure flowing through you just at how eager you were for him to touch you. wasting no more time, he lifts off the bed and stands at the side next to you, pulling you on the edge of the bed in front of him. he pulls down his boxers and slides off your underwear. you gawk at his long, hard dick right in front of you, and he smirks. then, he reaches over to pick up his jeans, pulling his phone out his pocket.

he unlocks his phones, then points his camera to his dick in front of your sopping cunt. he rubs circles on your clit with his tip, “mmm, so wet baby.” he hums, before slowly sliding himself into your entrance. your walls give him a warm hug as your slick squelches once he enters them.

he wastes no time giving you every inch of him, and you cry out. “oh- shit! babyyy!” the pace is almost too much, him pumping into you like he was mad at you. “uh huh, love this dick don’t you?” he uses his free hand to grips your thigh, pushing it back. instinctively, you hold your legs back for him as close to your head as possible. “good girl, let me see that pretty pussy.”

you’re almost embarrassed, your helpless state on display as he ruins your pussy. your normally sweet boyfriend is deep-stroking the brain cells out of you with a dark, sinister smile on his face. but.. you can’t complain, he’s fucking you too good right now. “ohmygod please… i can’t..” he slaps your thigh, making your body jolt. “yeah you can, c’mon. you got it.” you throw your head back, moaning his name like a prayer. “yeahhh, my good girl.” the praise sends your head spinning as the room grows hotter by the minute. “say you’re mine. *smack* say you who belong to.”

“i’m yours- shitttt- i’m yours! i’m all yours” you say, the command causing a white ring to form around his dick from you creaming. “yeah, you like that shit? love being my good little whore?” he slaps your thigh again, making you whine. he relishes in the state you’re in, completely vulnerable to him. he loves nothing more than showing that he could really dick you down when he gets this frustrated. all the anger he gets from all these guys constantly hitting on you- he takes it out as he examines your soft, sweet body that’s all for him: down from your pussy to your mouth, “open up.” he demands. before you can even fully open it, he spits in your mouth from above you. it takes you by surprise, but he gives you not time to think even if you could…. which, you can’t, from the way he ms fucking you. “swallow that shit.”

you lick the excess spit off your lip and swallow, looking him in the eye when you do so you can see him smile. “such a good girl.. so good f’ me.” denki picks up the pace, the camera shaking with his movements. your voice jumps with every thrust as you moan out for him. his breath huffs with every thrust, sweat beading up on the both of your bodies as you fuck like dogs in heat. your body is littered with hickies and red marks that were intentionally painted on your body by your boyfriend. although they’re not permanent like tattoos, they still holding the same meaning that you belong to him and him only.

he grips your waist as he fucks you into pure bliss. you feel a strong knot threaten to burst in your stomach. “i- fuck! ‘m gonna cum~”

“yeah?” he taunts, immediately rubbing your clit. “you wanna cum already? ‘m fucking you that good?” his ego grows by the second as you become putty in his hands, legs threatening to give out. you let out a drawn out moans as he punctuates his hips, abusing your g-spot over and over. your eyes roll to the back of your head as your toes stiffen in the air, losing control of your body.

“go ahead, nut all over this dick.”

you scream his name as your juices squirt out of you and onto his stomach. he continues fucking you as you making a mess on the floor, the bed on him, and yourself. your body shakes violently as your orgasm takes over you, him pulling out and smacking his dick on your clit as you violently squirt on him. then, he slides back into you, groaning at how soaked you are. “my good little slut… all mine— nobody can fuck you like i do. say you’re my little slut.”

you let out a slurred “i’m your little slut” as you feel another orgasm build up. in a matter of seconds. he pulls your body closer, leaning forward so he can fuck you deeper. in another minute, you’re squirting on him again as he fucks you, moaning so loud your housemates can definitely hear you by now. “fuck baby… so fucking messy.” he moans, now chasing his own high. “fuck- where you want it baby? huh?”

“in me- please!” you beg, looking up at him with doe eyes as he relentlessly bullies your cunt. his eyes spark up, slightly taken aback from your response. “yeah? dick so good you want me to give you a baby?” you nod eagerly, tears threatening to spill down your cheeks from the overstimulation. you both know you’re out your right mind and this is not a logical decision to make on a whim, but you pray that maybe god is on your side just this one time— even though this is such a sinful act. “yes please put a baby in me!”

“daddy’s gonna make you a mama- fuck- gonna fuck my kids into you.” he pants, thrust becoming frantic and rigid. and though he doesn’t wanna admit it, he’d love nothing more than for you to be swollen and soft because of him. the though of you carrying his child with an large stomach that contrasts your smaller figure brings him right to his own orgasm. with a hard, deep thrust, he lets out loud strings of moans matches with the thick ropes of his seed seeping into your cunt. you moan at the warm feeling, eyes threatening to close shut. he pulls out of you, rubbing your clit as cum leaks out of your used hole.

setting his phone down after quickly adding it to his special folder, he grabs a spare towel from his closet to clean the both of you up. then, he lays down next to you after you scoot into your covers, legs still shaking. he looks down at them, letting a chuckle out his mouth.

“damn, i fuck you that good?”

you smack his chest, only causing him to laugh more. “bitch i had you whining to cum in me, hush.”

“oh really? cause if we watch that video back right now you’ll clearly hear you begging for me to-”

another smack lands on his chest, as you hush him frantically. “hey, at least if you have my baby they’ll really know who you belong to.” you sigh, sinking onto his chest. “then, i’ll have as many babies as you need me to.”

@ rumisgf

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writingquestionsanswered · 9 hours

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i'm currently trying to write a story with second chance trope. the story is about a friend group since childhood of 2 girls and 4 boys. the female mc and the male mc were developing feelings for each other, then the male mc left the country without telling anyone. after 3 years of no contact, he comes back. naturally, the female mc has a lot of pent up resentment towards him but she still has romantic feelings for him.

so, any tips on writing a second chance romance?

Second Chance Romance

There are five really important keys to writing a good second chance romance:

1 - Create a Sense of What Was - Even if the story starts after that first relationship (or almost relationship) ended, it's important to give the reader a sense of what that relationship was like. What drew them to one another initially? What were their interactions like? What strengthened their bond? You can paint this picture using a combination of flashbacks, memories recalled in exposition, memories recalled in dialogue, having the character look at photos or video, comparing present experiences with past ones, or even through snippets in dreams.

2 - Be Clear About What Went Wrong - The reader can't root for a second chance if they don't understand what went wrong the first time around. Specific to your story, you'll need to address not only why this character suddenly left the country without telling anyone and without contact, but how they rationalized the negative impact it would have on this person they were beginning to develop a relationship with.

3 - Be Clear About What Went Right - Sometimes relationships fail, even if their foundations are good, but that second go round isn't plausible unless there was something worth going back to. So, not only is it important to be clear about what was good about the relationship when you illustrate it in retrospect, you'll also have to show us those things are still there--or have the potential to be.

4 - Illustrate What Changed - The relationship failed for a reason. Whether there was hurt involved, poor timing, wanting different things, or some other obstacle to progress. So, you can't give this couple a plausible shot at a second chance unless you show us how the obstacles were removed or overcome. In the case of your story specifically, not only will you need to address why the character left in the first place, but why they chose to come home, and how they make amends for disappearing without notice or contact.

5 - Rebuild Relationship Upon Old and New - I like to think of it like this: imagine the concrete slab foundation of a house. This is what the couple built together in round one. But when they parted, the foundation was damaged in places (the amount of damage obviously depends on what caused the split.) When they meet up again, the foundation is still there, it's just got the old damaged parts and a lot of erosion from time and weathering. But it's there. So as they work through what went wrong and patch up their friendship, they patch up the damage from their split. Then, as they get to know each other again and the friendship reestablishes itself, the foundation gets cleaned back up and brought back up to pristine. And from there, they can build the walls of their healthy relationship.

Happy writing!

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

♦ Questions that violate my ask policies will be deleted! ♦ Please see my master list of top posts before asking ♦ Learn more about WQA here

#wqaadvice

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thosewildcharms · 1 day

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Hi, do you have any headcanons about Rick with RJ and Judith after TOWL?

sure! most of these are about the grimes family as a whole because michonne is the beating heart of the family yk!!

under a read more because apparently i had more to say than i realized (shocking). some of these are copied from previous posts!

antony azor who plays rj is apparently very shy and reserved but opened up unexpectedly with andrew lincoln and so obviously this is also exactly what happened with rick and rj. father and son bonded INSTANTLY

part of this is because rj (like antony) is very shy and reserved and rick gets that and so they can just be quiet together and still feel like they're bonding. as rj gets older, whenever he needs to think something through he asks rick if they can do some sort of project together, and through that he works through whatever he has going on.

his first night back, judith asks rick to finish reading the wizard of oz to her because he never got a chance to. it takes a good five minutes for him to compose himself but she does finally get the full story from her dad. michonne and rj join them because they both love hearing stories the most when rick is the one telling them.

I think rick definitely got back into farming post towl since that is his ~zen place. judith and rj have the idea to grow flowers for michonne, and the three of them plant her a small private garden as a surprise. they even build her a little bench to sit on and everything. after it's finished they have all their family picnics there :')

I think this is less my personal headcanon and more a collective fandom headcanon but rick DEFINITELY does call rj "junior" and he is the ONLY one allowed to do so. If anyone else tries they get the rick grimes head tilt and squint from both of them.

they as a whole family have all kinds of Secret Family Things (like the code names for security shoto/daito/brave man/little brave man). for example they have a family whistle that has different variants for different ~situations. it's kinda silly but they all get very into it and take it very seriously!

speaking of family rituals, family dinner is REALLY important to them!!! I'm always thinking about that one dinner scene in early season 9 where michonne, judith and rj are quietly/sadly sitting in that dark dining room with that empty chair where rick is supposed to be. NOW their kitchen is bright and loud and cheerful and they all cook together and use herbs and spices from their family garden :')))

during the week or so leading up to judith and rj's respective birthdays, Rick gives them each a gift for each year he missed. like an advent calendar of missed birthdays. Idk what he gets them exactly but rick king-of-gift-giving grimes would figure something out. michonne helps out a lot by filling him on the things they both enjoyed throughout their childhoods

(he does the same for michonne btw. a gift for every year he missed. they never cared about birthdays before but he's still making certain things up to her)

now that rick and michonne are back together they find it much easier to talk about all the people they lost. judith and rj's favorite stories are the ones about their brothers, carl and andre.

i love the idea of scene very similar to the one in towl 1x05 where richonne get mugged only to turn the situation around in .5 seconds only this time it's the whole family being badass and intimidating to a stranger who thought they could try it

as we know from towl, rick and michonne are fucking insane :') but eventually they realize judith and rj out-crazy both of them combined (much like carl did, rip king) and they are EXTREMELY proud :')

#richonne #grimes family #the ones who live #i know as soon as i hit post i'll have more to say but this is good for now i think #also reblog and add your headcanons PLEASEEEEEEEEEEE #oh re: that dinner scene from season 9 i mentioned. i honestly forget if there was a plot reason for them being sad in that scene #so my bad if i made some assumptions but i don't think it's a big leap personally!

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satancopilotsmytardis · 2 days

Note

I think there is something to he said about Dabi building a life for himself before meeting up with Shigaraki again in Intox.

He makes sure that he isn't dependant on the other, he makes sure that people would come looking for him if he went missing, he makes sure that people have his back. He makes sure that the power imbalance is as small as possible.

He spends an entire year making sure he has his own life, making sure Shigaraki won't get impatient and come after him.

I really like how you write these dynamics, especially when the universe is closer to canon. (The same goes for your abo fics, which is probably why Haven is one of my fav fics).

Since we read from Dabi's perspective, all the mistrust he holds against the world seems natural, for him at least. He grew up in a world where almost everybody could be a threat to him, either killing him or worse.

And as much as Shigaraki grew up in a world where many people would love to kill him too, he doesn't quite understand what Dabi is going through. It isn't second nature to think of the same threats that Dabi had to think of in these universes. And it shows in their interactions.

Shigaraki is being polite, he is giving Dabi an option for an out, he is trying to make sure Dabi feels safe. And I love how affected he is when he realizes just how paranoid Dabi is, how paranoid he needs to be to survive. He will always keep in mind that Dabi thinks him capable of the worst.

They're both fucked up by how their world works in such different ways but I love that for them. I love even more that they make it work, no matter what. Shigaraki will support Dabi, but he will also give him space. He will make sure Dabi knows he isn't trying to bind him to himself. Dabi will give Shigaraki his trust. Both of them give the other loyalty and love.

Barely anyone else would dare talk to Shigaraki the way Dabi does. Nobody else looks at Dabi like Shigaraki does. They make for quite the pair.

(also, on a completely different note: I love Compress here. "Oh noooo, looks like I can't keep as close of an eye. *Wink wink*". I love this man. He knows Shigaraki isn't happy having to meet those three and would always be happy to see Dabi, so he'll take oit two birds with one stone, lol. And Magne and Twice as bouncers are nice, too)

Okay, be honest with me, did you steal any of my internal organs while you were rooting around in my chest? Because god damn did this comment throw me on an operating table and open me up from chest to pelvis!

I don't even know what to say except you GOT IT anon, you took everything I had, and you read it for absolute filth. The way they've experienced the world, how that impacted their first meeting, how they grew from that point and why it was important to the rest of the story, you really grabbed the themes I was working with and strangled them lovingly

And Compress is the MVP of this story (though he's fighting viciously for it with Spinner)

Thank you so much for commenting!!!

#tanco speaks #ask #asks

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the-pixelated-pirate · 3 days

Note

General relationship hcs for Goro Majima and/or Guzma ?? :) could be either one or both in seperate posts, I don't mind ^^

(Also, maybe a mix of sfw & nsfw ? If possible <3)

Decided to choose Guzma for this post, be on the look out for Majima's post on my acct! (Posting at the same time)

Romantic Guzma HCs ♡

NOTES/WARNINGS: NSFW under the cut, gender neutral reader w AFAB anatomy,

REQUEST STATUS: Open!

REQUESTS LEFT: 2!

• Despite his tough guy attitude, Guzma is secretly a big ole softie. He doesn't like anyone except you seeing that side of him. He's a sucker for bear hugs, and suffocation in his chest + broken ribs can be a possibility w him

• Secret romantic at heart, but his sense of romanticism is a little different from the norm

•

• Loooves back massages. He may complain if you ask for one, but he'll do it for you ofc. Everytime you touch his back it sounds like bang-snaps

• Post game(s) he takes up gardening, Plumeria said it would help with his anger issues. She was kind of right? The flowers bring bug types to his house so he isn't complaining

• Speaking of, while Whimpod/Golisopod is his buddy, he's got a soft spot for Grubin and Cutiefly. His first experience with Snom was almost biblical

• Suffers from insomnia, lots of late nights, lots of warm milk. He'd really appreciate it if you decided to stay up with him, even if he acts otherwise <3 he wants you to get your full 8 hours

• Very rarely talks about his feelings, but when he does it's a sure fire sign that he trusts you completely. He works better as a shoulder to lean on, tbh. He isn't good with his words, but he's a good ear to vent to. He'll suggest if you wanna go out and throw rocks at old buildings or something

• Prefers sweet malasadas

• Totaaalll family man. The grunts and Plumeria are all like family to him, and he does his best to take care of them (plus you). He loves kids, always has candy in his pockets, and really just acts like the fun uncle. If a child asks he WILL throw hands with them. Wether or not he'll take it easy on them is another question

NSFW

• Speaking of kids 👀👀

• Yes he'll definitely prefer to have a few. Or if you're unable to have kids or just plain don't want them, he understands. He plain just enjoys the motions of it.

• High-key a switch, and loves to bottom. But he's sooo fucking bratty, and the biggest pillow prince

• Praise, giving or receiving. He laps that stuff up, and when he's spitting praises there's a lot of cursing thrown in there.

• He can top too... he can be a mix of a mean dom or a soft one, depends on his mood.

• He loves soft sex, though. Getting to curl up around you, hold you close, whispering about how hot you are.... ♡

• Very vocal, on top or bottom. Like I mentioned, very bratty when he's got his legs in the air, but when it's you his plowing into, he's swearing like a sailor, buttering you up talking about how much he just loooves you

• Craazy head game, loves giving.

• Pain play is a toss up, he isn't too hardcore, but he'll slap you or throw you around. Like I'll give it to my man he is a little kinky but he prefers to keep the pain out of it, for the most part.

• Lovess being on the receiving end of aftercare, not the best at giving it. He'd prefer for you to just snuggle up into his arm so you can both fall asleep. Sex really helps him conk out so he enjoys finishing every night with a little woo-hoo >:3

• Fuck it. I'm throwing away my morals. He's packing. I know it. Big dick energy. You see him slouching? You know why

#pkmn #pokemon #pokemon x reader #guzma #guzma pokemon #pokemon sun and moon #team skull guzma #guzma x reader #pkmn sumo #pokemon headcanons

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toodelusionalforreality · 6 hours

Text

Sanctuary

Azriel x Reader(N)

Summary: The mysterious bar becomes Azriel's hideaway over time. Despite his intentions, he finds himself drawn to its owner as much as the place itself.

A/N: This is an experimental piece of work. I'm testing a writing style, so feedback is welcome. It's 5 in the morning and I'm sleep deprived. I've tried my best to edit it.

Word count: ~5.2k

Warning: None [minimal editing/proofreading/formatting]

Previous Chapter: Rare

Three weeks later, Azriel stood in front of the red-bricked building again. Alone. He returned home from his latest mission, bruised and battered, and patched to perfection only a few hours ago. Madja had seen him off with an instruction—a thinly veiled order, to be precise—to take two days’ complete rest. Despite the vial of sleeping tonic he emptied in front of her strict eyes, Azriel was restless in his bed. And for some unearthly reason, he went to the one place he never thought of after that night.

The hag looked up at him with eyes so sullen and dead that for a moment, Azriel believed she had forgotten him. Then her lips stretched thinly and her eyes turned bright with excitement. Without a falter in his steps, he took a gold out of his pocket, dropped it on her desk, and reached for the doorknob. He ignored her smug gratitude as he pushed the door open.

The room looked exactly as he remembered. With its dim lighting and almost empty tables, it appeared bigger, darker, and hauntingly beautiful. Azriel went to the same corner he and his family occupied only days ago. A familiar blend of metal and spices welcomed him.

The sequence of events was reminiscent of that night. The same server tended to him with a more relaxed smile. Quiet chatter and waves of laughter filled the room. The band played music, calm and lulling, unlike the upbeat one they played that first night. For each of his emptied glasses, a filled one took its stead.

He felt filthy to have sneaked in alone in secrecy. He was exhausted. He needed a drink. It was a bar. All perfect reasons for someone visiting that place late into the night.

And yet, something felt wrong about his logic. By the time he was done, the soothing effect of the tonic and countless drinks had settled in.

The week Rita’s opened its doors again, even with its eerie elegance and overflowing liquor, Pharus couldn’t keep the crowds returning. Even his friends would never set foot in a place like this now that they had their favourite pub again, where the lights were too bright and the music was too loud. Leaving it all the more enticing to Azriel.

Time slowed down within those dark red-stoned walls. Hush fell over the room whenever the band paused between their ballads. Wines were more generous and sweeter each time he visited. Night after night, only regulars remained bearing their loyalty. The servers and bartender greeted them like an old friend with light banters.

Azriel frequented the bar in between his missions—more often than he dared to admit. Every time, he walked into the hall before he had the chance to doubt himself, went to the same table which by now had his claim on it, and Uri, his usual server, kept his glasses full while making polite conversations.

Pharus offered him refuge from his family, from his job, and from the world. Whenever he needed to recuperate in the quiet, he chose the hidden bar over the comfort of his warm bed.

His shadows embraced his new ritual with much ease. During his early visits, they ventured out to study the layout of the building, learning the nooks and crannies like they always did with every new territory. They familiarised and warmed up to the place sooner than he had expected.

They gave him company and scared away anyone who approached him, except Uri, who had grown immune to seeing them since the first night. Most days they stayed close to him, shifting on his shoulders like a cool wrap of darkness. And when eyes caught his presence, they curled around him until he became one with the dark corner.

Once in a while, they swarmed his shoulders, whispering nothing coherent, and wove around his hands until they drew his attention. But they had nothing to say or sensed no threat. Azriel believed it to be the effects of the drinks he had and noted which ones to steer away from.

His missions kept him away from Velaris often. He was even glad of this little hindrance, for he wouldn’t want his family to find out about his trysts. Over months, the routine only forged deeper into his muscles, becoming one with his mind. After every mission, before every mission, and sometimes in between, he found a reason to return to the bar.

He was stealthy about it, sneaking out only after his family retired for the night. If they knew their shadowsinger, quiet and reserved, visited a bar often, he would lose the one place he enjoyed other than his home sooner than he blinked.

Pharus was his dirty, heavenly secret.

Uri gravitated towards Azriel more than to his other customers. But he also always had stories to tell. And Azriel’s innate curiosity allowed the server to dish out gossip after gossip. The most interesting ones were of their owner. Nothing made sense about her, and yet Uri spoke of her life like it was a finished book—all chapters done and closed, with loose ends tied, pieced in perfect order.

Azriel never voiced it though, he rarely said a word. He preferred observing from the shadows, and so he did. Listened to every story Uri gave him, noticed the way the patrons perked up when N worked at the bar, and counted her footsteps on the other side of the door.

‘She is not here tonight,’ said Uri as he poured him another drink. Azriel looked up from surveying the room. ‘That’s why it’s packed.’ The server set the bottle down and slumped in one of the chairs at the table, clearly meant for more than one. ‘The moment she is out of Velaris, they come flocking in until she’s back.’

Azriel lifted a brow. How much did these people hate her or fear her if they went to such great lengths?

‘They feel powerful. It’s their version of rebellion,’ Uri continued, not realising the spymaster had gleaned that much already. He glared at the man who threatened Raya, the bartender, with a creepy smile. ‘To step in here after she humiliated them. But they don’t have the balls to do much else.’

‘Aren’t you afraid they might hurt you?’ Azriel usually limited his questions to one or none. But sometimes, his curiosity was a wretched curse.

Uri shrugged, and his lips pulled into a smirk. ‘They know she’ll hunt them down.’

Like he promised, the crowd thinned to the regulars again, the peaceful ones. After each of her trips, N tended to the bar—a sign of her return, a warning to the lurkers to crawl back to their pits.

‘Where’s she?’ Azriel had asked the server once when she didn’t show up for weeks. Even his shadows were alert to know the answer.

‘To get supplies, I guess,’ frowned Uri. For the first time, he hesitated to discuss N's errands. ‘We get tired of asking and keeping up with it. One time it’s for the bar, the other it’s for the shop, and then, there are personal reasons. And those are even harder to pry from her.’

’Shop?’

Uri toyed with the cork of a wine bottle between his fingers, eyes scanning for signs of a call from other patrons, out of habit rather than necessity. ‘Yeah, one along the banks. She has this blade business. Better than this one, really.’ Sensing Azriel's blank stare, he continued with a breathy laugh, ‘You don’t really think we get any money from this place, do you?’

‘I don’t know. Seems like a good place.’

Azriel swept a glance across the room—the elegant fissures, ambient lighting, plush seats and chairs, and beautiful shelves filled with bottles and bottles of liquor. Some would agree it had a certain charm to it.

But according to Uri, they lost a lot of their customers because of N’s rules. Many were kicked out, some with warnings, some with broken bones until the ones looking for trouble weeded out—the reason Rita’s still thrived a decade after Pharus opened, which was an ideal choice for the vain faerie folk.

What Uri called a misfortune was a blessing for Azriel, for he wouldn’t be visiting if not for the dwindling clientele.

Uri laughed. ‘You are the only good tipper we have. We barely make anything to keep the bar afloat. N pays us with her own money. From that shop. She wanted to have something simple, but Raya,’ he waved his hand in the general vicinity, ‘wanted all this, convinced her it would be good for business. N didn’t even complain. She put everything together and made a deal with Raya. She runs the place while N takes care of the expenses.’

He grew quiet with his words, his thoughts distant and his voice troubled. ‘Sometimes I don’t think she even likes it here. She prefers the quiet, you know. A bar is the last place someone like that will go looking, forget running. And here she is, taking care of one.’ After a brief breath, he added with a smile, ‘And us, too.’

Azriel had questions, but he kept them to himself. He always had other means to find out. If he wanted to.

Though sprinkled over months, others had grown accustomed to his visits. The hag stopped trying to sneak a word in as she only glanced at him, the small act still beheld a hint of eagerness. People shuffled to a different table when they spotted him at the door. Raya and Uri knew his preferences well.

Even when his missions weren’t as gruesome as the one that tempted him to find a sanctuary for himself, even when they were as mundane as a daily chore, Azriel returned. His own paradise to soothe his soul whenever the darkness began to slick in his veins.

Centuries later, longing still lingered in his chest—unknown and melancholic—a sort of emptiness that never truly faded away. A desperate call to be heard and acknowledged in the lonesome of the night.

Ripping the cool sheets off his body, Azriel got out of his bed again. He worried his visits had developed into an obsession of sorts, an addiction, as he readied himself for flight on a stormy night.

Cold seeped into the walls as he tucked himself away into the familiar corner. The golden lights from the overhead lanterns glowed warmer, but dimmer. The same scent of spices suffocated the room, sharp and intense in the thick, humid air, and yet it felt right. The patter of rain against the windows muted other sounds in the room, cocooned him in his own world, shielding him away in the solitude he had known all his life.

Loners, much like him, scattered across the space, keeping a distance from one another—the storm outside rousing a storm within their hearts and souls.

Uri sat on a stool at the bar, talking with Raya and the other server whose name Azriel never learnt. Their laughter was the only merry sound in the room. Uri split away long enough to offer Azriel his drink and returned to his friends. They seemed happy and content in their own world too.

Slowly, some made their exit after a few drinks, none too keen to linger for long. The way Raya eyed the ones still at the tables, she wanted to close soon. Azriel didn’t intend to stay either.

His shadows flitted along the edges of his wings, around his talons. They descended from his shoulders down his arms caressing, their coldness more acute than that of the weather. Azriel opened his hands and set them on the table. The darkness wreathed around his wrists, slithered to his palms, and danced at his fingertips. They were starker and colder against the warmth of the lanterns. His eyes drifted up, just a glance, and found the door locked.

The liquor burned his throat, and Azriel closed his eyes. A fresh wave of scent hit his face—something he quite couldn’t figure out and spices. He drained the last of his drink.

The band fiddled for a moment before they began their next song, quiet and low. A voice, sweet and silky, sang along to the music. The one he had heard only once, and yet weaved into his dreams on some nights. He took a long breath and let the voice lure him—his eyes, his senses, his being.

She stood on the small dias, in the middle, among the musicians. The overhead lantern seemed to move with her voice, light shifting around her. An aura enveloped her lithe body with a golden radiance, turning her into a being of light and amber. With her eyes closed, she didn’t care if anyone listened to her song. Her weight swayed between her feet with the rhythm. Wisps of hair stuck to her wet lips that moved deliciously as she sang.

Everything faded away—the band, the patrons, the bar—except for her croon, gentler than midnight’s whispers. Even the rains lowered their cries to a murmur, letting her melody echo in the bliss of the night.

Her song told a story of love and yearning—a proclamation to her lover. Her voice held an emotion so pure and true that if he closed his eyes, if he let himself, Azriel could believe he was the one she sang to. He mused if others heard her the way he did. If they noticed the nuances of her breaths, the slight hum in between verses, the lilt at the words whenever a smile tugged at her lips.

Emotions stirred in his chest, ones he hadn’t felt in his long immortal life, ones he hadn’t known existed. Ache crept away as an ease settled in his heart, a comfort carried to him by her song. When a soft tremor shook through her voice, Azriel wondered how her throat would throb under his marred skin.

His eyes snapped open, and he sucked in a breath. He brought the glass to his lips, his hand trembling. Completely empty. He needed a drink. But he didn’t dare look up.

His shadows swayed, their movements as light as hers. They whispered in his ears as they sang with her, weaving themselves through the silences left by her breaths.

When the music ended, a quiet fell over. The sound of rain hitting the windows thrummed through the room. Slowly, with each step she took towards her office, the world emerged out of her trance.

A piece of him craved her attention. Look at me, it said, demanded, pleaded. His shadows stilled as they watched. She offered a smile to her friends at the bar before she disappeared behind that damned door.

Azriel sat there long after N was gone. Long after her voice was nothing but a phantom ringing in his ears. Listening to her footfalls above, as quiet as her breathing. Knowing he was closer to her than he had ever been watching her behind her desk or the bar.

Every secret revealed itself one way or another. In Azriel’s case, it was because of his wretched luck as a person or dumb arrogance as a spymaster. As his family voiced their plans for the night at Rita’s, he shot down their pleas and left for Pharus after dinner, earlier than usual. Instead of finding his table empty and reserved, he was thrust back in time to that first night.

Mor’s bold red dress, Cass already with a filled glass in his hand, Feyre and Rhys in each other’s arms, Elaine’s open smile, and Nesta’s piercing gaze on her mate. Except for minor seating arrangements, the scene was uncannily the same. Every pair of eyes at the table stared at him, expecting sudden news. Finally, realisation morphed into shock before Azriel could walk back out. He gave up hiding then.

Strolling to the table, he took the one seat his family left unoccupied. Uri immediately came to his side with his favoured drink, greeting him with a cheery, ‘Hey, you’re back!’ And explained in excruciating detail how long and often he visited.

Azriel could take the teasing and taunting of his brothers. But what he couldn’t tolerate was their plans to frequent and vet out the bar—his secret haven, to find the source that prompted the infamous shadowsinger to break out of his habits.

As each of them came up with one ridiculous reason after the other, Azriel sipped on his drink. He leaned back and crossed his ankle over his knee. He settled in for a long night of interrogation. But he was a spymaster after all and had five centuries' worth of experience with those he called his family.

‘So you lied to us all those nights?’ Disappointment shone in Mor’s eyes as she asked, ‘When I begged you to go to Rita’s with me, you instead came here alone?’

Azriel didn’t answer. His finger trailed along the side of his glass, his eyes on the dewdrops breaking under his skin. He had grown used to the taste, the smell, and the air of the place like it was a second home already. He was acutely aware of every entry and exit point in the building, including the door in front of him. One which was perched open that night.

His shadows crawled up his shoulders, settling higher than usual, almost licking his ear. Their whispering turned incoherent again and with his family’s eyes on him, he didn’t particularly feel understanding of them. Yet they continued, growing impatient.

He felt a nip on the back of his neck. He took a deep breath and looked up at Mor’s expectant eyes and then beyond her perfect blonde hair. N walked out of the office, ready to take Raya’s place at the bar. She had returned from yet another trip.

A smirk found its way onto Azriel’s lips for the knowledge he possessed, for the ins and outs he knew of her life while she had no idea of his existence. The power he held over her.

‘Now, now,’ Rhys said, his eyes sparkling. ‘Let him have a moment.’ When Azriel turned to him sharply, he glanced at N.

But not too subtle to go unnoticed. Every one of them turned to the bar, sizing up the supposed reason for his escapades. If N felt their gazes on her, she moved unbothered, as feline as ever. And each of his friends had the same idea. Mor was the first to act on it. She headed to the counter and perched herself on a stool right in front of N.

By denying it, Azriel would dig his grave deep, and even deeper by defending N. He kept his lips sealed and eyes on the band while his shadows curled around his ears, narrating the scene.

Mor returned with a drink in her hand, spoke into Feyre’s ear, and turned to her other side, sharing her learnings with Cass. Feyre left her chair a short while after. N smiled at her the whole time she answered Feyre’s questions and made her a drink. Feyre returned. Cass shifted in his seat, ready for his turn, yet waiting to leave an ample gap in time.

Azriel stood up as Cass’s chair grated against the floor. He made a quick line to the bar and took a seat next to the one Mor and Feyre had chosen, a bit of distance between them to make it inconspicuous.

He mumbled his order under his breath, completely aware of his family’s stares on his back and the teasing laughs they didn’t bother to conceal. Soon, a drink appeared before him. Azriel didn’t look up, but he nodded. He waited long minutes for his family’s excitement to die.

‘You don’t like it?’ The question was as soft as the voice that spoke it, the words laced with tentative curiosity.

Azriel lifted his eyes. She had moved to stand in front of him. Her gaze was sharp like that first night when she studied him and his wings. Her eyes held a calmness that would terrify anyone who got too close to notice. Little specks of light reflected in them, flickering. Her hair flowed in soft waves over her shoulder, damp at the bottom from a recent shower, and yet it glowed under the golden light. Her smile was polite and a bit tight, born out of necessity. Her scent wafted to him, fresh and earthy. He wondered if she remembered him, and most did because of his shadows.

When he didn’t respond, she nodded at his drink left untouched. He lifted the glass and drank the whole thing in a gulp. A real smile appeared on her face.

‘You can tell me if you don’t like it.’ She sounded tender, like her song, unlike with that male all those nights ago. She reached for another glass and asked, ‘Want to try something else?’

Azriel nodded once. He didn’t utter a word, but didn’t take his eyes off her, either. He didn’t need his shadows to know of his family’s prying eyes and ears. A wave of darkness eased behind his back, hiding them. She placed a glass half-filled with a honey-coloured liquor. When she reached for his empty one, Azriel fisted his hands and tucked them closer to his chest.

‘Don’t worry.’ Her voice turned comforting, softer. ‘Your face is too distracting for anyone to notice that.’ Her hands returned the bottles she had taken out to prepare the orders as her eyes scanned the other patrons sitting at the far end of the counter.

Such words from a woman who only smiled at her customers like a chore. His nerves tingled from head to toe. He was glad for the drink in his hand to blame. When he looked at her, she had only a ghost of a smile, a remnant of the one she wore seconds ago.

He let out a low chuckle. He asked carefully, ‘Is that your attempt at flirting with me?’

She fixed him with a steady stare, a slight tilt to her head. ‘I’m guessing no one tells you the truth unless they get something in return.’

His breath stuck in his throat. While he spent months learning about her, however unintentionally, she unravelled him with a mere look.

With a shrug of his shoulder, he brought the glass to his lips. The drink was much sweeter than the ones he had before. When it reached his throat, the bitterness hit him, and then, the burn. She narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips into a straight line.

Azriel wanted her to do anything but assess him. ‘Are you singing tonight?’ He gambled with the harmless one of his secrets to keep her from stumbling upon the deeper ones.

She stayed silent for a moment. Then she smiled again. ‘Are you asking me to?’

Azriel watched the lights scatter on the surface of his liquor as he toyed with the glass. He lowered his voice, wary of his family behind him, ‘I wouldn’t mind if you did.’

‘I only fill in when they need me. I’m usually in the office.’

Anyone who talked to him for the first time always caught themselves staring at his shadows. Always. But her eyes remained on his face. She only saw him, not the darkness shrouding him, not the shadowsinger. His shadows darted back and forth, wanting to reach for her and backing away. They listened when she talked and garbled words when she fell quiet.

I know, Azriel wanted to say.

A hush fell over. A few murmured before a soft cheer rippled through the air. Azriel glanced at the band as they prepared for their next number. When he turned back to her, she was looking at them. He lifted a brow. A silent question. She stared at him for a minute, a long minute. Azriel willed himself to hold her gaze. She stepped away from the bar.

He bowed his head. The last thing he wanted his family to see was the smile on his lips. After a few minutes of shuffling and trial chords, the music began. He refrained from looking over his shoulder. At his family, at her. He took a sip when her voice reverberated through the brick walls, soothing and sensual.

His heart tightened in his chest. She sang of love again. He asked her to sing, and she sang of love—naughty, brazen love. Azriel chuckled at the not-so-subtle innuendo in the lyrics. Her voice mellowed at the end of every verse, softer than a purr. He closed his eyes.

This time he didn’t stop himself from imagining how she would feel under him, if she’d sound as sweet or sweeter when she moaned for him. His shadows peeped over his shoulders. Her eyes were only on him. That damned minx knew what he was up to.

He dared to give her his attention. She smiled at him before she closed her eyes. She swayed to the music, almost imperceptible, but not to his eyes. He had watched her sing before. He knew how she moved.

Her every word was a caress to him. Her voice reached out, striking a chord in his heart that never existed until that moment. If she held his hand and led him to her home upstairs, he would follow, if only to trap himself with her in the quiet, away from the world.

She stood still for a moment with her eyes closed even after the music ended, just the way she always did. She didn’t return to him. Instead, she walked into her office and gave him a smile as she closed the door behind her.

Another few months of missions further limited Azriel from going back to Pharus. A part of him believed his brothers did it on purpose to test him. Between her strange business trips and his necessary missions, Azriel had the chance to avoid her. He embarrassed himself in front of his family to last a few centuries.

Cass and Nesta still teased him by singing her song whenever they received snark from him and didn’t have a retort. Impromptu vocalising, holding each other in their arms, eyes bulging out of their sockets as they pranced around him.

Fortunately, it was the worst they could do to him. Once he refused a healing potion and Madja muttered under her breath, ‘I bet he’d be downing it if she gave him.’ And he wondered how far the news of his non-existent affair with N spread in the court.

‘Where are you off to, brother?’ Cass would yell at his back each night he left the dinner table.

‘Far away from you,’ Azriel would mumble, ‘From all of you.’ And if he felt cheeky enough, he teased back, ‘To look at someone prettier than you.’

‘All I heard is that I'm pretty!’ Cass would shout back.

Echoes of her name rang off the walls interlaced with his family’s laughter some days and nights as he left the room with a smile on his lips.

The times he went to the bar, his brothers appeared by his side miraculously. On rare nights, they left him alone. But those nights weren’t rare enough. They sat beside him and spied the door, waiting for her to grace them with her presence.

For he was the one taunted, his family sure seemed to be more obsessed with her than he was. They invited Uri sometimes to gather ammunition against Azriel in his slow torture. If the server had shown no suspicion until then, he sure would soon.

Except for Mor, Nesta and Feyre, none of the others had talked to N. And Azriel was grateful for it. The catastrophe his brothers alone would cause if they ever met her was something Azriel tried not to imagine. The looks they shared that night still lingered in his mind.

A sigh left his lips unwarranted. Both his brothers turned to him with a look on their faces he didn’t bother to decode. The place offered Azriel peace once. And now, it was only a haunting place with a ghost, N.

The reveal of his secrets had tainted the peace of the bar, for it was crowded more and more on each visit. He could find a different hiding spot. He could go home and lie in his bed again. He wouldn’t need the scent of spices and metal of the place to lull him enough to rest peacefully later. Uri filled his glass with a drink that looked like the one N had made for him. Even the server was glad to be anywhere but around his brothers.

One last drink.

Azriel took a long sip—not even close to how it had tasted. His shadows swarmed his shoulders, their weight pressing, as if they sensed his intentions. They did, they always did. The only ones who truly understood why he did or said anything. Maybe they had come to mourn the loss of their safe space too.

The door slid open by mere inches. Raya nudged it further with her foot as she walked in. N stepped aside. Her eyes went to someone in front of her, away from the door. Raya shimmied out with bottles in both her hands, a few tucked between her arms and chest, leaving the door open and wide behind her. Never once had she needed that much alcohol in one night before.

N leaned against the table and crossed her arms over her chest. Clad in only a simple white shirt, long and loose, and her legs bare past mid-thighs, she hadn’t planned to make an appearance that night. Her tousled hair was a graceful mess, as if she had been in bed for a while, or someone’s fingers had the pleasure of threading through them, over and over again. A darkening red scratch—thin and sharp—ran along her leg from thigh to ankle. It was fresh but healing, slowly.

Azriel didn’t blink. His brothers’ words faded as much as the rest of his surroundings. His shadows froze over his shoulders, deadly quiet unlike themselves.

Raya went back in. Then there he stood, the man N was smiling at. He leaned down and whispered in her ear before pressing a lingering kiss to her cheek. Close to her mouth. N shook her head and made for the stairs. She still smiled. The man trailed her, a hand on her hip and a smirk on his face. Raya walked out for the last time and closed the door behind her.

The glass in his hand dropped to the wood with a soft thud. The cool liquid sloshed inside and spilt over his fingers.

As if invisible claws clutched his heart and plunged him into icy waters, the haze deluding his senses and thoughts faded away in a blink. Every nerve in his body honed to one thought. Finally, the vision became clearer.

Azriel bared his teeth. A low growl rumbled in his chest. The incoherent whispers of his shadows finally took shape.

Mate.

taglist: @mybestfriendmademe

#azriel #azriel shadowsinger #azriel spymaster #azriel fanfiction #azriel fanfic #azriel acotar #acotar #acotar fanfic #acotar fanfiction #a court of thorns and roses #azriel x reader #acotar x reader #acotar series

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themultifanshipper · 18 hours

Text

As much love as the fans showed Yuki, one little-known fact about him was that no one would ever love him quite as much as his wife did. And they expressed it a bit too loudly for everyone else’s liking.

Warnings: I almost vomited from the fluff, nasty sex to counterbalance tho, putting food in places it should not be, physical injury (burn), then more disgusting fluff. Cringe dialogue. Tried something new writing in the 3rd person so tell me if it’s okay

They were still very much in the honeymoon phase, only having been married for a year, but they were truly, madly, deeply, disgustingly in love. Emphasis on the disgusting. Because they fucked anywhere and everywhere, all the damn time.

It was becoming a problem, in particular for Daniel, who had asked that the walls separating their driver rooms be soundproofed, and to never be on the same hotel floor as Yuki.

Because Yuki was insatiable and so was his wife.

There they were, in Yuki’s massive kitchen, while she made dinner and Yuki watched her, glass of wine (not his first) in his hand. How lucky that he married a woman whose father was a world famous chef. She’d insisted on making him something special for their 1 year anniversary, so he just sat on the other side of the kitchen Island while she worked away at her pots and pans.

“You know I love you, right?” He asked.

She looked at him with an amused twinkle in her eye. “I would hope so baby, otherwise why did you marry me?”

“For your amazing smile, of course! And your father’s money” he smirked at her.

“Well then thank god I made you sign a prenup then!”

They both giggled and sighed like lovesick fools, and sent each other flying kisses from across the island. If anyone else had been there, they would probably have been sick, especially Daniel, who knew way too much about their sex habits to be fooled by all the lovey-dovey PDA they always shared around everyone.

She’d finished all the prep and had just turned the stove on when she climbed onto a chair to open the top cabinet which contained more bottles of expensive wine.

That’s when Yuki noticed. She was wearing one of his shirts, which was slightly big on her given his build, that part he already knew, but as she lifted her arms, he noticed she was wearing nothing underneath. Literally nothing.

She was cooking for him (that on it’s own enough to get him in the mood) straight up shirt-cocking it (shirt-pussying it?), Winnie the pooh style. In a shirt with his name on it.

It was all too much for little Yuki Tsunoda as he slinked off his chair and made his way towards her. He made it halfway around the island before she noticed and scolded him.

“Nuh-huh, get out of my space baby. This is my kitchen tonight!”

He didn’t listen as he ran the rest of the way and kissed her, arms weaving around her waist. The advantage of being almost the same height was that neither had to bend their head awkwardly, their bodies just slotted together perfectly. He grabbed at the back of her thighs and she wrapped them around his waist, enjoying how much strength he possessed as he didn’t even flinch.

He plopped her on the counter between the stove and the fridge, the cold marble against her heated flesh making her gasp against his lips. Without looking and without breaking the kiss, one of Yuki’s hands trailed down between her legs, the other going into the meticulously organised fridge.

She pulled away, needing oxygen, and saw what he’d taken out: a can of whipped cream. Uh oh. He grinned at her, shaking the can, and she raised an eyebrow at him.

“And what, pray tell, are you going to do with that?”

He smirked “I am going to decorate my entrée.”

She rolled her eyes as he pushed on her chest to lay her down before pulling up her shirt over her tits. He then proceeded to squirt whipped cream over them, making her gasp. Finally, he produced a jar of sprinkles from god knows where and threw a generous amount over the cream.

“cakes” he said simply, making her wheeze because what the fuck Yuki, but she didn’t laugh for long as he wasted no time diving in, tongue first, liking up the quickly melting cream.

The coldness of the cream had made her nipples hard, and he took the opportunity to suck on them harshly, making her whine and grab his hair while he licked up every last drop of his handywork. Then he spent a few minutes worshipping, licking and nibbling every bit of bare skin he could get his mouth on.

Once he was done and she was panting, he lifted her legs and ordered her to hold them open, exposing her to him completely. And as he suspected, she had already made a puddle on the counter, making him groan and cup himself through his joggers, that were well tented by now.

“Naughty, not wearing anything underneath. Is this what you expected to happen?”

She nodded quickly “Yes! Please Yuki, touch me.”

His fingers tapped around her thighs, never getting anywhere near where she needed them most.

“And who made you wet like this, hmmm?”

She huffed impatiently “You did Yuki, been thinking about tonight all week!”

He raised his eyebrows as he shook the can again. “Really? I must savour it then.”

He squirted a healthy amount all over her pussy, not wasting any time with sprinkles. The heat from her skin melted it almost immediately, drops rolling down her flesh, across her ass and onto the counter. He trailed his finger through the mess, slipping it into his mouth as he moaned, the taste of the cream mixing with her slick made an absolute banger mix.

The madman didn’t waste any more time, he buried his face into the mess between her thighs, lapping up as much of it as he could and using his very skilled tongue to bring her to the edge in minutes.

She came with a loud cry and her hips bucked into his mouth, spreading a mix of cum and leftover cream over his face as he let her ride the wave, her hands firmly tangled in his hair.

When her body finally stopped thrumming with aftershocks, she pushed herself up to kiss him, but before their lips could meet, she shrieked.

She had left the stove on, and in her haste, put her hand straight on the scorching surface.

Yuki immediately picked her up and brought her to the sink to run her hand under the cold water.

“Are you okay baby?”

She nodded, whimpering as the feeling slowly faded from her hand from the cold and he kissed her cheek, arms around her squeezing tight.

“Why don’t I finish dinner while you go put some aloe on it?

She nodded again, and when she felt like her hand was going to survive the trip, she shuffled off to the bathroom.

After dinner, they lay in bed snuggling, while Yuki kissed each knuckle carefully over and over.

“I’m sorry” He whispered.

She giggled “You’ve got nothing to be sorry about, baby. It was entirely my stupidity that led us here.”

He buried his head in the crook of her neck, kissing her skin softly “I love you”

“I love you too, Yuki”

He smiled and tightened his hold around her waist and they both fell asleep like that, wrapped in each other’s arms.

The fact that Yuki is looking at pierre in that pic keeps me awake at night.

Hope you enjoyed this, will probably write more things like this (that is a threat)

#yuki tsunoda #yt22 #yuki tsunoda smut #yuki tsunoda x reader

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moeitsu · 1 day

Text

The Tie Which Linked My Soul To Thee

Ch 15 - When Up The Hilly Slope We Climbed

Summary: Arthur struggles to adjust to his new disabilities. Meanwhile Kate finds a job outside of camp for them, providing a few days respite and some much needed alone time. Arthur finally reveals his feelings.

Ao3 Wattpad Masterlist - All Chapters Previous Chapter /

A/N: Sorry this one has taken me a bit long folks! I've been super busy w/ work and moving into a new apartment. This chapter was supposed to be broken up into two days, but it's super long already (12.5k words). So day 2 will be apart of chapter 16.

TW: Slight nsfw, some steamy moments and kissing but nothing graphic. Implied ptsd and anxiety, night terrors.

Tag List: @photo1030 @ariacherie @thatweirdcatlady @ultraporcelainpig @marygillisapologist @eternalsams

**please let me know if you would like to be tagged in future chapters!

Story Tags: Widowed, Original Character(s), High-Honor!Arthur Morgan, Arthur Morgan Does Not Have Tuberculosis, Arthur Morgan Deserves Happiness, Chubby!Arthur Morgan, Canon Divergence, Mutual Pining, Slow Build, Eventual Smut, Eventual Sex, Eventual Romance, Emotional Sex, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort,Touch-Starved, Sexual Tension, Friends to Lovers, Child Loss, Infant Death, Trauma, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, Torture, Blood and Violence, Survivor Guilt, Aftermath of Torture, Caretaking, Injury Recovery, Period-Typical Racism, Anxiety, Self-Hatred, Night Terrors, Emotional Constipation, Self-Doubt, Men Crying, Bathing/Washing, Sweet/Hot, Romantic Angst, Romantic Fluff

Wide open plains stretched out as far as the eye could see, a sea of golden grasses swaying gently in the breeze. The cool wind rustled through Arthur's hair, carrying with it the scents of earth and freedom. Beneath him, the powerful, rhythmic breathing of his horse was a comforting constant, each hoofbeat a reminder of the boundless horizon that beckoned. The cold iron on his hip, always loaded and ready, was a familiar weight, a testament to the life he had chosen—a life of danger and defiance, a bandit perpetually on the run from the law. His deadeye and quickdraw ability were crucial in these untamed wild lands.

Nights were always spent around a crackling campfire, the warm smell of fresh meat sizzling over the flames mingling with the rich, smoky aroma of burning wood. Somewhere deep in the heartlands, under a blanket of swirling, twinkling stars, the heavens seemed to watch over them with a knowing smile. A beautiful woman sat by Arthur's side, her voice a soothing melody that wove through the night air, her eyes reflecting the flickering firelight with a bright, mesmerizing glow.

These were the moments Arthur cherished, the simple yet profound pleasures of a life lived on the edge. It was not a perfect life, but it was his, and he owned every moment of it. This was the life Arthur had always known—a life that now is nothing more than a distant dream.

—

It had been over a month since the day he was bushwhacked by Colm’s men, a day that had shattered the illusion of invincibility he had once held. The wounds on his body mirrored the scars on his spirit, each one a reminder of a brutal reality that had forever altered his existence.

Arthur’s fever broke shortly before the last of the antibiotics ran out, a small victory that brought a wave of relief. The gang, though worn down by worry, had always believed in Arthur’s resilience. His recovery, quicker than anyone expected, seemed almost miraculous. Kate remained by his side those crucial first few days after he woke up. She helped him walk on his injured ankle, offering a steady arm for support, and guided him through exercises for his left shoulder, her presence a constant source of encouragement. To her, Arthur was nothing short of a miracle. To Arthur, however, it felt more like a punishment. If not a death sentence for his sins, then a disability.

The feeling in his hand gradually returned, but a persistent dull ache haunted his arm whenever he moved his shoulder too much. And a warm throbbing often emitted from the site where the bullet had lodged into his flesh. On particularly strenuous days, an obnoxious tingling in his fingers, as if millions of tiny pins were stabbing into his skin, tormented him. Despite Kate’s efforts with physical therapy, he found himself unable to lift his arm above his head. No matter how hard he tried, his arm would tremble with the strain of effort. Kate assured him that it might improve with time, but Arthur was already swirling in doubt.

From the moment he woke up, Arthur insisted on being up and about. Having spent too much time confined to his cot, he longed to feel useful again and be a part of the group. Kate warned him that he still needed time to rest his ankle, but Arthur didn’t listen. Determined to regain his independence, he pushed himself to move around the camp. Kate, seeing his stubbornness, fashioned a crutch for him to use when he wanted to walk.

Arthur ignored the throbbing pain shooting up his leg for as long as he could. The first few days were the hardest, each step sending jolts of agony through his body. He clenched his teeth, determined not to let anyone see how much he was hurting. The gang watched him with a mix of admiration and concern, most of them offering support whenever they could.

Yet, the pain never seemed to cease. It became like a parasite gnawing away at his resolve. Whether it was the persistent dull ache of his shoulder and arm or the splintering agony in his ankle, Arthur’s body was never granted a moment's rest, not even in sleep. His nights were fragmented by vivid nightmares, a cruel reminder of the torture that had shattered his once peaceful evenings. Sleep, when it came, was fitful and brief, leaving him exhausted and irritable.

Arthur’s misery seemed to contrast sharply with the relief of the other gang members. They commended his survival, their laughter and cheer as a stark reminder of how isolated he felt. He knew he should be grateful, but instead, he felt like a different man—a shell of his former self. The transformation turned him into a frustrated grouch, snapping at those who simply wanted to help him.

Every attempt to regain his independence was met with well-meaning interference. “Let me get that for you,” someone would say, whether he was trying to fix a meal, complete a chore, or simply light a cigarette. Each offer of assistance, though kindly intended, only deepened his sense of uselessness.

Arthur now sat alone, perched upon a wooden chair outside his tent, nursing a cup of bitter hot coffee. The morning air was refreshing, the brief release before the dry heat of Lemoyne settled in for the day. The sounds of mourning doves waking up mixed with the usual clatter of morning camp activities, as everyone gathered for breakfast and prepared for the long day ahead. Arthur watched them move about from beneath the brim of his hat, its shade shielding his eyes from the bright golden sun. He idly flexed his left hand and rolled his wrist, a new habit he had formed to find some relief from the constant tingling sensation in his fingers.

The camp buzzed with familiar routines. He watched the girls collecting laundry and bringing heavy baskets to the water's edge. Javier and Lenny were engaged in a lively game of dominos, their laughter punctuating the morning air. Behind them, Pearson hummed softly to himself as he cracked eggs over a pan, the aroma of cooking breakfast wafting through the camp. In the distance, Bill’s voice could be heard taunting Kieran as he tended to the horses. Everything was as it should be, exactly how Arthur remembered it. But now, instead of being a part of it, he simply watched with growing envy.

Arthur was so deeply lost in his thoughts that he didn't hear the sound of Kate returning to camp. She had been gone with Charles and Sadie, hunting together for nearly three days. He missed her presence dearly; she was one of the few people he could tolerate amidst his pain. Arthur knew of the sacrifices she made for him, and continued to make. He could only hope to be given half the chance to repay his gratitude. She had become a constant source of relief and comfort. Kate’s brief absence had left a void, one that he felt acutely every day.

Kate approached quietly, taking in the sight of Arthur sitting alone. She could see the tension in his shoulders, the way he flexed his recovering hand, and her heart ached for him. She knew how hard it was for him to feel sidelined, to watch life go on without him being able to fully participate. But she couldn't help but feel immensely relieved with each passing day, Arthur was alive after all. A testament to his spirit, as well as her own dedication.

“Good morning,” Kate called out softly, her voice a gentle intrusion into Arthur’s trance.

Arthur’s gaze was distant, his side profile illuminated by the golden morning sun. He seemed lost in thought, his mind wandering far beyond the bustling camp around him.

“Arthur,” she repeated, closing the distance between them. This time, he looked up, surprise and relief washing over his features.

“Kate,” he greeted, his voice still hoarse and groggy from a restless night. “Didn’t hear ya come in. How was the hunt?” He lifted his silver cup of coffee to his lips, the steam mingling with the crisp morning air.

Kate took a seat on the trunk at the end of Arthur’s cot, a gesture that brought him a sense of comfort. Her presence calmed his troubled mind. “It went well. We brought back plenty of game. Charles and Sadie are already getting it sorted with Pearson.”

Arthur nodded, his eyes drifting back to the camp. “M’glad you’re back. Place felt emptier without you.”

Kate chuckled, a light, melodic sound that filled the space between them. “I’m sure it did. How’ve you been holding up?” she inquired, her tone gentle but probing. She had been reluctant to leave for the hunt, worried about how Arthur’s condition was affecting him mentally.

Arthur sighed, leaning back in his chair, his tired eyes meeting hers. The vibrant blue of his irises had returned, a sight Kate had dearly missed. “Same as always. Though I haven't moved much from this spot,” he gestured with a shrug of his hand. “Seems like I can’t even pour my own cup of coffee nowadays,” he added with a hint of mockery and sarcasm, his frustration evident.

Kate hummed in acknowledgment, pulling a small folded piece of paper from her pocket. “I’ve got a job for us,” she said finally, not commenting on Arthur’s supposed helplessness.

Arthur perked up slightly in his chair, curiosity lighting up his features. “Really? Doin’ what?” he asked, trying to bite back the eagerness in his voice. He longed to be back in the saddle, away from the confines of camp.

“Seamus sent me a telegram. His broodmare is going into labor soon, and his family is going to be out of town for a few days. He asked me to watch the place for him and keep an eye on her, in case she has the baby.” Kate smiled, hoping the task would give Arthur a sense of purpose and a much-needed break from camp life. She harbored a silent hope that it would also give Arthur a glimpse of what his life could look like, if he abandoned his title as an outlaw.

Arthur’s interest was piqued, and he leaned forward, the dull ache in his arm momentarily forgotten. “That sounds like somethin’ I can handle. When do we leave?”

Kate's smile widened, pleased to see a spark of enthusiasm in his eyes. “Let’s head out after breakfast.”

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

Eager to leave, Arthur opted to skip breakfast. Determined to feel like his old self, he made his way to his mare, Belle, without hesitation. He could see her white coat gleaming in the distance, reflecting the golden rays of the morning sun. Abandoning the crutch Kate had made for him, he limped forward, gritting his teeth against the pain. He longed for normalcy, for the feeling of being whole and capable again. The next few days promised him the opportunity to work and contribute, and he was damned if he would spend more time resting when he could make himself useful.

Reaching Belle, Arthur whispered soft greetings to her, brushing her sleek coat with gentle strokes. The mare nickered softly, enjoying the attention. He snuck her a couple of oat crackers, watching with a small smile as she eagerly nibbled them from his hand. As he turned to gather his saddle, he heard footsteps approaching and glanced over his shoulder to see Kate.

“I was thinkin’ we’d take Lorena together,” she suggested kindly, her eyes filled with concern.

A twinge of disappointment shot through Arthur. He ached to ride, to feel that sense of freedom he had been missing. “M’fine, Kate. I can still ride,” he answered, a hint of annoyance creeping into his voice. He knew she was only concerned for his well-being, but the idea that he might not be able to ride terrified him more than he cared to admit.

Kate approached Arthur’s side, petting Belle affectionately. “I know you can,” she said matter-of-factly. “It’s Belle I’m worried ‘bout. Kieran and I have tried to saddle her, but she’s still reluctant to leave the camp. I don’t wanna push her if she ain’t ready.”

Arthur gave her a sad but understanding look. He nuzzled Belle’s snout, whispering apologies to her as she nibbled at his hat affectionately. Her familiar warmth and the gentle nudge of her muzzle were comforting, yet a poignant reminder of the torment they shared.

Kate whistled for Lorena, who was only a few feet away, staying protectively close to her companion. “You wanna saddle her up for me?” she asked Arthur, her voice kind but encouraging.

“Sure,” Arthur nodded appreciatively, gathering Kate’s buckles and saddle bags from the hitching post.

Arthur worked quietly as he saddled the large black Hungarian horse. There were moments when he faltered, the weight too much for his weakened arm. But Kate never once interfered. He stumbled and cursed under his breath, frustration simmering beneath his determination. Each setback was met with another attempt, his resolve unwavering. It took him longer than he would have liked, but once Lorena was ready, he felt a small sense of victory.

Kate watched him work, her eyes filled with silent support. She knew better than to offer unsolicited help; Arthur needed to do this on his own. When he finally finished, he gave her a small nod, a flicker of pride in his eyes. Kate grabbed the reins and held them out to Arthur.

A moment of understanding passed between them as Arthur realized Kate was doing this for him. She was giving him the tools to be independent again, one small step at a time. His heart swelled with gratitude, and he couldn’t bite back the smile that spread across his cheeks.

He lifted himself onto the horse slowly from the right side, using his good arm to pull himself up. His ankle throbbed under the weight of his body, but he swallowed the pain. In moments, he was in position, like he had done so a million times before. Poised and ready to take off like a bandit in the night, he felt a spark of the old Arthur Morgan returning.

With his good arm, he reached out a hand to Kate, who accepted the kind gesture with a smile. She settled herself behind him, a stark difference from the last time they rode together, when Arthur’s blood had stained the cracks of her leather saddle. She pushed the haunting memory down and playfully patted Arthur’s thigh. The leather of his chaps was warm beneath her fingers from the summer morning sun.

“I’m ready when you are,” she said joyfully, her voice full of light. Arthur glanced back, flashing her a grin that made her heart skip a beat.

With a click of his tongue, they took off down the vibrant green path that led out of Clemens Point. The rhythmic thudding of Lorena's hooves was like a heartbeat, steady and strong. The morning sun cast long shadows over the landscape, the world awakening around them. Birds sang from the treetops, and the scent of blooming wildflowers filled the air.

Kate's arms wrapped securely around his waist, her presence comforting. The warmth of her touch seeped through his shirt, grounding him in the moment. Arthur felt the wind in his hair and the familiar weight of the reins in his hands. Each stride of the horse brought him a little closer to the man he used to be. The pain in his ankle and arm faded into the background as the thrill of the ride took over.

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

They rode past fields of tall grass swaying in the breeze, the golden tips brushing against their legs as if nature itself was greeting them. The sunlight spread through the horizon, painting a warm glow over the countryside. They crossed a sparkling creek, the water bubbling merrily as it wound its way through the terrain, a glistening ribbon of life cutting through the earth. Arthur and Kate shared smiles and stolen glances, their anticipation for what lay ahead growing stronger with each passing mile.

Arthur felt the tension ease from his shoulders, the rhythmic motion of the horse beneath him a familiar sensation. He knew he had been petulant the past couple of weeks, his frustrations spilling over onto the camp members. Guilt gnawed at him, but at this moment, all he could think about was Kate.

Her voice was a soothing sound as she pointed out sights along the way, her laughter blending harmoniously with the hum of nature. It was a healing song to his soul, mending the frayed edges of his spirit in ways he could never have imagined. The warmth of her body pressed against his back, her fingers gently hugging his sides as she held onto him, brought a sense of belonging he had longed for.

For a while, they rode together in a comfortable silence, the only sounds the soft clop of Lorena’s hooves and the rustling of the wind through the grass. The landscape unfurled before them like a tapestry, each new vista more beautiful than the last. Arthur felt a boldness stir within him, a desire to express the gratitude and affection that had been building in his heart.

“Kate?” he called, gathering her attention from whatever had caught her eye in the fields. Her gaze shifted to him, a soft hum of acknowledgment escaping her lips.

“I’ve said it before, but—” Arthur breathed deeply, sincerity filling his tone. “Thank you. I know takin’ care of me wasn’t easy.”

Kate squeezed his thigh affectionately, her touch a gentle reassurance. “Nothing in life is easy, Arthur. But I would do it all again in a heartbeat if it meant you’d still be here,” she said softly.

Arthur let her words sink in. She wanted him around. There were days when Arthur thought he had nobody, that he was better off alone or even dead. To hear her say those words filled him with a sense of purpose, a reason to keep fighting. He recalled the night he stumbled upon her letter in his journal. The weight of her confession felt heavy in his satchel now, a constant reminder of the unspoken words between them. He had found the courage to write down his feelings next to hers, but some part of him still lacked the bravery to bring them to light.

“Still don’t think I deserved it,” Arthur mumbled, more to himself than to Kate. Self-doubt simmered beneath his appreciation, a constant shadow in his mind. “You’ll have to let me repay the kindness someday,” he admitted.

Kate smiled, her hand resting warmly on his thigh. “No need to repay it. You can lean on me when things get hard. That’s what friends are for,” she said softly, giving him a gentle squeeze from behind in the saddle.

Her words from the first night she stayed at camp echoed in his mind, the night he realized he was falling for this extraordinary woman. She had been quietly singing a lullaby to her horse, and unknowingly, to Arthur as well. It was the same night he received a troubling letter from Mary, his heart filled with confusion and ache. Yet her presence brought him a sense of truth he had been longing for.

Helping others isn’t a weakness, Kate had said, it’s a testament to our humanity.

Those words had struck a chord deep within him. Kate was the most human person Arthur had ever met. She embraced him as he was, with all his flaws and scars, and proved her loyalty and friendship time and time again. She had a way of making him feel seen, understood, and valued—something he rarely experienced in life.

“Can I ask ya for a favor?” he said suddenly, changing the subject.

Kate giggled, her laughter a sweet whisper on the open air. “Of course,” she breathed, curious about his request.

“Will ya sing me somethin’?” Arthur asked, a touch of bashfulness creeping into his tone. He was sure she would sing; Kate loved to sing, and Arthur loved to listen to her. Like the prettiest song bird he ever did hear.

Kate’s eyes sparkled with surprise and delight. She shifted slightly, tightening her hold around his waist, her breath close against his back. “I’d love to,” she whispered.

Arthur felt a shiver of anticipation as Kate began to sing, her voice soft and melodic. He could feel the breath in her lungs and the vibration of her vocals behind him. The song she chose was an old folk tune, one that was filled with love and sweetness. Her voice floated on the breeze, mingling with the rustling leaves and the distant call of birds. Each note wrapped around Arthur like a warm hug, soothing the lingering stress in his body and soul.

Give you my lovin', seven days a week

I'll be your honey, if you'll be sweet

I know, I'm the only one for you

I know that you think this is not true.

See you in places, I'm followin' you

You'll be upstairs, and I'll be there too

Everywhere you go, I will follow

I know it won't be the same tomorrow.

People give me warnings, to stay away from you

They say you'll hurt me, I don't think that's true

When I see you, I wanna kiss you

But I know that ain't right, so I ask if I can hold you.

Oh, honey, I need you so bad

Oh, honey, I only want to make you glad.

Arthur felt a fluttering in his chest at her choice of song. The lyrics felt personal, as if she were speaking directly to him. Her voice filled him with confidence and reassurance. At that moment, Arthur knew he would give her the letter when they arrived at Emerald Ranch. The very place where it all began, where their paths had crossed during their unlikely task.

“Gosh, woman,” Arthur mused with a playful smile, “I gotta get’chu a guitar or somethin’.”

Kate chuckled. “Can you imagine? I’d never shut up if I had one of my own!” She laughed out loud, unaware of how much Arthur longed to hear her sing, like a songbird perched outside his window every morning.

“That’s the dream, darlin’,” Arthur replied softly.

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

Taking a look around the inside of the little farmhouse, Arthur marveled at how cozy it was. From the outside, it looked like your typical run-down ranch house, weathered and unassuming. But on the inside, it was a warm and welcoming home, filled with the tangible essence of years of hard work and family moments. The walls were adorned with faded photographs and handmade decorations, each telling a story of its own. The wooden floors creaked with a comforting familiarity, and the scent of aged wood mixed with the faint aroma of bread lingering in the air.

Arthur had only ever known Seamus as a rancher who ran a side business as a merchant. He had never imagined the man’s home to be so inviting, so filled with life and history. The mismatched furniture added to the charm, each piece seemingly holding its own tales.

“So, this guy really trusts you to stay in his house for a few days?” Arthur asked skeptically, his eyebrows raised in curiosity. “How’s he know you won’t rob ‘em?” he added incredulously.

Kate huffed a laugh, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “Cause I’m no thief,” she emphasized, her tone playful and firm. “Seamus is very good to his ranch-hands. They do a lot for him, and he always repays their honest work.” She gestured towards the kitchen table, a short letter indicating instructions for her while he was gone as well as a wad of cash. As if he already knew Kate would show up for the task. “Besides, his broodmare Dolly can be a real handful. But she always liked me,” she added with a playful wink, a hint of pride in her voice.

Arthur couldn't help but smile at her confidence and ease. She was a reliable, trustworthy woman. He followed her as she held open the front door, indicating she would give him a tour of the rest of the property.

Together they walked over to the barn, the familiar sounds of cows lowing and chickens clucking filling the air. The occasional whinny from a horse echoed in the distance. The barn itself was sturdy and well-kept, with bales of hay neatly stacked and the scent of fresh straw mingling with the earthy aroma of the animals.

Lorena was bareback in the pen, nibbling on the hay with the other horses. Her sleek black coat shone in the soft light, a picture of contentment. Arthur admired how the horses seemed at peace here, a reflection of the care and attention they received.

As they walked, Kate pointed out various aspects of the ranch, sharing anecdotes and bits of history. “Seamus built this barn himself, you know. Every plank and nail. Took him the better part of a year,” she said, voice filled with respect.

Arthur listened intently, appreciating the glimpse into a world so different from his own. “Seems like a good man,” he remarked, nodding thoughtfully.

“He is,” Kate agreed. “He’s one of the few who understands the value of hard work and loyalty. And the payoff of living an honest life.”

Arthur chuckled, “if my memory serves me right, he had me and Hosea rob his cousin a few months back.” He said scratching his chin.

Kate shot him a knowing grin, “oh I remember. I got stuck babysitting you morons,” she teased. In a more serious tone she added, “but he’s got a family to take care of. And life ain’t easy.”

They paused at the edge of the pen, watching the horses for a moment. The golden afternoon sun bathed the ranch in a warm glow, casting dark shadows and highlighting the beauty of the surroundings. Arthur felt a sense of peace here, a welcome relief from the chaos of their usual lives.

Kate turned to him, her eyes shining with a mix of pride and contentment. “Ready to meet Dolly?” she asked, a smile playing on her lips.

With a nod from Arthur, Kate led him to the back of the stables, where the broodmare was kept. The area was a safe distance from the other mares and stallions, ensuring a quiet and secure environment for the expectant mother. Dolly, a large dapple gray Andalusian with a white muzzle and a distinctive white stripe down her forehead, stood regally in her stall. She was too old to be working but too young to be retired, so she had become a mother to a handful of strong young fillies.

Kate had worked around Dolly for a few weeks and initially suffered accordingly. The mare had a reputation for being temperamental and unpredictable. Dolly had once nearly kicked Kate’s head off when she attempted to re-shoe her. She was the one horse that genuinely frightened Kate, which said a lot considering Lorena’s temper.

But like any challenge, Kate approached it with patience and conviction. She spent countless hours with Dolly, speaking to her softly and handling her with care. Gradually, the mare's wild eyes softened, and she began to form a bond of trust with Kate. Dolly acknowledged that Kate was the master, and she the hound. While Dolly remained fierce and powerful, Kate was the only one who could tame her.

Kate greeted the large mare warmly, her eyes softening at the sight of Dolly’s swollen, round belly. “Hey mama. Good lord girl, you are ready to pop!” she exclaimed, scratching under Dolly’s snout. The mare snorted and flicked her ears, reacting to Arthur’s unfamiliar scent in her territory.

“She’s a beauty,” Arthur remarked, stepping closer but keeping a respectful distance.

Kate smiled, continuing to scratch Dolly’s favorite spot. “She is, isn’t she? Took some time, but we got to understand each other.” She glanced at Arthur, her eyes twinkling with pride and affection. “She’s still got some spirit in her, but she knows I’m here to help.”

Arthur admired the way she gently stroked her snout, “You’ve got a way with these animals, Kate. It’s somethin’ special.”

Kate’s smile widened, a blush creeping up her cheeks. “Thanks, Arthur. That means a lot coming from you.”

They stood in comfortable silence for a moment, watching as Dolly nuzzled Kate’s hand. The soft sounds of the other horses in the stables and the gentle rustling of hay created a peaceful atmosphere.

Kate turned to Arthur, her hand still resting on Dolly’s snout. “Wanna give it a try?” she asked, nodding toward the mare.

Arthur hesitated for a moment, but then he took a breath and stepped forward. He reached out slowly, allowing Dolly to catch his scent. The mare flicked her ears again but didn’t pull away. With a gentle touch, Arthur stroked her neck, feeling the warmth and strength beneath his fingers.

“She don’t seem so bad,” he muttered as her whiskers tickled his other hand, a tentative smile forming on his lips.

Suddenly, Dolly shrieked loudly and stomped her hooves, causing Arthur to jerk back slightly. Kate laughed, a sound like tinkling bells, and said, “Oh, stop it, you’re embarrassing me,” she spoke to the horse scoldingly. “He’s harmless,” she added softly, grabbing her reins and gently coaxing her back to Arthur’s presence.

Arthur watched in admiration as Kate handled the mare with such ease and gentleness. The way she treated Dolly, her own horse, and every beast with respect and concern showed a depth of compassion that extended far beyond human interactions. It was as if her love and care were boundless, touching every living thing she encountered.

The tempered mare approached reluctantly as Arthur pulled a peppermint from his satchel. He smiled to himself as Dolly hesitantly lowered her head again to accept the irresistible sweet treat. “You’re not the only one with a sweet tooth,” he muttered, popping one of the candies in his mouth and seizing the opportunity to pet her snout.

“Look at that, friends already,” Kate said, clasping her hands together with a look of satisfaction. She turned to Arthur, her gaze filled with anticipation. “You ready to get to work?”

Arthur nodded and made a gesture with his hands, “Ready as the day is long,” he said with a smile. “What can I do?” he asked, looking around the barn, eager to contribute.

Kate placed a hand on her hip and followed his gaze, contemplating how they would split the work. She wanted to give him enough labor to make him feel useful, but nothing that would be too strenuous for him. Arthur glanced at her with a hint of amusement, appreciating her thoughtful consideration. In that moment, they weren’t just friends or potential lovers—they were simply a couple of ranch hands ready to tackle the day’s work together. She had a way about her that made him feel human again.

“Well,” Kate began, her eyes scanning the barn, “we need to muck out the stalls and make sure all the animals are fed and watered. After that, we can check on Dolly again and make sure she’s comfortable.”

Seamus usually had at least three to six ranch hands depending on the season. Most of them were his own kin, which meant they were short a few hands. The sun had begun its descent past its peak at noon, casting long shadows across the ranch. Only a handful of hours remained before dusk would creep in, and Kate estimated that their work would take them through the rest of the afternoon.

“Think you can start with the stalls?” Kate inquired, her mind already planning out the evening's tasks.

“Absolutely,” Arthur’s voice broke through her thoughts, filled with determination.

Kate nodded with a smile, slipping on a pair of leather gloves. “I’ll be around if you need me. Just holler,” she said, ready to tackle her own chores.

As she turned to leave, Arthur stopped her. “Hang on a moment.”

Kate paused, watching as Arthur pulled out a folded piece of paper tucked into his journal. His hand trembled slightly, whether from his injury or nerves, she couldn't tell.

Kate accepted the paper with a furrowed brow, her fingers itching to peek inside. “What’s thi–”

“Read it later,” Arthur blurted out, the words tumbling together like a stampede. “Please,” he added softly, trying to swallow the heat rising up his neck. He had never considered himself a ladies' man, and he wondered every day how he ever managed to catch the eye of a woman such as Kate. Writing in his journal was the purest way he could communicate his thoughts, and Kate had learned to understand his language, which still felt surreal to him.

Standing there like a proud young stallion, Arthur held his hat to his chest, an adorably sincere gesture he had done a few times around Kate. She knew then what the little paper contained within its folds. He was baring his heart to her in the best way he knew how.

She smiled warmly and tucked the confession into her breast pocket, close to her heart. “I’ll read it later, Arthur,” she promised.

Arthur headed to the stalls, grabbing a pitchfork and setting to work. Each movement, though painful, felt purposeful. He shoveled the muck with a steady rhythm, the repetitive task giving him time to reflect on the note he had given Kate. He wondered what she would think, how she would react, and hoped that his words would convey the depth of his feelings.

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

The hours passed by in a whirlwind of tasks. Kate tackled the heavy labor, her muscles straining with the effort as she moved bales of hay, repaired fencing, and carried buckets of water to the troughs. She welcomed the physical challenge, the work offered a familiar routine she had been missing. It kept her focused and grounded, and she found a certain satisfaction in the job.

Arthur, meanwhile, took care of the barn duties. He mucked out the stalls, cleaned the tack, and ensured the animals were comfortable. Every now and then, he would pause to stretch his sore shoulder or lean against the stable gate to rest his ankle. Despite the aches in his body, he felt a sense of accomplishment with each completed task. The familiar rhythm of ranch life created a comforting sense of normalcy. Unlike his usual work, it brought him domestic bliss. Something he had always longed for.

As the afternoon wore on, the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long, golden shadows across the ranch. The air grew cooler, and a soft breeze rustled the leaves of the nearby trees. Kate paused to take in the moment, leaning against an upturned trough. She wiped the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand, her gaze drifting upward.

The sky had taken on a dramatic hue, the once bright blue now a tapestry of darkening clouds. The sun dipped on the horizon, creating a fiery glow that contrasted sharply with the ominous gray that was slowly overtaking it. The scent of rain was in the air, a fresh, earthy aroma.

The day's work had taken its toll, and she felt a pleasant exhaustion settling into her bones. She figured it was time to call it a day anyway; the approaching storm and the growl of her stomach made the decision an easy one.

Before they could retire for the night, one task remained on Kate’s mind. She sought out a secluded spot under a nearby tree, the gentle rustling of leaves providing a soothing backdrop. Kate tugged her gloves off with her teeth, simultaneously pulling the letter from her pocket. Her fingers traced the folds, her heart racing with anticipation and a twinge of uncertainty. Whatever lay within these pages would change their relationship forever; Kate fervently hoped it was a change for the better.

Feeling the weight of Arthur's words in her palm, she carefully unfolded the handful of papers. The edges were smooth yet serrated, as if he had meticulously torn them from his journal. The folds were straight and pressed, resembling the careful sealing of an envelope. Kate marveled at his genuine care for something so simple.

Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she filled her heart with clarity and began to read his words:

My darling Kate…

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

~ 3 days ago ~

In the depth of night, the moon had carved its way across the sky, a silent sentinel overseeing the world below. Even the creatures of the shadows were preparing to sleep, the sunrise just beyond the horizon. The sky was an inky black canvas, streaked with gray clouds, as the world beyond began to stir.

There were no stars that night, as if the universe mirrored Arthur's loneliness. Only the glowing black and red coals of a dying campfire kept the midnight chill from seeping into his bones. Despite the faint warmth, his hands felt as cold as his aching heart. He had woken from another restless sleep only hours ago, haunted by memories that burned in the back of his mind like a shot of whiskey, distorting his sense of reality.

It had gotten better with each passing day. Most nights, Arthur managed to talk himself out of his terror, reminding himself where he was, that he was not in danger, that the lives of the gang were not in danger.

But there were nights, like tonight, when Arthur would wake with a sense of urgency and panic. His sleepless, tormented mind was confused and afraid, desperately searching for a way out. Everything around him was shrouded in darkness, and he couldn't distinguish memory from reality. The ghosts of his past torment mingled with the shadows of his present, creating a suffocating void that threatened to swallow him whole.

On these nights, Kate was always there for him. Though these episodes were infrequent, she never failed to appear when his sense of panic neared the brink of danger, for himself or for others. With gentle coaxing, she would guide him to sit with her by the fire, her presence calming his frayed nerves. She would reassure him, answering any and all of his questions, no matter how many times he asked. Her voice, soothing and steady, became his anchor in the storm.

When Arthur finally calmed down, she would speak softly to him for hours until he was tired enough to return to sleep. Sometimes, they would sit in companionable silence until the first light of dawn broke through the horizon, the crackling of the fire and the quiet sounds of the night their only company.

But tonight, Kate wasn't there. She had left with Charles and Sadie at first light, eager to provide for the camp and savor the thrill of the hunt. Arthur remained behind, confined by his injuries. He knew it was ridiculous to feel jealous of their outing, but it wasn’t just the escape he longed for—it was Kate.

Her presence was a constant source of relief amidst his pain and frustrations. When Kate was with him, the burdens of his injuries and fears seemed to lift, carried away on the wind. It didn’t matter if she was idly chatting over breakfast, her laughter mingling with the morning light, or helping him with the simple tasks his injuries had made difficult. Her kindness and care infused every moment with warmth and comfort.

But now, in the stillness of the night, Arthur felt a deep, gnawing loneliness. His friends slept just ten feet away, their soft snores and shifting forms a reminder of their presence. Yet, he couldn’t stand the way they looked at him now, as if he were helpless and weak. They commended his strength and recovery, but there was a change in their demeanor, a subtle shift that made him feel more isolated than ever. They saw him in a different light, and he hated how it made him feel—like an outsider in his own family.

Arthur’s thoughts turned to his satchel, to the old leather journal tucked inside. He hadn’t so much as opened it since the day his heart was laid bare, his private words exposed in a way that felt humiliating. Those pages now seemed tainted, the words within soaked with memories he wished he could forget. The journal had once been a refuge, a place where he could pour out his soul, but now it felt like a canvas painted with malicious strokes of red ink.

Needing an outlet for his swirling thoughts, Arthur reluctantly opened the journal, the pages heavy with memories. He flipped through drawings, entries, and little notes, each one a fragment of his life. Portraits of Kate mingled with sketches of flowers and scenery, their delicate lines capturing moments of fleeting beauty.

His fingers paused on one particular page, the image stretching across both sides of the journal. On the left, a tender depiction of Kate laying in the grass, sleeping against her saddle. Her face was serene, her features softened by slumber. Lorena, her loyal mare, had her head nestled on Kate's chest, equally deep in sleep. The scene was a perfect snapshot of peace and companionship.

On the right side of the page, Arthur had sketched the familiar rocky shoreline of Clemens Point. The sun was setting, its rays kissing the horizon and casting a glow over the water. The waves lapped gently at the rocks, the rhythmic motion almost audible through the drawing.

In Arthur’s print, a simple note read: My world.

The words echoed in his mind, resonating with a profound truth. Kate was his world. She brought color to his sketches, life to his drawings, and hope to his weary soul. The two images revealed everything he held dear—the serenity of nature, the warmth of company, and the beauty of the young woman who had captured his heart.

He recalled the day with a light smile, the memory warming him from within. Arthur had been fishing, enjoying one of the rare days when he had time to himself. He had found a secluded spot hidden by a formation of rocks, where the world seemed to fall away. The afternoon and evening were spent indulging in the simple pleasure of fishing. Captivated by the scene around him, he captured the moment by sketching the view, the gentle ripples of the water, the play of light on the surface, and the dense trees framing the landscape.

Sometime later, as the sun dipped lower in the sky, Kate had wandered into the small clearing nearby. Unbeknownst to her, it was right behind Arthur’s fishing spot. He watched her quietly, drawn to the scene by the sound of her voice, a soft melody that carried on the gentle breeze. She was singing to her mare, Lorena, like she did most evenings. Her voice was tender, filled with a love that touched Arthur deeply.

Kate brushed Lorena’s coat with slow, deliberate strokes, her fingers combing through the mare’s mane with practiced ease. Arthur could see the bond between them, the trust and affection that had been built through countless moments like this. The sight was mesmerizing.

After a while, the soft singing ceased, replaced by the low hum of cicadas and the occasional chirp of tree frogs. The evening light cast a golden glow over the clearing, making it feel like a scene from a dream. He glanced back and saw Kate lying in the grass, sound asleep. Her chest rose and fell with the gentle rhythm of her breathing, and Lorena rested her head protectively near Kate's.

Without wasting a second, Arthur pulled out his journal and filled the blank page next to his first sketch. He captured the pleasant image of Kate and Lorena with delicate, careful strokes, the grass bending softly around them, the mare's head nestled close to her, the light framing them both in a warm embrace.

Arthur continued to flip through the pages of his journal, his breath catching at the jagged edges of a torn page. The memory of someone having taken one of his portraits of her resurfaced, a sting of loss mingling with shame. He swallowed the memory and continued flipping, searching for a blank page.

He paused when he reached an unfamiliar script. The handwriting was smooth and fine, the elegant cursive of someone properly educated. It was a woman's delicate handwriting. The heading caught his breath:

My dearest Arthur

The words swam through his mind as he took in each stroke of the pencil. His heart swelled with adoration and yearning, and his cheeks warmed with the emotion that welled up inside him. Kate’s words, tender and heartfelt, brought silent tears to his eyes. Arthur didn’t know what he had done to deserve such love, what higher power had put him through hell only to provide this light at the end.

The fear and doubt that had plagued him still lingered, but in this moment, Arthur knew he had to answer her letter. He felt an urgency, a need to reciprocate the love she had so freely given. For the rest of the evening, he put together his thoughts onto those pages;

My darling Kate,

Forgive me, if it seems cowardly, doing things this way. But I’m afraid it’s the only way I know how. It’s really hard for me to face you sometimes; I get choked up and the words don’t come out right. You smile, and my heart just leaps from me. Your company is a great comfort to me, more than you could ever know.

I’m not very good at all this—feelings, and just life in general. In my years I have only ever known mayhem. I was born with blood on my hands and I have never allowed myself a moment of peace. I’ve spent so much time living on the run, thinking only of survival and the next job. I was scared to live, and I was scared to die.

I never thought I would dream of a quiet life, a good life. But you’ve changed that, Kate. You’ve shown me a kindness and warmth I thought I’d never feel again. I don’t deserve it, and yet you’ve given me a reason to believe that maybe there’s more to this life than hurting and hiding.

When I look at you, I see a future I never dared to dream of. I see us together, building a life filled with simple joys and quiet moments. I see a place we can call home, where I can watch you shine and spread your wings like the angel you are.

I know I don't have much to offer you. My life has been a series of hard choices and rough roads, and I carry the weight of those years with me. But what I can offer you is my heart. My affection, my strength, my loyalty, and my love. It’s not much, but it’s yours. All of me is yours.

You’ve brought light into my life, Kate, and I want nothing more than to drown myself in the rays of your beauty. To be by your side is the greatest gift you could ever give me. I want to wake up each morning in our home and fill it with memories and laughter, to create a place where love and joy are as natural as the air we breathe.

I always worried that I may never live long enough to see the whole world, but now I’ve found that I already have. When I look into your eyes, I see everything I've ever searched for.

So, if you’ll have me, I’d love to chase that dream of a wooden house with you.

With all my heart,

Arthur

p.s - Your words make me forget the pains of my past. So, thank you, for healing that part of me too.

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

The winds picked up, carrying with them an electric scent that announced a coming storm. The smell of grass and hay mingled with the atmosphere, creating a heady mix that filled the air. The breeze swirled around Kate, shaking the leaves above her with a growing intensity. Her heart mirrored the uproar around her, a storm of emotions raging like a hurricane through the Midwest. The rumble of thunder echoed the drumming of her heart, each beat resonating with the power of the approaching storm.

Wiping her tears with a trembling hand, Kate gently folded the letter and placed it back in her breast pocket. The rain began to fall in gentle sputters, mingling with the warmth against her cheeks. Each drop felt like a kiss from the sky, a reminder of the heartfelt joy she hadn't felt since her old life—the life she had been forced to leave behind. She had once thought she might never reach such peace again, but here she was, on the brink of a new beginning.

Everything was going to change. Once again, fate had taken her life in a new direction, an unexpected but welcome turn amidst the troubles and turmoils she had experienced. Arthur was the beginning of a new life, a second chance at feeling whole again. His love was like a lantern, its warm glow guiding her through the darkness and giving her hope for a future she had only dared to dream of again.

The rain began to fall more steadily, each drop a mark on the story of her life. Kate’s mind raced with thoughts of Arthur, the man who had captured her heart with his quiet strength and unshakable loyalty. She felt a sudden sense of urgency, a desperate need to be with him.

She stood up, the wind tugging at her clothes as if urging her forward. The rain began to fall harder, but she hardly noticed. Her mind was filled with thoughts of Arthur—his rugged handsomeness, the way his eyes softened when he looked at her, the warmth of his touch.

With purposeful, quickened footsteps, Kate made her way to the barn in search of him. She noted how clean the stalls looked, the horses and barn animals contentedly eating their dinner and settling in for the night. Her heart pounded with each glance as she searched for him, her excitement building with every step.

Rounding the corner, she finally spotted him. Arthur had his back turned to her, his broad shoulders moving rhythmically as he spread hay through the birthing stall, preparing it meticulously for Dolly’s comfort. The muscles in his back and arms flexed with each movement, showcasing the strength and care he put into every task. The sight of him working with such dedication sent a thrill through her heart.

Kate quickened her pace, her feet barely touching the ground as she approached the stall gate. The soft jingle of the latch caught his attention, and he turned to greet her, his expression shifting from focused determination to warm surprise.

He rested his injured arm on the pitchfork, his eyes lighting up as they met hers. “What are you smiling at?” Arthur asked playfully, noting the tear-stained cheeks and the rosy hue that adorned her ear-to-ear smile. It was a sight that never got old to him. In that moment, he knew she had read his letter.

Kate giggled softly, her voice filled with joy. “For a mean, nasty outlaw, you sure can be pretty damn romantic,” she teased, her smile widening as she bit her bottom lip. She felt like a giddy teenager in his presence, her heart fluttering with a mix of excitement and love.

Arthur grinned, a bashful look crossing his face as he turned his head, scratching his neck awkwardly. “I don’t know nothin’ ‘bout romance, sweetheart,” he mumbled, his voice tinged with self-consciousness.

Kate opened the gate, stepping inside the stall with purpose. Arthur dropped the pitchfork, his eyes locked onto her as she closed the gap between them. Without hesitation, she wrapped her arms around his neck, her voice a breathless whisper, "Oh, shut up and kiss me, Arthur."

Arthur's eyes widened, his pupils dilating until the blue of his irises was barely visible. He wasted no time winding his arm around her waist, his good hand sliding up to cup the back of her head. Her warmth was intoxicating, he felt blessed to get drunk on her love.

And he kissed her.

Deeply, passionately, achingly. Their lips collided with an intensity that spoke of all the emotions they had kept bottled up. Their noses brushed against one another, moving in a delicate dance like swans in courtship. The soft rub of their cheeks, the fervent joining and breaking of their lips, created a symphony of love and desire. Breathless sighs of pleasure filled the air around them.

The wind picked up, whipping through the stalls and causing their hair to flutter and tickle their cheeks. The distant rumble of thunder signaled the approaching storm, but nothing could break them from their shared moment of passion.

Kate cupped Arthur's cheek in her hand, savoring the softness of his beard beneath her fingers. She trailed her hand to the back of his neck and gently tugged on his hair, eliciting a deep moan that she eagerly swallowed. Arthur’s tongue played at her lips, seeking permission for deeper intimacy. Kate welcomed him, her tongue meeting his in a dance as old as time. The taste of peppermint mixed with the scent of his musk filled her senses, making her dizzy with desire.

Arthur groaned at the sensation of her gently sucking on his tongue, pulling her body tightly against his. The heat between them was palpable, their bodies pressed so close that not even the wind could come between them. Each touch, each kiss, and every heartbeat only elevated the burning tension between them.

Their surroundings faded away, the barn and its animals, the impending storm, all became insignificant. In that moment, it was just the two of them, lost in each other. Kate's fingers threaded through Arthur's hair, her nails grazing his scalp in a way that sent shivers down his spine. His hands roamed her back, memorizing every curve and dip, pulling her even closer as if he could never get enough.

Kate gasped as he took her bottom lip between his teeth, a tantalizing hint of pain and pleasure that sent a warm flood to her core. Then he attacked her mouth again with such ferocity that she felt she might stumble backward. But Arthur's hand was splayed across her lower back, fingers tracing circles against the curve of her spine, holding her protectively in his embrace. She rolled her hips forward against his, eliciting a deep grunt from him as his grip tightened on her hair. Pure bliss filled her heart and mind, every sensation magnified by the intensity of their connection.

A sudden, earth-shaking clap of thunder, followed by a brilliant strike of lightning, lit up the air, startling them both. So enraptured were they in each other that for a moment, the world outside had ceased to exist. The rain began to pour in heavy drops, pattering rhythmically against the tin roof of the barn, creating a symphony of nature's power.

Kate glanced outside, breaking the kiss as the storm raged on. The intensity of the moment left her breathless, her lips tingling from their passionate exchange. Arthur panted, his gaze never leaving her features, his eyes dark with desire and affection.

"Kate," he breathed, his voice a husky whisper. "You drive me wild."

She looked up at him, taking in the sight of his lips swollen and red, nearly matching the pink of his cheeks that reached all the way to his ears. His hat had blown off, landing somewhere in the hay, and his hair was delightfully disheveled from both the wind and Kate's delicate fingers. His blue eyes met hers with such contented bliss, heavy with warmth. Wrinkles formed at the corners of his eyes from the smile that spread across his lips. Kate wished she could freeze this moment, capturing it forever, safe from the tricks of time.

"Arthur," she replied, his name a sacred prayer on her lips, carrying all the love and adoration she felt for him.

He leaned in again, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead, his touch tender and reverent. “Was a little worried you might not feel the same,” he murmured against her skin. “After I woke up ‘n all,” he added, a hint of doubt lacing his voice. The memory of his injury and the changes it had wrought in him weighed heavily on his mind. He felt different, diminished somehow, and it gnawed at his confidence.

Kate scoffed lightly at the absurdity of the idea, as if she would ever dare to think less of him. “Really? Why would you think that?” She asked, nudging her head to get him to look in her eyes. They held each other close, gently rocking against each other with the rhythm of the rain.

Arthur held her gaze, his blue eyes reflecting a deep-seated self-doubt. “Dunno, I knew I wasn't the most striking bachelor before. And now I—” he hesitated, the words catching in his throat. He thought of himself as half the man he used to be, the injuries a constant reminder. “Sometimes I just think I’m undesirable.”

Kate tightened her hold on him, her fingers tracing soothing patterns on his back. She could feel the tension in his muscles, the self-doubt that weighed heavily on him. "Arthur," she began softly, her voice filled with conviction, "You are a wonderful, beautiful man. Your strength, your kindness, your heart—that’s what matterns. You are always worthy of love."

Arthur's eyes softened, the weight of her words easing his troubled heart. He leaned his forehead against hers, their breaths mingling in the cool night air. “What did I do to deserve a woman like you?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Kate smiled, her heart brimming with love. “You’re more than enough for me, Arthur. And you always will be.”

They stood there for a few moments, the barn providing a sanctuary from the storm. The rain continued to patter against the roof, creating a gentle symphony that seemed to echo the rhythm of their shared heartbeat. The air was cool and fresh, carrying the scent of wet hay and earth, mingling with the warmth of their closeness.

Arthur sighed, his reluctance evident as he spoke. "I reckon it's about time we called it a night, huh?" His voice was soft, almost wistful. He began peppering little kisses over Kate’s cheeks, each one tender and filled with affection. She giggled softly, the sound a melodic contrast to the storm outside.

She responded in kind, launching her own playful attack of kisses. Their laughter mingled with the rain, filling the barn with a lightheartedness that made the moment feel timeless. "Oh, but you make it so hard," she whined teasingly, her voice dripping with playful frustration.

Arthur's hands roamed her back, his touch gentle and loving. "I’d be happy to bed you right here in this barn, Kate," he murmured against her skin, his breath hot on her neck. He captured her lips in a final, heated kiss, their desire deepening with each passing moment.

Kate shuddered at his words. Finally, with a reluctant sigh, she pulled away from his embrace. The absence of his warmth was immediately palpable, a stark contrast to the heat that had enveloped her just moments before. She looked up at him, her eyes filled with a mix of love and longing.

"We should get inside," she said softly, her voice carrying a hint of passion. "There's a warm fire and bath waiting for us."

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

Escaping the rain, they quickly discarded their muddy boots at the door. The room was filled with the warmth of the crackling fire as Arthur stoked the flames. Kate moved to prepare a bath, her cheeks tinged with a blush as the thought of what was to come flitted through her mind. When the water was ready, she approached Arthur, her heart pounding with anticipation.

"The bath is ready," she said softly, a shy smile playing on her lips. Unlike the spacious bathhouses in hotels, this was a small wooden tub, designed to fit one person.

Arthur approached her, taking her small hand in his large one. "Could I ask to repay the favor tonight?" he asked, his voice filled with a tender longing.

Kate looked at him, confused. "What favor?"

"When you bathed me," he said softly, his eyes searching hers. Kate blushed, slightly shocked that he remembered that moment amidst his raging fever.

A smile tugged at her lips. "Only if you join me," she answered.

Arthur breathed deeply, a wave of desire washing over him. He wanted to capture her in a kiss right then and there, but he knew there was a deeper moment of intimacy awaiting them. She led him to the washroom, holding onto his hand.

The room was small and dimly lit with a few candles adorning the walls. A quiet fire crackled in a little hearth, used to heat the water. Clouds of steam filled the space, carrying the rich scent of lavender and pine. The water glimmered with bath oil and small bubbles, inviting and warm.

Arthur followed her into the room, closing the door behind him. He approached Kate from behind, enveloping her in his arms as he leaned down to kiss her cheek. His hands splayed across her abdomen, fingers tracing the buttons of her blouse. Kate swallowed as the heat rose from the pit of her stomach. She sighed blissfully and leaned into his embrace, her hands moving to meet Arthur’s, encouraging him to remove the fabric.

Their bodies moved in unison as she turned to meet his lips. He pushed the blouse off her shoulders, and she quickly unbuttoned his shirt, tugging it off him to reveal his chest. The dampness from the rain still clung to his skin, and the scars from his injuries were healing with each passing day. The once deep purple bruises had faded to a pale shade, marking his progress.

Arthur untied her undershirt, revealing her breasts to the thick, warm air. Her eyes sought his, and she found them gazing upon her with love and adoration. Leaning down to kiss her neck, his hands traveled to the button of her trousers. Kate gasped at his touch, her hands following his movements.

They stood completely naked before each other, their chests heaving with desire. Arthur stepped into the hot bath first, then held out a hand to Kate, silently inviting her to join him. She bit her lip with anticipation and allowed him to pull her naked body into his embrace. The water was hot and soothing, relaxing all of her muscles as she settled into his lap.

Arthur’s strong arms wrapped around her, holding her close as they both sighed with contentment. He gently kissed her shoulder, trailing soft kisses up her neck. Kate leaned back against him, her fingers tracing the muscles of his arms, feeling the strength and tenderness in his touch.

The warmth of the bath enveloped them, the fragrant steam mingling with their breaths. Arthur’s hands roamed her body, exploring every curve and contour with reverence. Kate tilted her head to the side, giving him better access to her neck as she moaned softly at his calloused wandering hands.

He whispered sweet nothings in her ear, his voice husky with desire. "You are so beautiful, Kate," he murmured, his lips grazing her earlobe.

Kate turned her head, capturing his lips in a passionate kiss. Their tongues danced together, each touch sending sparks of pleasure through their bodies. She could feel the hard length of him pressing against her back, and she shifted slightly, eliciting a groan from Arthur.

"Easy now," he whispered against her lips, his hands moving to cup her breasts, his thumbs brushing over her hardened nipples. "We’ve got all night."

Kate’s breath hitched at his touch, her body arching into his hands. His fingers rolled the small buds, the oil of the bath making them slick. A shuddering moan escaped her lips. She could feel the intensity of his desire, matched by her own. "Arthur," she whispered, her voice trembling with aching desire. "I need you."

He kissed her deeply, one hand sliding down her body to rest on her hip. Fingers kneading at the soft flesh, tauntingly close to her heat. "You have me darlin’," he replied, his voice thick with lust.

With a gentle but firm touch, Arthur guided Kate to turn around and straddle his lap. The water sloshed around them as their bodies pressed together in an intimate embrace. Kate wrapped her arms around his neck, gazing into his eyes with yearning. Her body slid into place in his lap like the final puzzle piece, the bath oil making their skin velvet soft to the touch. She met him in an open-mouthed kiss, their passion raging like the storm outside.

Arthur moaned against her lips, his hands wandering her back and holding her close. He squeezed the flesh of her bottom and nipped at her neck. She shuddered and gasped at his touch, his lips tickling the sensitive skin. Moving his attention down to her nipples, he took one in his mouth, sucking and flicking his wet heat over the small bud. The sounds of her pleasure drove him wild, a feeling so strong it overwhelmed all his senses.

Kate's hands traced his chest, following a path over his stomach. Her touch felt like fire against his skin, igniting something deep inside him. His pleasure made itself known as his hard length pressed proudly into the flesh of her abdomen, desperately seeking the suffocating warmth of her core.

Her gentle fingers moved between them, gliding down to the soft curls below his navel. Her nails tickled his skin, sending a sudden chill up his spine. The wind picked up outside, its cold air seeping through the cracks of the old windows. It fluttered the candles and stuck to Arthur’s skin like tar. He tried to swallow the feeling that was building in his stomach.

Kate kissed his cheeks fervently, the pads of her fingers brushing against his tip. His erection twitched at her touch. Arthur’s breathing picked up as she moved her hand to wrap around him. He bucked his hips at the sensation.

Arthur suddenly felt dizzy with a mix of arousal and uncertainty. Her touch felt incredible, but something stirred in the back of his mind. It crept up his throat and suffocated his lungs. He recognized the feeling: it was fear. His heart raced and his breathing became ragged as he shut his eyes, trying to make sense of his mind.

Kate was with him now. He knew he was safe. Her touch was gentle and filled with love and desire. It was clear she wanted to share in this pleasure with him. So why did he feel this way? Arthur couldn't make sense of it, and in turn, it only heightened his anxiety. Clouding the blissful moment with dread. As her hand wrapped around him, he sucked in a breath and gripped her arms.

“Kate,” he said shakily, “S-stop…please.” Arthur wanted to shout at himself. He had waited and dreamed of this moment since the day he fell for her, never thinking such intimacy would grace his life again.

Hearing the panic in his voice, Kate immediately ceased her actions, turning her full attention to Arthur’s shuddering form. She had mistaken his recent reactions for pleasure, not anxiety. With one hand placed on the edge of the tub and the other cradling his face, she brought his eyes to hers. “Oh honey, are you alright?”

Arthur swallowed, memories suddenly firing through his mind like a million lawmen aiming their guns at his heart. The cold cellar, the wandering hands, the touching and groping. He squeezed his eyes shut as the feeling of humiliation washed over his body once again. “I-I don’t…I don’t know. It’s like I’m havin’ one of them nightmares,” he said finally. “But I think they’re memories. I think they–” he swallowed again, “I-I can’t remember what they did to me.” He suddenly choked, his hand flying to cover his mouth as he held back a sob.

Everything was pouring forth at once, and he couldn't stop the flood. It felt like a dream but somehow different, like he was being forced to confront his torment. His emotions had been at their highest; love and desire filled him in a way they had not for so many years. Yet somehow, grief and panic had managed to find a crack and send the whole thing crashing down.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” Kate cooed softly, her touch grounding him. “They’re only memories, they can’t hurt you,” she whispered, gently pulling him into her embrace as the water moved around them.

“My body has been hurt in a lot of ways, but what they did,” he trailed off, taking a deep breath. Her hands moved in soothing circles over his back.

Kate’s heart flooded with grief and understanding. “I know,” she interrupted, “there are no words for it, Arthur.” She recalled memories of her own assault many years ago. Their touch still lingered in the wrinkles of her skin. They shared scars that ran so deep they were not visible to the naked eye, only revealed in moments when their souls were laid bare.

Arthur’s breathing was still ragged. “It’s like it’s all happening again, Kate. I thought I could get past it, but...”

“But healing isn’t a straight path,” she finished for him. “It’s messy and painful, and it takes time. You can’t brute force your way through it.”

His eyes darkened, glistening with warm tears. “I just feel so...different. Like I’m some pathetic good-for-nothin’ washed-up–”

“Enough with that,” Kate said sternly. She sat up in his lap and took his face in her hands. The fear and grief were swirling into anger and frustration. It was as if she could see the storm in his eyes, a deep blue sea raging within them. The water in the bath had begun to settle into a lukewarm embrace, cooling with each passing moment.

Shaking his head, his voice rose with an anger that Kate knew was not directed at her, but still struck a chord in her heart. “I can barely run, I can hardly shoot. I don’t know if I can even ride a horse without help,” he listed off his frustrations. “Christ, I can't even be intimate with a woman. What the hell am I good for?” Arthur suddenly made a move to leave the bath.

Standing up and stepping out of the tub, Kate followed him as she grabbed a towel. “Don’t say that, Arthur–”

“No one looks at me the same, Kate. No one!” He shouted, wrapping a towel around his waist as he paced the bathroom floor. “Am I that fucking pathetic?” Thunder echoed outside the ranch house, shaking the walls and fluttering the candles. Arthur leaned against the vanity, the sudden ache in his shoulder and ankle made itself known, only elevating his pains.

Kate swallowed thickly; she had never seen him so upset. Even on the rare nights when his tormented dreams distorted his reality. “You are not pathetic, Arthur,” she said gravely, trying to calm his frayed nerves while also reassuring his broken heart. Only moments ago they were engaged in a heated moment of passion, which now felt far away.

“Dutch won’t even fuckin’ look at me no more! Like I’m some sick dog he’s waitin’ on to die so he can replace me.” His face was red with emotion. The heat of the hot bath mingled with his frustration and shame that boiled beneath his skin. It pained Kate to see how much his self-worth relied on Dutch’s approval, as if he believed he were less than nothing without that man’s good graces.

“He’s not going to replace you, honey,” she replied softly, although she wasn’t entirely sure her words held any truth. Taking small steps toward his figure as if she were approaching a frightened gelding, her movement was purposeful yet calming.

“I could barely stand to look at my own body before, and now” he sighed as Kate grasped his shoulders gently. “I want your touch, Kate,” his hand moved to cover hers. “I crave it more than anything. But I can’t even be with you without—” he moved his hand up to hide his face in distress, attempting to shield her from the new flood of tears that were escaping down his cheeks and into his beard.

Gentle fingers pulled his hand away, revealing the broken man beneath them. She knew that strange words come out of a grown man’s mouth when his heart is hurting. Cupping his face, her thumbs traced circles over his cheeks. “No one said we had to move so fast, Arthur,” she kissed away his tears. “We can take as much time as you need, my love. This isn’t something we have to rush.”

A shuddering breath escaped his lips as he leaned into her touch. “Sometimes I just don’t know who I am anymore.” He whispered.

He pulled himself into her embrace, letting the emotion wash over him. Kate held him with unwavering strength, taking in every word and embracing the vulnerability he was sharing with her. “Your days as an outlaw may be coming to an end, but that doesn’t mean you are too. People change over the years, it’s just part of life. Some chapters don’t have happy beginnings, but you can still find moments of joy in the journey.”

He squeezed her tight to his body, afraid that she may slip away and wake up only to find it was just another cruel dream. Terrified that he may one day wake up in that dark cellar again, alone. “I’m afraid I don’t know what’s real, Kate.”

“If you can’t trust your mind, Arthur. Just ask me and I’ll tell you.” She said, pulling her head back to look into his eyes. The corners tinted red from his tears, reminded her of the days of his recovery. But the blue was as bright and vast as the morning sky. She kissed his chin, and he leaned down to place his forehead against hers.

“You still want me,” he said quietly, almost hesitantly. “Is that real?”

“As real as the ground beneath our feet.” Kate kissed his cheek, “and the birds in the sky,” a kiss to the nose, “the sun against your skin,” a peck on his temple, “the air we breathe,” lips brushed over the healing scar on his brow, “as real as you and me.” Her lips found home against his own. Rough and sweet, and full of longing.

~~~

A/N: AHHH!!! Their feelings are finally out!! We’ve reached a big milestone in their relationship and I’m very proud of them for being open with each other. There’s more feelings that need to come to light of course, but that will have to wait for the next chapter. I know I said in the beginning that the next chapter will include day 2 at emerald ranch, but I also want to let you know I will be returning to the original game plot as well. Starting with “A Short Walk In A Pretty Town”…so yeah. Things may be looking up rn but they’ll plummet soon enough🥲

Thank you again for being patient with me. I wish I had more time in the day to work on this fic but unfortunately I can only work in small increments at a time. I’m wrapping up my work for the summer as well as moving to the city! So there’s lots of big changes going on rn. But thank you as always for reading/commenting/reblogging!! I love you guys!!!

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