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demonpiratehuntress · 4 months

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mistletoe

featuring - Zoro x F!Reader, Ace x F!Reader, Sanji x F!Reader, Luffy x F!Reader, Law x F!Reader, Usopp x F!Reader, Kaku x F!Reader

summary - jumping on the mistletoe bandwagon, their reactions to finding themselves under the mistletoe with you

warnings - none

a/n: Merry Christmas to everyone who celebrates it! I don't but I wanted to wish everyone else :)

ZORO

You would be lying if you said you didn't plan all week mostly trying to get Zoro under mistletoe with you. Coming up with excuses to get him in a doorway seemed near impossible, but after a very long few days of thinking, you had your plan set.

"Zorooooooo~"

The swordsman groaned, knowing exactly what that sing-song call meant for him. It could only spell mischief, and he popped open an eye to peer at you curiously.

"What do you want, woman?" He grumbled.

You pouted, "Come onnnnn, lighten up! It's Christmas!" You tugged on his arm. "Pleaseeee?"

He sighed loudly, "Fine."

He let you pull him up and drag him along, silently cursing his willingness to go along with whatever silly endeavor you chose for each day. He couldn't help it, as much as he wanted to just sleep, he loved you enough to participate in your silly antics.

When you suddenly stopped and pointed upwards, Zoro was confused. Then he looked up, and his eyes found some mistletoe hanging from the top of the doorframe.

"Seriously?" He looked back at you, frowning.

You rolled your eyes, "Fine, I'll go get Sanji."

That was enough to make him growl and grab your waist, tugging you forward so you were against his chest. You giggled innocently and wrapped your arms around his neck.

"You're so annoying," he complained, but kissed you anyway.

He kissed you slowly and deeply, pouring as much love as he could into it. Usually these kisses were brief, but he drew it out and kissed you for longer than you expected, effectively knocking the wind out of you when you pulled away.

"Now can I nap in peace?"

ACE

This man right here is perhaps the only one in this list that does not need to be dragged under it. He is the one carrying it around, putting it over two people's heads randomly and then running off giggling when they yell and chase him. But he will also put it over your head and his, although it took him a few tries.

"(Nameeeee)! Look what I got!"

Your energetic boyfriend bounded into the room you were busy in, holding something behind his back. He pouted when you didn't even look up, before repeatedly tapping your arm to get your attention.

"(Name), (Name), (Name)..."

He's like a little kid. So eventually you give in and look at him, only to see him raise something and hold it above yours and his heads. You blush madly upon seeing what it was, feeling butterflies form in the pit of your stomach. The fiery commander smiled innocently, and you couldn't help but giggle as you pulled away from your work to indulge him, wrapping your arms around his bare waist.

"Well, look what we have here," you smirked.

"I know, what a coincidence," he shot you a goofy grin, leaning in.

"I'm not complaining."

You crashed your lips against his, kissing him fiercely and hotly. He reciprocated immediately, making sure to keep the mistletoe hanging above as he cupped your cheek in his free hand, smiling against your lips. He loved kisses like these, energetic and passionate but also loving and adoring.

"That was by far the best response I've gotten to hanging this over people's heads."

"Oh my god, Ace!" you giggled, realising why everyone had been out for Ace's blood today. You shook your head at his antics, pecking his lips one more time before going back to work.

LAW

The complete opposite of Ace, Law is the hardest to get under the mistletoe. He is always cooped up in his room, working, and barely leaves. So you have to do some really deep thinking and planning to get this stubborn man to kiss you under the mistletoe.

Of course, he has to leave his room for meals, so you decide to strike at breakfast on Christmas.

You failed to account for the fact that Law was the most observant person to ever exist, and that he would easily spot the mistletoe you not-so-secretly hid above his doorway. He did find it, and called you first - knowing full well this was one of your shenanigans.

"(Name)-ya, what's that?"

You swallowed nervously and looked up, letting out a nervous chuckle, "I have no idea how that got there."

"Uh huh," he hummed, stepping closer to you. "Look me in the eye and say that again."

You couldn't. And now you were getting too nervous to even just grab him and kiss him, but little did you know that was part of his plan. He was flipping the switch, turning the tables on you and making it seem as if it was his idea.

"Well, you know the rule," he said casually, leaning closer to you. "I'm waiting."

Your face turned a dark shade of red at that, and you fidgeted with your shirt anxiously before leaning in to meet him halfway, letting your lips touch his gently. He was the one who deepened it, pulling you close and wrapping his arms around your waist.

Law, when he wanted to be, could be just as mischievous, if not more.

SANJI

I take it back, Sanji is the easiest to get under the mistletoe. In fact, he is the one planting the mistletoe everywhere in hopes of getting to snag a kiss from you at one point. Little did he expect, his plan would backfire quite miserably. Because instead of walking into the kitchen with you, you got stuck in the doorway with Usopp under the mistletoe, because Usopp had tried to get out the same time you tried to go in.

"YOU LONG-NOSED SNAKE-"

Sanji was fuming, throwing a tantrum as you just giggled and pecked the sniper's cheek, earning an embarrassed blush from him as he scuttled off.

"Babe-"

"Next one is mine, I swear!"

That did not happen. You just happened to be walking out of the aquarium when Zoro walked in, and Sanji almost fainted when the two of you landed under the mistletoe.

"ABSOLUTELY NOT!"

"Rules are rules, twirly brows," Zoro smirked, enjoying this solely because it irritated the hell out of Sanji. As the blonde fumed and threw another tantrum, you gave Zoro a quick peck on the cheek as well before moving on.

Only after you had given Luffy, Brook, Franky and Chopper cheek kisses as well did Sanji FINALLY get you under the mistletoe, but by then he was in tears. Crying over how badly he'd planned this.

"Come here you," you laughed and pulled him close by the collars of his shirt, smashing your lips against his. You kissed him fervently, showing him that you'd been waiting for this kiss the most. He eventually relaxed and kissed you back just as passionately, locking his arms around your waist.

"About damn time."

KAKU

Oh, boy. The ratio of boys to girls in the CP9 team is horrible. There are two women, compared to six men. That's excluding Spandam, because you never included him in these things. But still, it was quite difficult for Kaku to surprise you with mistletoe because of the rare chance of getting you to walk where he placed it without you figuring it out.

Oh well.

So, begrudgingly, Khalifa agreed to help him out. Knowing it wouldn't be suspicious if she led you through a specific doorway, you followed her easily without questioning it.

That is, until she stopped outside the doorway and you entered at the same time as Kaku was trying to leave. The CP9 swordsman blushed, thankful that this worked, and shyly gestured up towards the mistletoe. Your eyes widened, before your own blush formed on your cheeks.

He is so so shy, you are the one who actually makes the move. He may have planted the mistletoe, but he is too nervous and flustered to actually lean in and kiss you, so you have to grab him by the zipper of his jacket and tug him down to meet you at eye-level.

"It's cute that you planned it out," you smiled innocently, knowing about it since Khalifa was not great at hiding what her task was.

"How did you-" He looked at Khalifa, who just shrugged and turned away. He blushed harder, "I didn't want to get anyone else under here by accident."

His admission made you giggle, "Fair enough."

Then you leaned in and kissed him slowly and deeply, angling your face away from his long nose after multiple experiences of your kisses being ruined by your eye being poked. His arms slipped around your waist and he lifted you up slightly, since he was much taller, and kissed you even deeper than you had kissed him.

"Get a room!" Jabra yelled, which you both ignored.

LUFFY

At least everyone else on this list actually knows what mistletoe is. Poor Luffy was so confused by the concept when Nami brought it up a few days before, and even explaining it to him didn't help. Unfortunately, on the day of Christmas, before anyone could actually show him what it was, Luffy had already eaten like three of the four plants that were strung up randomly around the ship.

"Luffy!" Nami scolded, "They're not food!"

Sanji had set them up, not knowing your dear captain would be oblivious enough to consume them, though he should have known better. Fortunately, since the cook was desperately trying to get either Robin or Nami to kiss him, he had spares.

"It's mistletoe, Luffy," you giggled as you took his hand and guided him to where Sanji had hung a surprise one for you and Luffy.

"What does it do?" He blinked, so very cutely confused.

"Well," you began, stopping under the doorway with the mistletoe, "You have to kiss the person you end up under the mistletoe with." As you said it, you blushed hard.

"But why?" Luffy asked. "Can't I just kiss you anyway?"

You laughed at that, blushing more, "You can, but it's more like...a cute tradition."

"Oh," he nodded, looking like he understood. He did not.

"Luffy," you sighed, pointing up at the plant.

He looked up, got excited and reached for it...only to have you slap his hand away.

"Don't eat it!"

Before he could respond, you tugged him against you by his waistcoat and kissed him deeply, successfully distracting him from his mission to apparently consume all the mistletoe you owned. He wrapped his arms around you excitedly and kissed you messily, but you didn't mind because he was just very eager.

"I get it now!"

USOPP

Like Kaku, Usopp is an extremely shy, flustered boy. He is so nervous all the time and when Robin off-handedly mentions mistletoe a day before Christmas, Usopp almost faints. He has kissed you before, but the idea of setting it up and leading you to it had his knees knocking together, his legs becoming two wavy lines.

"Usopp!" You called excitedly, rushing to find your boyfriend. While he was so nervous about the mistletoe, you had no such qualms and even blatantly waved it around over your head. "Look what I found!"

When you reached him, you smiled innocently as you held the little plant over your heads, grabbing his hand to pull him close.

"And what exactly do you have there?" He asked, feigning confusion.

You raised an eyebrow, then smirked, "Are you getting shy on me again? How cute." You kissed his cheek, making him protest.

"Is that my kiss?! That is so unfair, how can you just-"

You cut him off by actually kissing him, effectively shutting him up and drowning out his complaints. You kissed him deeply, much more passionately than your usual kisses and giggled when his legs almost gave out from under him.

"I-I was gonna do that..."

"Uh huh."

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thefreakandthehair · 7 months

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no better version I could pretend to be tonight

written for ‘charm’ wc: 548 | rated: m | cw: eddie munson's near-death experience and description of panic attack/nightmares @steddiemicrofic

Eddie wakes up screaming.

It’s how he experiences the crushing weight of living when he was so certain he would die beneath that fiery, starless sky. No one sees the hollowed out face of Death and comes back through the veil unscathed, but if the only sacrifice Eddie makes for his life is his right nipple, some flesh, and peaceful sleep, he figures it’s a bargain.

Every night for the last several months, a hole cracks open in his chest where his lungs once were that bottoms out and refuses to hold the oxygen he desperately tries to pull in to fill the void. His skin feels too tight, his throat hoarse, his palms sore from the clenching of his fingers into fists that swipe at nothing. The taste of blood and rust coats his mouth, a phantom sense that nothing but time dissolves.

Casual shrugs and black coffee disguise his discomfort when asked if he’s okay.

Never better. I’m alive, aren’t I? He jokes.

That should be enough of an answer for his new friends. And it is, mostly. They don’t believe him, but they leave well enough alone.

That is, everyone but Steve Harrington.

Steve’s proven himself to be an enigma, wispy in Eddie’s grasp. He can’t quite get a handle on him, but he’s been nothing but good to Eddie besides his relentless insistence that Eddie try sleeping at his house.

“Just give it a shot, Munson. I’m tellin’ you, I’ve got this sleep charm.”

“If you wanna get me in your bed that bad, you’re gonna have to try a little harder than that.”

“If that’s all I was doing, this would be a lot easier.”

The kicker is that he does. He trusts Steve, and maybe he just wants an excuse to pretend that Steve’s his to wake up to but the next time he wakes up screaming, he gathers his shit, scribbles a note for Wayne in the kitchen with shaking hands, and drives across town. He parks, walks up to the door with a pillow under one arm, and knocks loudly, unencumbered by the liminal space that is Loch Nora at two o’clock in the morning.

Steve opens the door before detaching the deadbolt, sleep rumpled and adorable– save for the nail bat just barely visible through the crack of the door. He’s shirtless in just a pair of pajama pants, blue and green stripes that hang a little loose from his hips.

“Eddie?” Steve mumbles, his voice croaky and low as he rubs at his right eye. “Fuck.” He closes the door just long enough to undo the deadbolt and holds his arm out, ushering Eddie into the quiet of the house.

“Here for your sleep charm, or whatever.” Eddie looks around the room, dimly lit by the motion sensor porch light through the window and doubts himself. “This is stupid as shit. I can just—”

Steve shakes his head and places a hand on Eddie’s lower back, gently guiding him upstairs to his bedroom. “Don’t even think about it. You’re here, and we’re gonna get you some sleep. C’mon.”

It won’t be the last time Eddie wakes to the tickle of Steve’s chest hair against his nose and the gentle press of lips to the top of his head.

there's a version of this that's 3k that lives in my google docs and maybe one day, that'll end up on my ao3

#steddie #steddie fic #steddie fanfic #steddie microfic #steddie fanfiction #steve harrington x eddie munson #eddie munson x steve harrington #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #st fic #myfic #myblurbs

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yellow-berrys · 1 year

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dote on me | sirius black x fem!reader

summary: you are completely oblivious to the way sirius black dotes on you, and think that the way you're infatuated with him is completely one-sided. but he begs to differ.

warnings: mentions of a bad childhood, mentions of smoking, drinking and illicit substances

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Sirius Black makes you nervous and he darn well knows that. He uses those consuming grey eyes of his, filled with enigmatic interest, to his advantage. He only needs to focus them on you for a considerate amount of time for you to start burning up like a wildfire. And his nose, it’s pointed and perfect, leaving you wondering just how unfair life can be. His cheekbones are high and structured, light hitting them at glorious angles. His lips are devoid of much red. They’re this cool plum colour that looks like it’s lip gloss all the time but really isn’t. His skin is framed by smooth black hair, and the layers in his haircut are so pretty it prompted every other guy in his life to get the same one. It drives you mad that he was born with this face and that hair. It’s simply unjustified.

It would be fine if he was just a pretty face. But it’s not. It’s simply unacceptable just how nice he is. Sometimes you wish he isn’t a gentleman and that all the rumours about him being a player with a million tattoos were true, because you’re envious and adoring of him.

And like anyone, he definitely has a vice. People think it’s cigarettes for him but he definitely does not smoke. And he doesn’t drink. At parties, he’s cradling a cautiously poured glass of lemonade instead. And he definitely doesn’t do drugs, because he hangs around Remus Lupin and there’s no way he would be allowed to if he did. Remus is a little sickly sometimes, and his body is very sensitive.

He likes to say his vice is chasing things he’ll never have. Like his childhood. He thinks he has regained that. Now, maybe it’s some sort of romance. All his life he’s been mooned over. People love him, mostly because he’s beautiful, and they offer him burning hot love all the time. People think he’s one for angsty, fiery passion. But Sirius thinks that fires never last, they’re too easy to disturb and taint everything with the unpleasant smell of smoke. James once did one of his stupid Women’s Weekly quizzes on him, the one with the “Tell me your favourite colour, and it’ll tell you what other people think of you, tell me your favourite animal…” questions. Sirius had laughed, thrown his head back and answered in a complete stupor. “Black, maroon if black isn’t an answer, dog…” James had asked him what his favourite body of water was and Sirius had said “A lake.”

He had spent summers of his broken youth dipping his toes into the pretty lake by his family’s home in France, escaping from the whirlwind world inside the walls of Walburga and Orion’s chateau. It didn’t make him cry more when he cried, because it would welcome the tears into the gently flowing water.

James had smiled, “Why?”

Sirius had told him, “It’s gentle, relaxing, peaceful. The one in France was so enveloping and soft. I felt safe there.”

“Chateau?”

“Yep. I used to go out there as a little boy. It was so quiet out there and it felt like heaven, so fluid and open.”

“Hm,” James had studied the words underneath, squinting his eyes, “Ooh, that’s how you feel about love. Never knew you were the romantic type, Pads.”

He had laughed.

James had asked you too. You had giggled, “Did you steal Lily’s Women’s Weekly again?”

He grumbled, “Not again.”

“I like ponds with little koi fish swimming in them.”

“Why?”

“It’s calm in a joyful way. It’s safe and there’s always rays of golden sun and it feels so delightful and promising. Lucky too, I guess. Oh! And it’s so pretty by a koi fish pond.”

James had grinned and left promptly.

Sirius thought it was strange when he had first met you. He hadn’t ever had these feelings before, and it took years for him to shove them aside and focus on his studies, friends and mischief-making. But you were affiliated with Marlene, you were always around in some way. You and him became friends and Sirius felt those feelings resurface again.

He groans into his hands as he runs it across his face.

“Why?!” he asks Lily, who is watching amusedly.

“I’m sure you can’t help it,” she says primly, “But what if you could help it?”

He looks at her inquisitively.

“What if you acted on these feelings? It isn’t half-bad of an idea. You’re grown up, Sirius, and if you still like her that means it’s real.”

“She doesn’t like me.”

“You don’t know that.”

“What if bad things happen?”

“What’s the worst that could?”

“Death.”

“You’re already halfway there,” she rolls her eyes, “Give it a shot, maybe love will make you less sad.”

“I’m not sad!”

“Whatever, start loving, Sirius.”

She picks up her Women’s Weekly magazine and starts reading. “Ooh, there’s this quiz-”

Sirius groans.

–

“Hey darling,” Sirius strides into your apartment. Good start, he thinks.

You’re sprawled on the couch, grinning as you FaceTime Marlene and Dorcas. When you see him, you look up, surprised.

“Marlene’s in Vegas,” you say, “Didn’t she tell you?”

Marlene did tell Sirius, and even offered that he come with her and Dorcas.

You flip the camera to Sirius, and even in blurry, low quality, Facetime video he’s still very handsome.

Marlene screams, “What is that monster doing in my apartment?”

You grin, “Marls, he was looking for you.”

“Actually,” Sirius tilts his head, and if you weren’t so thick you might see the smitten look in his eyes, “I’m here for you.”

You frown, “For taxes? It’s only the start of the month. Besides, the IRS will never tail you, you’re too rich for that.”

“Can’t I spend time with you, pretty girl?”

It’s flattering, but it seems too abrupt to be genuine. You brush it off with a laugh.

“Get a load of you,” you roll your eyes, “What do you need?”

“I need you,” he attempts and the confession, although seeming flirtatious and joking, brings a smile to your face.

Marlene chortles, “Guys- I-I-I-I’m…cutt-ing…ou-ou-ou-t.” She fakes it and it’s obvious, but the FaceTime ends and Sirius sits opposite you now. He’s pretty even at seven in the evening and it makes you very nervous.

You stand up, uneased, and make towards your bedroom.

“Where are you going?”

“Oh,” you gesture to an old pile of clothes, “Marlene cleaned her wardrobe out before she left, so I decided to follow suit so then we can donate them.”

“Why’re you leaving me?” he pouts.

“You want to…stay?”

You’re so puzzled and your heart is beating far too fast for your liking. It goes pitter patter like the rain outside. It’s exhausting. The feeling might be addictive, like a good old fashioned crush, but it’s always playing with you. It feels avaricious to love someone out of your league, worth more than you have ever been.

His sudden showering of affections and doting on you, you think, is because he’s lonely. He doesn’t live with James anymore. You empathise with him, but only because you think you’ll know what that feels like in a month when Dorcas and Marlene move in together. But it really isn’t. Sirius actually thinks that you deserve all the heavy-handed loving in the world, and he always has. His apprehension towards him being the person to do the loving is slowly fading away as he sees the shy smile on your face.

“If you’ll have me.”

And you turn your head around so he doesn’t see you blush, “Okay, I’ve been meaning to get a second opinion. Whenever I do this I do it with Marlene.”

You try things on by the mirror in your bedroom, instructing Sirius to look away when needed. He isn’t much of a help at all, because he thinks you look good in everything. Which is just certainly not true.

On a whim, he suggests that because he isn’t aiding you successfully, you should help him on his own closet. In the end, you wind up in his apartment.

Sirius has never boasted about what he has at all, mainly because he isn’t proud of it. By what unethical means his trust fund has come from, he doesn’t even want to know, but he’s grateful for it. You’ve only ever seen his living room, kitchen and his small powder room, and they’re lavish and capacious to no ends. Everything subtly screams wealth and luxury. His bedroom is no different. A large bed sits in the middle, framed by expensive paintings. There’s a well made ebony table in the corner, spotless and tidy. The two armchairs in the room are, whilst clearly faux-leather, intricate and of the sort of taste cultivated only by time. A copy of the original Call of the Wild sits on a table. A bookshelf is on one side of the room, grey, stretching from the floor to ceiling. You run your fingers along the spines of the book. They’re all special editions. A simple chandelier (what an oxymoron) dangles in the middle of the room, and you find the ceiling is gilded with plaster and gold. Pictures of friends and family adorn the white walls.

His walk in closet is humongous. You gasp as he opens the door. It’s double the size of your living room. The clothes are organised by colour, style and season and there’s a considerable lack of colour. In the middle sits an accessory table, with dozens of gold watches and silver necklaces. Delicate rings and bracelets all are displayed. A glass cabinet with bottles of cologne and perfume stands next to it. The only ones you can recognise is something that resembles the Ralph Lauren logo and Dior, and then again it isn’t even the one Johnny Depp uses.

He smiles sheepishly, ashamed that he has such nice things, “I did use my own money on this. Euphemia helped me fix it up.”

“It’s beautiful, Sirius,” you’re almost afraid to touch anything. You don’t think you belong in such a gorgeous world. You don’t think you deserve it.

Sirius beams at you, “Guess there’s not a difference between it and you, then.”

Your face warms. Sirius is already taking clothes off the racks, whilst you stand awkwardly. He’s chatting, talking about where the clothes came from and who gave them to him and why he likes it so much. Your shoulders relax and you look at him like he’s the only thing that matters. So far he’s through all the things he deems necessary for him to live.

“And this jumper,” he holds up a pristine Ecru crewneck, offering it to you, “Is from when I went to visit Machu Picchu with James. When we left, one of the ladies we had been staying with gave us both a handmade jumper.”

You hold the fabric delicately in your hands.

“It’s alright. It’s just clothes, darling, you can do whatever you like with them.”

He’s so nice it hurts and you grin at him endearingly, “Thanks, Sirius.”

An adoring smile finds its way onto his face as he turns to pick up the next item. You put the sweater in the “KEEP” pile.

“How did this get here?” he laughs as he pulls out a bright yellow crewneck, with a little emblem etched on the side. Immediately he tugs it on, grinning as he surveys the bright colour in the mirror.

You’re blushing away because the colour suits him so well and makes him look way softer than he usually does.

He sneaks a glance at you in the mirror, and when he sees your lack of eye contact with him he frowns.

“Are you okay?” he asks you.

“Yeah. Yellow looks really nice on you, Sirius.”

“Does it?”

“Mhm. I don’t know, it makes you look…cuddly?”

He doesn’t smirk like you expect him to, but swivels around and smiles at you again. He knows he looks like he loves you. He doesn’t mind. You’re just sitting there, confused at why he’s doing this. It’s weird and sudden and it’s definitely something he would do.

Maybe this is his new favourite jumper.

He throws it in the keep pile. You tut disapprovingly and rearrange it gently. Seeing a t-shirt, he takes his own shirt off, letting it fall to the floor. You cover your eyes, not wanting to intrude on his privacy.

Sirius is midway through putting the shirt on when he laughs. “It’s okay, princess, I didn’t ask you to look away. I don’t mind. Unless you do, then I’ll change over there.”

You peek your eyes at him, and Sirius hopes that he’s not imagining your pupils blown slightly.

And you didn’t think he could get more perfect, but he is. His muscles are toned and defined, and slightly strained as he slides his shirt on. Gosh, he makes you feel inadequate. He can’t know you want him, so you grin as if you’re unaffected.

“That’s cute,” you nod.

And the process repeats. Sometimes he takes off his pants too, leaving him to just his boxers that cling onto him in an ungodly way.

“Are you done?” you ask, eyes covered tightly by your hand.

“Yeah.”

Sirius is dressed in a suit, the tenth one tonight, “Do we like this one, or the grey one?”

“I like the way this one fits, but I like the grey colour more. But I think the dull dove blue one was the best because it brings out your eyes.”

Sirius makes a mental note to get the grey one altered. He chucks away some old sleeping tees, and a bunch of band hoodies he doesn’t wear anymore. He also gets rid of one of his expensive sweaters with a cable knit and a button up shirt, a bunch of sweatpants and this hideous sweater vest that his Aunt Thelma gifted him for his 17th birthday.

He thinks maybe you might like to wear some of the things he has in his wardrobe–Euphemia picks them out with him and she represents a small portion of women. He lugs the bag of clothes to his car, and when he’s back, he sees you cross-legged on an armchair, typing on your phone.

“Sweetheart, what do I owe you?” he asks.

Your eyes are wide as you stare at him, “For what?”

You put your phone down on the side table.

“For helping me?”

“Nothing, Sirius, nothing at all. It’s my pleasure, really.”

“Do you want to take some of my clothes? I have more than enough.”

You look inquisitively at him, “You don’t mind?”

“‘Course not.”

You go home that night with two of his fancy jumpers, he insists, and one big button up shirt, and a bunch of other stuff he is adamant you should take too. You call Lily. Her voice comes out muffled on the other end.

“Hey Lily!

“Mhm, I’m well, how are you?

“He’s not that bad, I’m sure. You do know he took your Women’s Weekly–

“I’ve already done that quiz.

“Right, well, I don’t think Sirius is fine, in his own right.

“No! As in the sad happy fine, not the cute handsome fine.

“Well- no- I- I don’t think he’s not fine- I mean - Okay whatever. Is he alright? He keeps on acting weird.

A long pause.

“You know something, don’t you, Red?

“It’s kind of strange. I mean, he offered for me to take one of his- I don’t know, the Ermenegildo Ze-

“Yes, that! One of those jumpers.

“Are you sure? That’s what he is normally? Isn’t he usually bad-boy cool guy? Not dorky weird compliment giver?

“Alright, fine.

“Bye, love you!”

You survey the pile of clothes for any trace of a prank. Nothing. You take out one and inspect it suspiciously. Then, your intrusive thoughts get the better of you and you sniff the material carefully. It smells really nice. You chuck them in the wash just in case Sirius has popped one of his silly prank gadgets into the pockets or beneath the collar.

The next time you see him, Lily has called you to tell you she and James are going to Vegas to join Marlene and Dorcas. They’re celebrating a championship. She invites you, but you decline, not liking the idea of tailing behind the two couples and intruding on the romantic atmosphere. Sirius is all alone, and Lily tells you to ‘please go and check up on him’.

The apartment seems okay. It’s spotless like it always is, smelling of air freshener and Sirius’ cologne. It doesn’t look like Sirius is going through something rough at all. Sirius might not even be home, so you’re about to leave when you hear music coming from a secluded area of the apartment. You sneak into the corridor and the door is ajar. A beautiful black grand piano stands, Sirius sitting at it, playing the finest tune you’ve ever heard. The sounds reverberate gently through the room, and it’s divine. It’s joyful and skips on merrily. His eyes are closed and his lips are turned up. It makes you think that maybe he’s thinking of someone.

He stirs a little at the noise and you pull back. He gets up from his chair and peeks his head around the door. You’re wearing his jumper over some sweatpants. It’s so pretty on you, falling oversized.

He laughs, which brings heat to your cheeks, “Do you want to come in?”

“You’ll let me?” you gasp, “But you don’t even let Dorcas come in, and she’s a cello-ist.”

“You’re special,” he winks and you blush. You must look like a motley of colours- florid and pink. But you don’t mind, he makes everyone nervous and you’re not special, which puts you at ease.

You perch on the cushy chair as he plays a lilting song. You hum, approving, “What’s the song called?”

“Love,” he says and you agree. The song plays like what love feels like.

It’s so soft, and warm. Combined with Sirius’ lavender and honey cologne, it makes you drowsy. He notices your eyes are barely open, and instead of ending the song, continues to play the same melody over a lighter bass. When your breathing becomes steady, he quietly rises from the piano and scoops you up, knowing it can’t be comfortable to sleep in a chair. He carries you to his own room, where he tucks you into his bed. You’re murmuring unintelligible things. He leaves and continues playing, before Lily calls and he knows he should be in bed, because it’s morning in Las Vegas. Thus, he shuts his piano and drapes a soft velvet across it. He falls onto the couch and listening to Lily’s calming method to waking up, he falls asleep.

In the morning, you’re in a vaguely familiar room. The sheets are silk and the ceiling is fancier than an art gallery’s. You yawn, stretching. The clock next to you detects the motion and flashes a dim white. Of course it’s an analogue clock, reading 5:00 am. You remember shutting your eyes slowly in the piano room, the news had been playing on the TV earlier. So you had fallen asleep at seven. 10 hours, more than enough. You quickly get up and make the bed. After using his fancy skincare products and brushing your teeth with a spare toothbrush you find packaged up, you hear soft snores coming from the living room. Sirius is there, phone by his side.

You pout at how much of a gentleman he is, retrieving a blanket and carefully placing it on him. Then you prepare a smoothie, with the fourteen-million ingredients he has in his giant fridge, and leave it in there with a note. But Sirius wakes. He’s always been a light sleeper.

He leans blearily over the couch, “Sweetheart?”

“Good morning!” you chirp.

“Why do you have to be so gorgeous at five in the morning?” he slurs. You raise your eyebrows. He’s really always very flirty, and you’re used to it not being genuine by now. He sways out of bed and into the bathroom. You hear the running of a faucet, and sit down on a kitchen chair, checking your phone. Lily has blown it up.

TO: REDHEAD

REDHEAD 7:31 p.m. sooo, how is he??

REDHEAD 7:43 p.m. hellooooo babes????

REDHEAD 8:00 p.m. are u ok ??

REDHEAD 8:05 p.m. ANSWER ANSWER ANSWER

REDHEAD 9:47 p.m. I’m calling sirius

REDHEAD 10:00 p.m. omg YES GO YOU OMG

5:30 a.m. what

5:30 a.m. he was playing the piano lils and i fell asleep

REDHEAD 5:31 a.m. ok keep telling urself that <3 i mean has he ever let us sit in when we asked???

5:32 a.m. i told u he was acting strange

You grin as you see some of the videos she has sent you. One is where James and her and celebrating, him beaming like he always does. She looks madly in love with him. You screenshot and send it to your email so you can print it out later. There’s another of Marlene and Dorcas doing the spaghetti thing at a Michelin star restaurant. They look as if they’re having a wonderful time. It makes you realise that you’re craving something like that too, only not in the wild world of Vegas. You already have something like it, but it’s so one-sided and your heart can’t stand it. You wish someone would just, dote on you. And genuinely, because there’s no way Sirius Black means it.

You express these feelings to Marlene when she’s back, moving boxes and taping things up.

“I want to love someone, Marls. Who loves me back, so don’t even say Sirius.”

“He doesn’t act like that around everyone else, you know.”

“He does! Besides, what makes me so special, Marlene? He could have anyone.”

She laughs, “Oh goodness have you got a lot to learn.”

–

Marlene and Dorcas invite you to their housewarming party in their house. They say it’s perfect for a family and they want to start one whilst they’re young. It’s quite a large gathering for a housewarming party, and the inside is buzzing with excitement. You’re talking to some of their colleagues- Alice and her boyfriend Frank on the couch.

“And we’re planning a trip to Ibiza for next month,” she blinks up at him lovingly and he does the same. It makes you subtly raise your phone as if you’re getting a message and type, before quickly flashing a photo of them whilst they’re gazing into each other’s eyes.

Sirius spots you grinning away, like you want what Alice and Frank have. He sidles in next to you.

“Hey darling,” he smiles and you smile back, “Hi.”

“Aren’t you going to introduce us?” Alice asks.

“Oh of course! I thought you would already know him,” you put down your drink, “Alice, this is Sirius. Sirius, Alice. Frank, Sirius. Sirius, Frank. They’re planning a trip to Ibiza and were voted Best Couple in high school.”

They’re both intimidated by Sirius, you can tell, but Sirius smiles, “Nice to meet you Alice and Frank. How long have you been together?”

They cheesily smile at each other, “Seven years and going strong,” Alice flashes her wedding ring.

Marlene calls you over to the kitchen island, where she is mixing drinks up, “Hey darl!”

“Sup, Marls.”

“Need a drink?”

“Just pink lemonade,” you hold out your cup. A boy comes around the table, smiling at you. Marlene smirks a little.

“Y/n, this is CJ. He’s a footballer, and a damn good one.”

You grin, outstretching your hand, “Hi CJ, nice to meet you.”

He shakes it heartily, “Likewise.”

“What team do you play for?”

“Oh, just a local one,” he rubs his neck bashfully, “I’m not that good.”

CJ, whatever it stands for, is handsome, with bright green eyes and curly brown hair. He’s sweet too and has this shy air around him that’s impossibly good natured. He’s Emmeline’s to-be lover.

“Try me.”

“Liverpool,” he says meekly.

“Oh, you’re the Cruz Johnson! How’s football for a living?”

“It’s great, actually,” he chuckles, dipping his head to whisper secretly into your ear, “Though this beer is actually some recovery drink, so could be better.”

You laugh.

He grins as he takes a sip and makes a funny face, “So what do you do?”

You tell him and he nods, “Impressive indeed. How’d you meet Marls here?”

“She and I were classmates! I wore her down eventually, she used to hate friendship.”

“Oh tell me about it. I met her at the football club, where she was playing for the ladies’ team. And the first time the coach tried to congratulate her she just rolled her eyes. He was filthy.”

“Oh?” your eyes are sparkling with mischief.

“When he dislocated his cheekbone a few weeks later, she told him she could ski on them if she tried. Anyway.”

You purse your lips in amusement, “Am I allowed to laugh at that?”

“He looked like this,” Cruz makes a face and you giggle.

Sirius is watching this all with a very sour look on his face, feeling very jealous.

Cruz takes another sip of his drink, “So, who are you here with?”

You’re confused, “No one? I mean, unless you count Marlene, but she’s with Dorcas. And my friend Emmeline too.”

At the mention of Emmeline’s name, his eyes light up, “About her…”

“She’s single and she does like green eyes,” you pull him near the wily, tall Emmeline, who blushes shyly as she sees Cruz, “Besides, I think she has a thing for you. Ever since, you know, you crashed into her and spilled your coffee on her favourite shirt,” you joke.

He blushes, “Gosh, you still remember that? Will you send me the name of the shirt so I can buy her five more? I know I already replaced hers but I still feel so bad.”

“Awh. That’s very nice of you, Cruz. Here,” you hand him your phone, “What’s your number?”

Sirius is watching you, hands tense around his cup. He decides to go up to you.

“Hey darling,” he says lowly into your ear, making you jump and your cheeks heat up.

“Sirius!” you berate. Cruz is watching with a knowing smile as he hands your phone back. You quickly text him, “Okay, sent it.”

The two guys are sizing each other up. You can sense their hostility.

“Now, boys, be friendly. Cruz, do not worry, Sirius is only friends with Emmeline, and Sirius, don’t worry, Cruz won’t try to pick up Regulus.”

You feel both of them relax. Cruz grins at Sirius, “Nice to finally meet you, man.”

“You too!”

“And don’t worry, I don’t have feelings for her either.”

You’re silently eavesdropping on the conversation whilst texting Emmeline. You sneak a look at Sirius, who has an unnatural pink on his porcelain skin.

“C’mon green-eyes, aren’t I obvious about it?”

Cruz agrees, “Too much so.”

“Anyway, I’ll let you get to Emmeline, Cruz.”

He stumbles, grins at you and waves at the same time, “Thanks, mate.”

“No problems.”

You watch as he goes and makes a fool of himself in front of Emmeline, who likes it. You turn to Sirius, eyes still watching them. You’re still painstakingly lonely. Tonight you think you’ve third-wheeled at least three couples, and set up two. Even though Sirius is there, he’s just a constant reminder of what you can’t have.

Sirius can see it in your eyes. He doesn’t know how much more he needs to do. Lily wants to know though.

“Soooo, lovely,” she begins and you narrow your eyes at her.

“I swear I didn’t take your cookie cutters and destroy them whilst trying to make clay sculptures with Emmeline and Cruz,” you put your hands up. Lily raises her brows and you murmur a quiet, “Oh no.”

“My cookie cutters that you gave me?!” she yells.

“It’s fine, I’ll get you new ones.”

She sighs, “Right. Anyway, Sirius Black.”

“Sirius Black,” you say slowly.

“Mhm. Are you ever going to tell him you like him?”

“No, I don’t even like him.”

“You don’t?” Lily feigns surprise.

“Nope.”

“Is he cute?”

“Yeah.”

“Is he nice?”

“Yeah.”

“Well?”

“He doesn’t like me like that, Lils,” you scold.

“Why does he call you ‘darling’ then? He has to.”

“If he did, that would be embarrassing for him. Gosh knows he’s too good for me. If he likes me, I would question why because he could probably do better,” you shrug, “I’m confident, but not completely blind.”

“Okay. So if he liked you, you would want to date him?”

You reply meekly, “Yeah.”

“I think you should tell him, though,” Lily sighs, “Better you than anyone else doing it.”

You ponder for a moment, “True,” you sigh, “He’ll be nice about it.”

Lily squeals, “I’m planning your wedding!!!”

You knock on his apartment door, reconsidering for the last time whether you want to do it or not.

Sirius opens the door, looking confused and handsome, eyes bluer than usual.

“Hi,” you breathe.

“Gorgeous, to what do I owe this sudden visit?”

“I just wanted to see you.”

“Really?” his eyes are glistening.

“Yeah.”

“Come in then. Mind the mess, taxes.”

You hum, “Need help?”

“Actually, yeah. Should I write off…”

You sit down, distracted by the papers flying everywhere, taking a pen and starting to write. Your mission is almost forgotten after you finish helping him with his taxes, smiling satisfiedly at the hefty return he receives.

“Good,” you grin, admiring your work, “I’d say this is a successful tax file.” He swipes his tongue over his teeth, so attractively and seals the envelope, setting it down on his stack of things he needs to post.

“Package to Marlene and Dorcas, papers to…” he rambles, pacing out his thoughts, “Oh, and my portfolio. Can you check if they’re alright to send in?”

“Portfolio?”

“Oh,” he turns red, rubbing the back of his neck bashfully, “Someone asked me to model for them?”

“When?” you gasp. He hands you the envelope, and you carefully pry out some photos.

“A week ago,” he murmurs, “Can you check these aren’t too…much?”

They’re glossy between your fingers and smooth, candid shots, some staged and every single one of them belongs on the cover of Vogue. It’s strange, the pictures of Sirius should be in a magazine, famed and lovely, but he’s right here. Nervously fidgeting around. He’s so tangible right now. You reach out to skim your fingers over the photos, then stretch them out to touch the skin near his lips. He’s taken aback but leans into your touch.

“I think they’re perfect,” you fold the envelope over, handing it back to him.

He’s still looking incredibly ashamed of himself.

“Why do you look so sheepish?” you laugh, “Stop that! It’s alright.” You surge to hug him, “It’s amazing, Sirius.”

Sirius hides his face in your neck, “I feel like a show-off,” he mumbles and you laugh.

“Sirius, it’s honestly alright. You’re not, far from it actually. It’s okay to have nice things.”

“I’m sorry. I’m being a wimp.”

“It’s fine, I understand. These feelings are completely normal, but that doesn’t mean they’re true. If I had a staggering net worth of a few hundred million and never told you, would you think I’m a show-off?”

He shook his head.

“Exactly,” you smile at him, “Now do you want to go to the post office? It closes in half an hour.”

He nods, “‘Kay.”

The post office man greets him with some flirting, and he sets down his stack of parcels, ignoring him to go sign some of them.

He looks over to you, “You’re his…” he studies your face, “friend?”

It makes you feel small and judged. You chew nervously on your lip, unconsciously stepping towards Sirius. You know you couldn’t possibly pass off as his girlfriend, but it’s an ugly reminder you don’t need. Sirius smiles politely, “These three are in a letter card, but can we get them to be delivered…”

After he pays, you try not to make it seem like you’re in a rush to get out. He notices, of course he does. “You okay?”

“Yeah.”

“What did he say to you?”

You stay quiet and Sirius does too. He drives to his apartment and sits down on his couch. You follow. He’s silent.

“He said something about us,” you break the fragile silence, “About me.”

“What?”

“Well he looked at me and then asked if I was your friend after giving me a once-over.”

Sirius shrugs, “Aren’t you?”

Your heart falls, “Well–. The thing is–, look, I’ve been meaning to tell you this, but I kind of– scratch that, I have this massive crush on you and probably more,” you wince, “Please be nice about this.”

He looks positively shocked. You can’t tell if it’s good shock or bad shock.

You grimace, “And please can we stay friends?”

“You think I’m rejecting you?” he almost scoffs, lifting you easily into his lap. He’s so close you could count the colours in his eyes. A charcoal, a light cerulean, a tinge of yellow ochre, “After all my countless advances, the gifts, even inviting you into my piano room whilst I played, I couldn’t, sweetheart,” he says softly.

“Haven’t you noticed I haven’t ever dated anyone since two years back? That I pretty much have been begging to be noticed by you these past years,” he continues, “All because I want to be yours. Because I couldn’t even think of wanting anyone else. I like you so much.”

“Hey Sirius?”

“Mm?”

“Can I ask you a question?”

“You already did.”

You huff, “Can I kiss you?”

Before you can do anything, he’s grinning as he presses his lips to yours, smiling into the kiss. When you break apart, he's still grinning. He thinks he will be for the rest of his life.

“Whoa,” you say as you grin at him.

He hugs you tightly, “Please never say we should be friends again.”

You nod, “Never.”

2K notes · View notes

uglypastels · 7 months

Note

Hi so I have recently become a fan of LA Mihawk, and I came up with an idea. Mihawk x Shanks sister! Reader and they're in a secret relationship and Shanks finds out about it and OVER PROTECTIVE BROTHER MODE ACTIVATES but in the most hilarious way possible. If you don't like this idea feel free to ignore it, I was just curious. Also I was thinking it mostly be fluffy but if you wanna add a little spice here and there go for it, if you do wanna do this, I mean 😁😅

no but i love this??? (and i'm going to make this in a bit of a headcanon form because it got my mind spiraling)

because Shanks, first of all, would be the kind of big brother to bully his younger siblings relentlessly yet still affectionately. Constantly teasing and poking fun. Generally, besides that, on a day-to-day basis, he would be unbothered by his family.

But at the same time, he would be the most protective big brother there is to exist. He might bully you, but he would be the only one to do so. If anyone dared touch you, they would have a bullet through their head before they even had the chance to speak.

It becomes harder to protect you once he goes off to sail the seas with his crew, but not before vowing he would always be there for you if you need him (or when he thinks you might). Because to him, you will always be his baby sister.

So it might come to him as quite the shock when he returns from his adventure to see you all grown up. And when he hears you have been going out with guys in the village... oh boy.

He tries the typical tactic of trying to scare any interested guys off, either by simple passive intimidation or straight-up threatening to cut their bits off if they as much as dared to touch you. Much to your protest, his plans had a great success rate, and it would become the topic of many a fight in your house.

But then you meet Mihawk.

Who knows how it happened? Maybe in a bar, but the two of you very quickly and easily connected. You found something in him that you had never felt with anyone else before.

And though a notorious pirate that has the skill to kill entire fleets with just a flick of the wrist, Mihawk was the utmost gentleman when it came to you.

He had a soft spot for you, and though neither of them would admit it, he was very much like your brother in the way that he would kill anyone and anything that could do you harm.

You were his most-priced possession. His heart's biggest treasure, and if he could, he would show you off to everyone, but that was just not possible when your brother was one of his rivals at sea.

But you could not deny that sneaking around didn't add to the fun.

There was something fiery in the way you met up at night and hid from the people you knew. All the kisses felt deeper, the touches even more sinful.

That did also mean, though, that once you were caught, all hell broke loose.

Someone in the village must have seen something told someone, and the news spread like wildfire. Before you could do anything about it, Shanks was storming through the streets, pistol-loaded, ready to shoot a hole through your lover's head.

Your attempts at trying to stop him would be absolutely futile. Even when you had tears in your eyes as you tried to convince him that what you felt for Mihawk was genuine and that he reciprocated those feelings, your brother was not having any of it.

It was shocking, seeing your brother be so angry. While always protective and somewhat intimidating to other young men, he had never shown such pure rage as when he finally found Mihawk.

The hawk-eyed man, in contrast, seemed quite at peace with everything. He even ignored Shanks' fury to walk up to you and kiss the back of your hand charmingly.

'Enough!' Shanks shouted. 'You stay away from my sister.'

'Or what?' Mihawk smiled. 'Will you challenge me to a duel?'

'Yes.' Shanks simply replied.

Tomorrow. At noon.

'Or I can just kill you right now.' The gun in Shanks' hand clicked as he pushed the safety back.

a/n- idk i just riffed off a vague idea i had bc i live for the drama. is this accurate? no idea, but that's not why we're here, is it people

#mihawk x reader #mihawk x you #mihawk x y/n #mihawk fanfiction #mihawk fluff #mihawk blurb #mihawk fanfic #brother!shanks #shanks x sibling!reader #shanks fanfiction #fluff #fanfiction #fanfic #request #blurb #one piece fanfiction #one piece fluff #one piece fanfic

369 notes · View notes

aealzx · 5 months

Text

After Leo took Leon to where the sink was, Don turned his attention fully to Raph and April. “Hey, Raphie. How are you feeling?” he asked, resting his hands on Raph’s knees and ignoring the way Raphael’s nose wrinkled and head pulled back at the nickname.

“Uhhh… okay,” Raph responded, nervous and semi distracted from looking around the room. Leon had said Donnie and Lil Mikey would be in the same room they were going to, so he wanted to see them for himself. They were a little distance away, but not far. Two of the beds on the opposite side of the room cradled their sleeping forms, and while they looked a little banged up their slumber still looked peaceful. Glancing down he saw that April had noticed them too, but still chose to stay by his side. Having scooted up onto the table next to Raph, April protectively wrapped her arms around his forearm to offer comfort for both of them.

“Considering your leg is broken and you look like you have a fever, that’s a really nice answer to hear,” Don chuckled, not minding April’s presence at all. “Aside from your leg hurting, can you tell me how you feel? Does anything else hurt? Are you cold? Was that a shiver?”

The questions came quickly, and Raph felt his brain break off into clouded static as they continued to be thrown at him. Watching Raph’s expression blank out, Raphael had to chuckle before resting a hand on Don’s shoulder to remind him to slow down. Thankfully Don obediently snapped his mouth shut to give Raph a chance to respond. “Yeah… a little cold. Head hurts a little too, but not bad. Mostly just my leg.”

“Okay, that’s not too bad then. It sounds like you probably have an infection, so if Leo doesn’t already have you on antibiotics we’ll add some to the saline IV once we get that started on you,” Don spoke gently, keeping his hands on Raph’s knees and rubbing slightly. “I’ll also have Raph - my brother- fetch a heated blanket for when we’re done. It shouldn’t take too long, but unfortunately it’ll still be longer than taking care of Mikey’s shoulder. About three to four hours. Are you going to be okay to lay still for that long? My brothers and father can keep you company.”

It was a little disorienting, hearing what Leon usually told him coming from someone else. And the mention of Lil Mikey having needed surgery before too was alarming. But Raph tried to keep that in the back for now. His job was to behave, and let people take care of him. He had to remind himself of that as he nodded at the question. “Yeah, I can do that…. Can April stay with me?” He didn’t want to be alone. Leon would be there, but he would be busy, and Raph wanted someone he could hug if he needed to.

“You bet I’m staying, big guy. They couldn’t force me to leave even if they wanted to,” April spoke up, her tone leaving no room for discussion.

Raphael had to snicker as one side of his suspicions for who April was were confirmed. He couldn’t figure out if she were the other dimension’s April, or Angel, her mannerisms being so fiery compared to Mom April. And being a kid herself, she obviously didn’t have kids of her own, so that was another difference from their dimension’s April. He hadn’t been expecting their version of April to be close to the same age as the brothers, but he was glad to see that she seemed just as emotionally close to them. If not more. He didn’t think Mom April had ever called them brothers. She was usually joking with Master Splinter about them being her kids.

Don could only snicker at the response too, and nod in agreement. “Sure, April can stay. And if either of your other brothers wake up and want to come over before we’re done they can stay too.”

It was calming to hear that, and Raph’s nerve stilled slightly at the reassurance.

When Don saw that Raph didn’t have additional questions, he continued to explain what would happen. “Your brother Leo will be helping fix you up, so you can ask him anything you want during the surgery. We’ll just be behind a curtain so you don’t have to see anything scary, and your whole leg below your knee will be numbed up. We’ll get your bones straightened back out, and secured in place with some titanium plates that we can remove later if you want. Then we’ll get the wound all cleaned and stitched up, and move you to the other beds to get some rest. Does that sound okay?”

It sounded simple enough, and Raph was grateful Don didn’t give him any more details than that. He didn’t need to know how they were going to set his bones back into place. Just that they were. “Yeah, I’ll be okay,” Raph nodded, trying not to be too nervous. Four hours was a long time to have someone messing with the inside of his leg, but with the others there he tried to be confident it would pass quickly.

“Great!” Don chimed, giving Raph another pat. “I’m going to follow Leo to get washed up then. We’ll be back soon. And Raph will stay here with you.” he informed, waiting for another nod from Raph and April before he headed to the sinks.

Once Don was away, April looked directly at Raphael. “What happened to my other brothers?” she demanded, keeping her voice level but firm.

Raphael had his brows raise in brief surprise, but then gave a slight grin folding his arms slightly. “...How old are you?” he asked instead, aiming to cater his answer based on how well he thought she could handle the information.

“Eighteen,” April answered quickly.

“A highschooler?” Raphael asked for clarification.

“College,” April corrected.

“Oh, congrats,” Raphael responded easily, taking a seat on the nearby stool once more and resting his hands on his knees. “They’re doing alright, just worn out. We had a little run in with a crazy scientist that roughed them up and poisoned them, but they’ve already been given the antidote several hours ago. Lil Mike also got caught in some crossfire, so Don and Leatherhead took the bullet out of his arm when we got back. And Lil Donnie is recovering from a bit of blood loss, but Lil Leo seems to think he’ll be fine after his ‘reboot nap’,” he explained, repeating the term Leon had used.

“Mikey got shot?!” Raph blurted, his level of concern immediately maxing out as he shifted anxiously. If he hadn’t already resigned himself to stay put before now he would have been on his feet and off to check on his littlest brother.

But Raphael was quick to raise his hands to reinforce keeping him where he was. “Yes, but it’s already taken care of. Other than keeping the bandages clean and letting him sleep there’s nothing more any of us can do,” he assured.

“Want me to go check on them?” April asked, a little quieter as she looked up to Raph. She personally wanted to check on them, but she also didn’t want to leave Raph alone if that ended up making him feel worse. He did ask for her to stay there earlier, but at her question he gave a worried nod. “Okay, I’ll be right back,” April assured, giving Raph’s arm a pat before wiggling off the table to head towards Lil Mikey. Leon had laid Lil Mikey on his back when he’d tucked him in, but Lil Mikey had already rolled over on his belly, face squished into the pillow he was hugging with one arm. His injured arm was limp next to him, and when April reached over to slowly rub his back a few times he drew a deep sigh of content as he smiled softly in his sleep.

Grinning slightly, April huffed a quiet laugh before she reluctantly pulled her hand away and quietly headed over to Donnie. She didn’t want to wake them, but it was hard not to touch them after everything. When she reached Donnie she noticed he seemed only slightly less peaceful than Lil Mikey, but also wasn’t a fitful rest. Resting a hand on his cheek earned a tiny noise from him as he wiggled his fingers barely far enough out of the blanket to grab onto her arm, and rolled into her hand. April chuckled again, grateful that the stress seemed to smooth a little more from Donnie’s features from the contact. She stayed where she was just a little longer so she didn’t wake him by moving too much in too short of time, but then reluctantly pulled away to be able to report back to Raph.

Clambering back up to Raph’s side, April confidently hugged his arm again. “They’re okay. But I’m sure they’ll love a snuggle buddy once you and Leo are done,” she assured once she was comfortable again. She didn’t have to say much more than that for Raph to know how his brother’s were doing. They were safe, but they probably still had some emotional distress they needed to get rid of.

They weren’t able to get any more conversation off before the other three returned, Leon and Don having sterile gowns on and gloves, and Leo keeping his distance from them. “Eyyyy Raphie, I heard Donasaurus gave you the rundown. You up for laying down and getting fixed up now? We’re ready when you are,” Leon chimed, his light steps and finger guns towards Raph betraying his bubbling excitement.

The new nickname for Don from Leon caused Raphael to snort and choke on his breath, letting out a mix between a laugh and a short series of coughs. “W-what?” he laughed, looking over to Don, who could only give a soft sigh.

“He found out I really like dinosaurs,” Don offered as an explanation, both embarrassed and mildly amused, letting Raphael suffer in his smothered laughter.

Raph gave a small chuckle at Leon’s enthusiasm, and tried to keep his anxiety from bubbling up again. “You seem excited,” he commented, trying to divert the attention away from himself.

“Course I’m excited. This has got to be the coolest thing I’ve done in my life so far. I’m sure something will top it eventually, but for now I’m going to revel in the experience,” Leon admitted lightly, coming to stand in front of Raph. “Plus I get to help my big brother feel better. How could I not be excited?”

The comment earned varying types of chuckles from the others, and Raph’s shoulders relaxed a little more once again. “Okay. Raph’s ready,” he agreed with a nod.

With some shuffling around they were able to get Raph laying on his back on the surgery table, having to adjust it to fit him better. April scooted to sit at his head, her lap acting as an extra pillow for now, until she got tired from sitting in one place and needed to move. And as the curtain was pinned up to obscure Raph’s lower half, Raphael scooted the stool over and leaned on his elbows, finally asking the question that had been in his mind for a while now. “So kid… you like wrestling?”

The way Raph’s eyes lit up at the mention of the performance sport, a deep gasp pausing his answer, caused Raphael’s mouth to spread into a huge smile. Oh yeah. Finally someone with taste. “Have you heard of Ghostbear?” Raph asked, almost in awe having someone ask him about wrestling.

“Nope. But tell me aaaaall about him,” Raphael admitted with a chuckle, making himself comfortable for the retellings Raph would get into. April could only give a grateful laugh, mildly surprised that it would be that easy to keep Raph distracted and watching him babble on with fondness. What started as enthusiastic retellings of their favorite wrestling matches ended up becoming show and tell as Raph remembered he had a few videos downloaded to his phone. They couldn’t look up anything he didn’t have, but it was still enough to get Raphael cheering along with him, wincing at some of the moves, and laughing at the hype. The videos from Raph just motivated them looking up more videos online, which made the hours pass easily. Eventually April had to wiggle out from under the pillow, but she still remained next to Raph as he and Raphael continued to gush about their favorite sport.

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Still on vacation, but I wiggled another one out amidst working on OC stuff =7= Enjoy~

#my art #rottmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rise + 2003 crossover #cross dimension kidnapping #april #raph #writing #long post #surgery mention

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evermore-grimoire · 1 year

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The Evermore Grimoire: Mermaids of the Seven Seas

The Mediterranean Mermaids are a pod of fierce and fiery mermaids who thrive in the warmth of their namesake, the Mediterranean Sea. Just like the Caribbean Mermaids, they are exceptionally beautiful which is also reflected in the burning shades of yellows and oranges of their tails. Once upon a time though, they were mostly known for helping local fishermen with their catches by driving the fish to the surface with their power of Hydro-Thermokinesis, and in return the fishermen vowed to never hunt them down. Thus creating a peaceful co-existence between two worlds. However as the centuries passed, the Mediterranean slowly became a tourist attraction for the surface world, making it difficult for the mermaids to stay hidden and for the fisherman to successfully fish in peace. As technology also advanced, so did the exposure to this part of the magical world with footage of the Mediterranean Mermaids becoming more prevalent. Some mermaids became started to lose hope that their life and home beneath the surface would ever return to what is was before it became a tourist hotspot. So they took decision to give up their magic and who they were born to be in favour of a life hidden in the surface world as mortals. Their decision to give up their lives as mermaid as well as their magic sent a ripple through the pod, creating a permanent and deep rift between the mermaids. Those that opposed the idea of living on land decided to keep fighting for their underwater world believing that they could win and drive out the surface world forever. However it was all in vain as more of the surface world became attracted to warmth and sun of the Mediterranean and the ocean itself. What happened to the rest of the pod is a mystery but it is believed that if you spot a ring of bubbles in the ocean and the surface temperature suddenly become extremely hot, it’s the Mediterranean Mermaids reminding you, you are not welcome in their ocean.

original artwork by Vlad Stankovic

#My Mythology #FantastyEdit #MermaidEdit #Mermaids #Mediterranean Mermaids #Mermaids of the Seven Seas #My Edit

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cosmic-metanoia · 4 months

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Masculinity Concepts in FFXVI

***Spoilers for Final Fantasy 16***

I wanted to focus on the concept of masculinity in Final Fantasy XVI.

I really love how we see different aspects of masculinity portrayed in the characters. I won't go over every male character in the game but I'll mostly focus on the Dominants along with some side characters.

*Clive - I have a whole character analysis post dedicated to him but to highlight a couple points - he has many wonderful qualities that make him very admirable not just as a man but as a person. Despite his handsome looks that we all know and love, he has a surprising softness inside him and wears his emotions on his sleeve at times especially when it comes to Jill. We see moments when he bares his soul and weeps out of sorrow or joy which makes him more masculine, in my opinion, not less.

*Joshua - His masculinity is incredibly refreshing as it is the complete opposite of toxic masculinity. His face has soft and almost feminine-like features. He may have spent his young life being physically frail but he demonstrates a fiery strong spirit. He has this honest chivalry to him yet views everyone as equals and has a gift for poetic words as a result his study of books. He is merciful and incredibly kind but is unafraid to demonstrate his prowess on the battlefield like his older brother.

*Cid - Now this guy is your classic smokin' cowboy archetype but with MUCH better attitude. He oozes masculine charm, wit, and charisma but he uses it for the betterment of society and to persuade others to join his revolutionary cause. But his motives are candid and straightforward. I love how he didn't exist just to flirt, be eye candy, or simply be the comic relief. He becomes the mentor whose legacy lives on through Clive and bonds the hideaway folks into a real family.

*Dion - He IS the reason why Sanbreque was able to tip the scales to its favor - because he is the powerful Dominant of Bahamut. He is the prince but he climbed the ranks and earned the respect of his elite dragoons. He exudes military spirit and possesses a flair for political language as a future leader yet has a sense of honor and duty to his people. And along with that I can bring up Terence who is also a military man and climbed the ranks to be by Dion's side. Their love for each other is tender and beautiful and perceived as just another aspect of themselves.

*Kupka - Now this guy is your typical gym bro and is quite the buffoon (I cracked up when Sleipnir says something like "seems Hugo's head was filled with rocks afterall.) He gives the strong impression that he does not respect women (ahem, that servant he kicked) with the exception of Benedikta who could care less about him. Kupka is your stereotypical toxic masculine type.

*Barnabas - Another villain who uses his masculine aura to dominate and overpower. Even when it came to the intimate scene with Benedikta, he certainly gives the impression that carnal pleasure is just a means to an end. Benedikta knew immediately that he'd throw her away as soon as she lost her use to him. Also... I mean...the dude carries a huge sword like he's trying to make a statement LOL!

In terms of side characters, we see that even the hardened Blackthorne is encouraged to open up his feelings which (through many side quests) he is eventfully able to do and make peace with his past. We see the rugged Otto and his eyes brimming with tears when speaking about the late Cid or about the Bearer son he lost. We see Goetz as the gentle giant who is working on his own self-confidence. We also see Gav who gets emotional after a few kegs of ale and cares deeply about Edda and her baby. And even Uncle Byron who shows his sense of power through his financial generosity but loves to put on a good show (he would be quite the actor in Shakespeare theater!)

There are many male characters that I missed but I wanted to focus on a handful of characters. We're so used to seeing the typical battle-hardened and gruff heroes that eventually claim victory over their enemies and get the girl. It's nice to have a story where you have men with different pasts and drives that pull them forward to their futures.

I will also (hopefully soon) write about the female characters as well! :)

#ff16 #ffxvi #final fantasy 16 #final fantasy xvi #joshua rosfield #clive rosfield #ffxvi spoilers #ff16 spoilers #dion lesage #sir terence #hugo kupka #barnabas tharmr #cid telamon #gav ffxvi #cidolfus telamon

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projectionistwrites · 1 year

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EQUIFINALITY | SPRING

PART TWO, sequel to GESTALT

Joel Miller x afab!reader (6.2k+)

RATING: EXPLICIT (18+, mdni) WARNINGS: angst, grief, graphic depictions of injury & medical treatment, discussions about murder & death, age gap (not mentioned), allusions to smut DISCLAIMER: although this is a continuation of my series titled GESTALT, it could potentially be read as a standalone. however, i strongly suggest reading the first series to provide context for the reunion and background on the relationships between the characters. this part is genuinely upsetting, i’m sorry in advance. NOTES: this part takes place after the finale episode, when ellie and joel return to jackson.

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He slept for almost 36 hours straight when they finally arrived back in Jackson.

He at least had the mind to shower before he collapsed into the mattress—scrubbing away the accumulation of filth and grime that his body had collected throughout the course of the past few months with Ellie. He spent an unreasonable amount of time picking at the dried blood beneath his fingernails—mostly because he wasn’t sure if it was his own, or someone else’s.

He nearly pissed himself when something smacked him on the backside of the head, startling him awake with a jolt and immediately forcing him into a sitting position.

When he regained his bearings, he saw Ellie standing next to the bed with a cheeky grin on her face, the pillow she’d hit him with clutched tightly in her hands. Joel reached a hand to cradle the back of his head, still reeling from the sudden and abrupt intrusion on his rest.

“Now why the hell would you go and do a thing like that?”

He tried to sound angry, intimidating, but his grogginess created a more bewildered tone than anything. Ellie snickered wickedly, her eyes lit up with mischief.

“I was making sure you weren’t fuckin’ dead. You’ve been asleep for more than a day.”

Joel’s eyes darted from her figure out towards the window, where the afternoon sun was just beginning to fall, the horizon line painted with fiery shades of crimson and gold. His brow furrowed.

“We got in early this mornin’, what are you even talking about?”

He laid back down with a grunt, making a move to roll over and get some more shut-eye, but Ellie grabbed his shoulder and forced him to stay facing her.

“No, genius. We got in early yesterday morning.”

He slowly pulled himself upright in bed, again, face pinched together in confusion.

“No, that’s not—no.”

He insisted, although he forced himself to shimmy from beneath the covers and onto his feet, walking towards the window to gaze outside more closely.

Ellie watched his movements with a mixture of confusion and amusement.

“Seems like you really needed the sleep, huh, Joel?”

His brain felt foggy, muddied with exhaustion. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d allowed himself to sleep freely—but in the comfort of a home, with four walls and a roof, an inviting mattress with somewhat intact blankets, he finally succumbed to the fatigue that consumed him.

Joel startled when Ellie lightly smacked the pillow against his back in an effort to regain his attention.

“Your brother’s waiting for you outside. I would’ve let you sleep forever, but he told me to come wake you up.”

He ran a tired hand down his face before he settled both hands on his hips, looking down at Ellie just as her lips curled into a teasing grin.

“Besides, your girlfriend is worried about you.”

Joel blinked, his brows lowering into a glare that he aimed towards the girl.

“Knock it off. Go tell Tommy I’ll be there in five minutes.”

When she finally left him in peace, her footsteps fading down the staircase with heavy stomps, Joel sat back down on the edge of the bed, trying to quell the headache that was already forming behind his eyes. Christ, he’d really slept that long?

His mind flickered to you. He hadn’t seen you since he'd returned—of course, you were the first thing on his mind when he’d passed through the gates of Jackson, but he was too ashamed to face you. Your most recent interaction hadn’t been particularly friendly, and he wasn’t quite sure how you’d react to seeing him, even several months later.

But Ellie had already stopped in to see you—he caught sight of the butterfly bandages placed atop the gouge in her forehead, holding the wound closed with precision. He imagined the gentleness in your fingers as you’d treated the wound, the fondness in your eyes that undoubtedly sparked when you spoke with the girl—the same look you’d once held for Sarah.

With a grunt, he pushed himself to his feet again, slipping a flannel over his black t-shirt and lacing up his boots. Much to his surprise, he found himself pausing in the entrance of the bathroom to check his appearance. There was a toothbrush, and toothpaste, and he allowed himself to indulge in the amenities the quaint household provided—rinsing his face with cool water, putting on deodorant, combing through his grown-out hair with his fingers. God, when was the last time he’d actually thought about how he looked? You always brought out the strangest parts of him.

Tommy lifted a brow when his brother finally exited the front door, closing it shut behind him.

“Mornin’, sunshine.”

He teased, smirking lightly at Joel. The man rolled his shoulders back, feeling his joints pop and his bones creak in protest. He cracked his neck before fixing his eyes on Tommy.

“Why’d you let me sleep so long?”

Tommy chuckled, beginning to trek towards the town square with Joel trailing closely behind.

“I know how you are about keepin’ watch while you’re out there. When’s the last time you got more than a few hours of shut-eye?”

Joel didn’t reply, which was enough of a response for Tommy to know his assumptions had been correct.

“Where’s Ellie?”

He asked finally, immediately noticing the lack of the girl’s presence—especially considering that they hadn’t been apart for practically a year.

“At the stables. She likes helpin’ out there, gets along with the horses.”

Joel hummed in response.

They walked the rest of the way in comfortable silence, interrupted only by the crackling of gravel beneath their uniformed footfalls.

Tommy walked him right to the entrance to the MEDICAL facility.

“She don’t wanna see me.”

Joel grumbled, and although his eyes were cast to the ground, they quickly shot up to stare at his brother at the sound of his incredulous laughter. Tommy shook his head at him.

“Oh, please. She’s been worryin’ herself sick over your sorry ass.”

Joel’s expression softened a bit at Tommy’s admission, and the nerves that were clinging to his insides were briefly replaced with a pang of guilt. His brother sighed, leaning in a bit closer and lowering his voice.

“Look, you didn’t hear this from me, alright? But—about three days after you took off, she tried to follow you.”

Joel felt his jaw go slack at the information, his fingers clenching into fists at his sides.

Tommy took notice of his reaction, but continued nonetheless.

“Tried to sneak out between guard shifts. Luckily Maria and I caught her in time—I had a feelin’ she'd pull somethin’ like that, but—she was a wreck, Joel. Haven’t seen her so upset since her momma’s funeral.”

Joel’s eyes fell to the ground once more, his throat feeling hoarse with emotion. He didn’t deserve that. You shouldn’t have been willing to risk your life for him. Not after everything he’d done.

Tommy clapped a hand onto Joel shoulder.

“Go on, man. She’ll be glad to see you’re still kickin’—and she’ll be able to help you with all your...”

Tommy gestured to Joel’s face with a vague wave of his hand, referencing the various nicks and bruises he’d acquired along his journey.

Joel watched his brother walk away from him, hands sitting heavy in his pockets.

Someone exiting the clinic brought his attention back to the building in front of him—he watched a teenage girl with ginger hair shuffle out of the door, a plastic baggy of feminine products clutched tightly in her hands.

Joel reached to hold the door open for her, and she offered him a brief grateful smile before departing, leaving the man to enter the waiting room with his stomach churning with nerves.

There were people in there, this time. An older gentleman in a rocking chair, a dated magazine held in front of his face, and a young Asian man sitting behind the makeshift reception counter. The boy smiled meekly as Joel cautiously walked further into the place.

“Welcome in. You’re... Joel, right?”

He asked, brows raised knowingly. Joel nodded, a bit surprised that his name was already known to someone outside of his immediate circle.

The boy turned to the other occupant of the room.

“Hey, Ron? Do you mind coming back in tomorrow morning? Doc said that him and the girl get priority treatment.”

The boy jutted his thumb towards Joel in reference, and he stuttered.

“Wha—no, I don’t need—”

“No problem, Ian. Let ‘er know I stopped by, okay? Just wanted her to check on my bum shoulder.”

Ron accepted the news graciously, a bit overzealous for what the situation called for. He stood to take his leave, offering a crooked smile to the two other men.

“Tell Y/N I said to have a good night.”

He winked playfully, and Joel’s nose crinkled slightly, although Ian just laughed it off.

“You got it, sir.”

The bell chimed when the door shut behind Ron, and Ian turned back to Joel.

“She’ll just be another minute.”

He assured, subtly hinting that Joel could take a seat somewhere in the waiting room. The man awkwardly nodded in thanks before slowly making his way over to the nearest piece of furniture. Just as he went to sit himself down on the worn leather sofa, the door to the office pushed open.

“—and just let me know if you’re feeling any more discomfort, okay? Hopefully those meds will help, but if not, we can try something a little stronger.”

Your voice spilled from the open doorway, your figure following closely behind a middle-aged woman whose arm was in a sling.

“Thanks, doc, I appreciate it.”

The woman smiled, and Joel watched your eyes crinkle as you grinned in return.

“Hey, it’s no problem, really. Can’t wait to hear more about the harvest yields for this Spring.”

You sounded sincere, but Joel knew you well enough to recognize the slight sarcastic lilt to your tone, and he felt the corner of his lip twitch upward at your feigned enthusiasm.

The woman nodded gratefully, opening her mouth as if to continue the aforementioned conversation, but then your eyes flitted to Joel’s awaiting figure and you lifted a hand to cut her off.

“Sorry, Opal, but I’ve got another patient to get to. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

You were gentle but firm, and the woman nodded in understanding, eyes passing over Joel briefly before she offered a modest farewell and exited the facility.

The air stagnated between the two of you, eyes simply drinking each other in without words being spoken. After a few tense moments of silence, your face turned towards Ian, although your eyes were still trained on Joel’s face.

“Hey, kid, thanks for your help today. Why don’t you head out early and enjoy the nice weather?”

Ian’s head perked up at your suggestion.

“Really? You sure?”

You glanced at him finally, smiling softly.

“Of course. This’ll be my last client for the day, anyhow. And don’t worry, I’ll still mark you off for the full shift.”

You offered, and the boy thanked you once more before grabbing his jacket from the back of his chair and following in Opal’s steps as he pushed through the door.

You were alone.

Joel didn’t know what to say, but luckily, you offered him some reprieve by breaking the silence yourself.

“So. I see you’re out of hibernation.”

Your right brow quirked upward slightly, the scar on your face creasing as you smirked teasingly at him. He felt himself grow bashful.

“Yeah, I—I guess I didn’t realize how tired I was ‘til I woke up a day and a half later.”

The angelic sound of your laughter was divine as you regarded him softly, a warm smile lighting up your features.

“Hey, your body obviously needed the sleep. Heard you’ve been through Hell and back since the last time I saw you.”

His face darkened slightly, his features turning stony. He shifted his gaze away from your face, knowing that you were the only person capable of cracking him open with just a single glance.

“What all did she tell you?”

He asked quietly, referring to Ellie. You crossed your arms over your chest, leaning back against the doorframe.

“Most of it, I think.”

Joel rolled his eyes, a low groan of annoyance escaping him.

“Can never keep her fuckin’ mouth shut.”

He mumbled to himself, but you obviously heard.

“Hey, don’t be mad at her. Like I told you before, I’m easy to talk to. That’s part of my job, anyway—70 percent doctor, 20 percent therapist.”

Your smile was lopsided as you joked with him.

“What about the other ten?”

He questioned, feeding into your playful banter. You laughed.

“Ten percent is me pretending to know what the fuck I’m doing.”

A small smile invaded his face before he could stop it, and you reciprocated the gesture, your eyes twinkling with triumph at your ability to make the seemingly unbreakable man surrender his defenses, even if just for a second.

You gestured with a slight nod of your head for him to join you in the examination room—you were a bit embarrassed with yourself when you felt your heart rate pick up when Joel started walking towards you, your face flushing when he briefly towered over you while brushing past through the door.

Without any prompting, he found his place on the steel exam table without complaint. You let the door click shut behind you as you walked towards your desk, grabbing a pair of latex gloves.

“Heard someone tried to use you for batting practice.”

You started, making your way towards him on the table. He shook his head slightly at your joke, his hand instinctually reaching up to rest over where the wound was still healing.

“Yeah. It—well, wasn’t great. Got infected, too. Told Ellie she shoulda come back here and left me, but she’s too damn stubborn for her own good.”

“Hmm. Sounds a lot like someone else I know.”

You teased, stopping a few feet in front of him. He rolled his eyes.

“Can you take of your shirt?”

Your question startled him, his body tensing as he lips parted slightly, brows furrowed as he studied your face. Your inquiry was serious, he realized.

“What—I don’t—”

You genuinely hadn’t comprehended the implications of your statement—it was just standard protocol; you needed to examine his injury. But you saw a blush creeping up his cheeks beneath his patchy beard, and your body mimicked the response.

“Sorry. I mean—you don’t have to, but I need to see how everything’s healing up. You can just lift it up if that’d make you more comfortable.”

A wicked retort sprang to his mind and rolled over his tongue—he didn’t even realize he’d said it out loud until he watched your eyes widen at his words.

“If you wanted to see me naked, all you had to do was ask.”

Oh, fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Joel’s own eyes widened as his inhale turned sharp, surprised and somewhat appalled with himself. Your expression mirrored his own, heat pooling in your cheeks as you froze, paralyzed.

“Shit, Y/N, I’m sorry, that just—dunno why I said that, just reminded me of that time you—”

“I remember.”

You cut him off curtly, face and neck stinging with embarrassment. It was a call back to one of your prior shameless flirtation attempts when you were young—the same night your mother died, the same night he kissed you for the very first time.

“I’m… surprised, that you do.”

His brows furrowed at that. An ache settled somewhere within his ribcage, squeezing around his heart.

“Darlin’—I remember everythin’. All of it.”

You looked away, trying to keep yourself in the present moment—you could feel yourself slipping back into your memories, the night he’d left you, cold and alone on your living room floor. The things he’d said. The truth he’d spilled.

Joel squeezed his eyes shut, taking a slow deep breath to combat his own humiliation. Before he could wallow in anticipation any longer, he shouldered off his red flannel and lifted the black undershirt over his head, setting it at his side.

Oh, God, you felt faint. Nauseous, even. How many times had you thought about this? Sure, you’d seen Joel shirtless on a couple occasions—at the pool a few times, when he just rolled out of bed in the morning, when the Texas heat was too unbearable. But that was years ago. And now—it felt different, now. More intimate.

You took in a deep breath, walking towards him with purpose. Focus, damnit. This is your job.

But you couldn’t tear your eyes away from the newly exposed skin of his torso. His chest was smattered with faint salt-and-pepper curls, his skin peppered with white scars and abrasions that contrasted the tan of his skin. The muscles of his pectorals flexed, and your eyes wandered over the soft expanse of his stomach, before settling in on the wound on his lower right side.

“Can you lie back for me?”

Your words sounded somewhat breathless, and you cleared your throat, tearing your gaze away from his chest to meet his eyes. There was doubt swirling behind them, insecurity, and your heart yearned to comfort him, to press your lips to every inch of skin and assure him that he’s still as beautiful as he was twenty years ago, your feelings hadn’t changed, Joel, I still love—

Joel heeded your request, turning to the side and cautiously lowering himself down onto his back, the cold steel like ice against his skin, causing him to hiss.

You inhaled through your nose when you finally approached him, closing the gap and leaning in to inspect the area more closely.

It was healing up well, all things considered. The skin surrounding the wound was inflamed, but it certainly could be worse. However, the crude blue thread that had been used to stitch his skin closed was mildly concerning to you.

Joel felt your hair tickle against the skin of his abdomen, the light brush of your gloved fingers tracing over the afflicted area.

He stared up at the ceiling, trying not to focus on the way your hot breath felt against his lower stomach. The last time you’d been this close to him, you were on your knees between his legs the night before his birthday.

“You know,”

He started softly, mulling the words over in his mind before speaking.

“you seem to remember more than I thought you did, too.”

Your breath caught in your throat, your fingers stilling over his skin at his statement. You knew exactly what he was referring to—the confession you’d regrettably included in the farewell letter you’d given him before he left Jackson with Ellie. You probably shouldn’t have remembered, but it was hard not to—the rest of that night was a blur, sure, your memory clouded over from the mixture of liquor and drugs in your bloodstream, but you couldn’t forget the way he’d laid beside you, his lips brushing over your fingers, your hands tracing the outline of his face so you could commit it to memory, keep it close to you. The promise he’d made.

“S’all I’ve ever wanted, Joel. All I think I’ll ever want—to be with you.”

You’d confessed with bleary eyes.

“Will you kiss me, Joel?”

The tenderness in his eyes suffocated you, smothering you with the uncharacteristic softness of his gaze.

“Tell you what,”

he’d said.

“You close your eyes, and keep ‘em closed for five minutes, and I’ll kiss you.”

“I’m gonna have to remove the stitches.”

You stated, tone suddenly cold and matter-of-fact as you pulled yourself out of your recollection.

His head lifted to look at you just as you turned towards the shelf on the wall, retrieving some supplies and setting them on a metal surgical tray.

“Why? S’healin’ fine.”

He insisted, and you pursed your lips, sliding the cart closer to you so you’d have the supplies at the ready.

“We can keep them in, if you really want, but that could lead to some serious complications down the road. This is sewing thread, Joel, it won’t dissolve on it’s own. If your skin heals over it, it could lead to more infection and a nasty looking scar.”

He grunted in acknowledgement, not particularly excited about the prospect of reopening an old wound, picking at the scab. If only he knew that’s exactly what he was forcing you to do...

“Joel? Is that okay? I’ll numb it first.”

You slid your office chair up towards his face, leaning over him slightly to catch his eyes. Your silhouette was framed by the harsh light behind your head, creating a fuzzy halo of glow around you. He nodded dumbly, somewhat hypnotized by your proximity—shit, he’d let you do just about anything to him if you looked at him like that.

He watched you slide back down towards his waist, your hand dipping into the half-empty tub of lidocaine ointment and swiping a generous amount on your index finger. Joel hissed when the cooling sensation hit his skin, your touch smoothing it over his tender flesh carefully.

“Sorry.”

You whispered absentmindedly, reaching for your forceps and a pair of small medical scissors.

“Let me know if it hurts, okay? The internal abrasion seems to be healed, it’s just the entrance wound left. It shouldn’t bleed too much and you shouldn’t be able to feel it, but there might be a slight pinching sensation. Okay?”

“Jesus, you sound like a real doctor.”

He chuckled quietly to himself, folding his hands atop his chest and trying to relax as he felt you move towards the wound. You let out a breath of a laugh.

“Yeah, well, maybe not officially licensed, but by apocalypse standards…”

Your forceps tucked beneath the loop of the first suture, gently coaxing it out from beneath the scar tissue. His abdominal muscles rippled, but you forced yourself to focus.

“I’m about as qualified as they come.”

He let you work in silence for the most part, teeth gritted and jaw clenched tightly as you pulled each stitch out cautiously. He definitely wasn’t gonna admit to you that he could feel each pull of string beneath his skin, tugging against the tender flesh of his insides.

“Ellie didn’t do half bad.”

You chuckled slightly, discarding another removed stitch on your tray.

“Might be givin’ me a run for my money.”

You heard Joel huff.

“Yeah, well, lemme tell you—you’ve certainly got a gentler touch, that’s for sure.”

That earned a giggle from you, although you immediately quieted when Joel grunted in pain as the stitch you were working on got caught on the edge of his torn skin.

“Shit, sorry.”

You whispered, one hand reaching to soothingly rub across the healthy, untarnished skin just above the wound, on his lower stomach. Joel squeezed his eyes shut tightly at the feeling of your fingers brushing across his navel, his brows pinched with pain. Or, at least, you thought it was pain. He knew differently.

When you got down to the final two sutures, your eyes grew soft.

“You’re lucky to be alive, cowboy.”

Your breathy laugh was humorless, more an expression of disbelief than humor. He shook his head in acknowledgement, humming.

“Believe me. Say that to myself that every damn day.”

“No, Joel.”

His head lifted at the sincerity in your tone as you removed the final stitch. You reached for a sterile piece of gauze, soaking it in antiseptic solution before carefully wiping away the blood that had begun to seep from the site of the removed suture.

“This... this should’ve killed you.”

His features softened just slightly as the severity of your remark dawned on him. He knew you were probably right. He’d felt himself slipping several times when he was fighting for his life on that dingy mattress in that musty basement—but he always pulled himself back.

“Couldn’t let that happen.”

He admitted quietly, letting his muscles final relax as you finished cleaning up his injury.

“Ellie... she needed me.”

You were silent as you moved to dispose of the used supplies, putting the rest back in the rightful spots on the shelf.

Joel watched your movements carefully, the contortion of your shoulder blades beneath your deep purple scrubs as you reached up on your tiptoes to put something on a high shelf. When you’d finished, you paused for a moment with your back facing him. He saw your fists clenching and unclenching rhythmically at your sides.

“M’sorry, Joel.”

You finally spoke, voice quiet.

“About everything I said. I shouldn’t have—”

“You were right.”

Joel Miller wasn’t sure he’d ever said those words aloud before—he was never one to admit he was wrong or own up to his mistakes, too prideful and headstrong for his own good. You turned to face him, your eyes cloudy as they scanned his face, scrutinizing his features carefully. He propped himself up on his elbows.

“About Ellie. About—about me. Wouldn’t’ve been able to live with myself if somethin’ had happened to her, if I hadn’t been there. I almost—”

He felt tears spring to his eyes as he thought back on the moment Ellie had rushed into his arms, face speckled with blood.

“—almost lost her, and I couldn’t—”

“—I know.”

You cut him off softly, taking a few steps towards him to sit back down in your chair and roll closer to him. He was grateful that you’d granted him a reprieve from speaking. He rapidly blinked back the tears flooding him.

“She told me. About—about David.”

Joel’s brows lifted, his eyes on yours.

“She did?”

He asked, slightly breathless and entirely surprised.

“She never—I still don’t know everythin’ that happened, she didn’t wanna talk—”

“I think that’s probably for the best.”

You nodded sadly, and Joel watched the movement of your arm as it lifted and reached for his hand, fingers wrapping around his comfortingly. The feeling of your soft skin against the callousness of his palm made his pulse jump.

“I’m—I’m glad she told you.”

He started slowly, eyes still fixated on your intertwined fingers.

“Glad she has someone to talk to.”

Your grin was small, but genuine, and you lifted your other hand to clasp his between both of your own.

“It’s good to get that stuff of your chest.”

You agreed, and Joel nodded quietly, letting his head fall back against the steel table as he stared up at the ceiling. Your next words made him falter.

“Speaking of… you ever gonna tell anyone what really happened in Salt Lake City?”

Joel’s neck almost snapped with how quickly he turned to stare at you. His mouth fell open, and you quickly backtracked at his abrupt reaction, pulling your hands away.

“I mean—it doesn’t have to be me, I’m just sayin’—it’s not good for you, to carry that all by yourself. That shit’s gonna eat you alive.”

His mind was racing, thoughts stumbling over each other at a mile per minute. You must’ve interpreted his silence as disapproval, because you sighed as you rolled your chair across the room towards your desk, busying yourself with the papers that were scattered about.

Joel pushed himself upward into a sitting position, his legs dangling off the side and his back leaning against the wall. He watched you carefully, his tongue feeling heavy in his mouth as he reeled.

You cautiously breached the silence that permeated the room, although you still pretended to be preoccupied with another task.

“Ellie told me what you’d said—about what happened. They stopped lookin’ for a cure, there were others who were immune. Who knows, maybe that really is the truth, but I feel like I know you better than that, and I—”

“I killed them.”

It was barely above a whisper, his confession, but you heard it loud and clear. The statement rang through your ears like a church bell, vibrating within your skull. You froze, slowly turning to face Joel once again. He seemed to be staring straight through you, his face set in resolution and jaw rippling as he continued.

“All of ‘em. They—they were gonna kill ’er. The fungus, it’s—s’in her brain, they said the only way to get a sample was to... to—”

You nodded knowingly, standing up from your chair to approach him slowly, your eyes soft and sympathetic. He felt gross, disgusting, repulsive, your gaze far too tender for the atrocities he was admitting to. His breath hitched caught in his throat when he tried to speak again, the tears he had been rapidly blinking away gathering back in his waterline.

“I couldn’t—I couldn’t let them do that, I couldn’t. I mean—she’s just a kid, they didn’t understand, and—they wouldn’t take no for an answer, so I had—had to go through them, it was the only way—only way to save ‘er."

A tear fell from his left eye, overflowing until it slipped down the side of his cheek. He reached up to swipe it away as you finally reached him. You were paused in front of him, standing between his widely spread legs. Your eyes never wandered from his.

You knew what he meant—knew deep down why he did what he did, even if he wouldn’t or couldn’t admit it. He’d lost Sarah. He couldn’t lose another daughter. Not on his watch.

He flinched away when your hand reached up to cradle his face, your thumb swiping over his tear-stained cheek as your fingers slipped behind his ear, threading into his hair. No, you shouldn’t be touching him, he didn’t deserve your pity—

“You can’t tell her.”

He suddenly begged, his hand reaching up to grab your wrist desperately, his eyes wide and pleading.

“She can never know, Y/N, she’d never forgive me, I need you to—“

“It’s alright, cowboy. You have my word. Okay?”

The self-hatred he felt was sickening him, festering deeply in the pit of his stomach even as your thumb rubbed soothingly against his cheek, over his graying beard.

Why didn’t you hate him? Why were you still here? He was a monster, he was evil, sick, twisted—

“Stop.”

He finally came to his senses, using his grip on your wrist to pull your hand away from him and gently urge you to step backwards.

“Stop, don’t—don’t go feelin’ sorry for me, don’t go and—and—you don’t know all the things I’ve done, you don’t—”

“I know you, Joel.”

Even though it was gentle, your tone was firm and insistent.

“I know you. I might not know all the things you’ve done, but that doesn’t change who you are, deep down.”

He shook his head. You didn’t understand, couldn’t understand—

“We’re like trees.”

His brows furrowed at that, confusion evident on his face at your sudden and seemingly random shift in conversation.

“Tree trunks, they—they have rings. The innermost ring of the tree is the oldest, and as the trees grow, as time passes, new rings are added, but the core of it always stays the same.”

You pressed yourself closer again, meeting his resistance with ample willpower.

“It doesn’t matter if the outer layers wither, if they decay, if they’re ugly—it’s still the same tree on the inside.”

He shook his head. You and your stupid fucking analogies.

“You don’t get it. ’M not who I was. I’m—everythin’ about me is bad, Y/N, I’m—I’ve rotted straight through to my core.”

To his surprise, you smiled at him, sad but reassuring, shaking your head.

“No. You’re still here. You’re still standing. If the badness had reached all the way to your middle, you’d just be a stump.”

“Can we stop with this damn metaphor? M’not a fuckin’ tree.”

He grumbled, but then you were moving closer against him, standing between his splayed legs with your hips flush against the metal edge of the table as you pushed your chest against his bare torso. His breath hitched.

“No, you’re not. But you’re still Joel. Yeah, things are different. But I still see him in there, the person I knew, the person I—I loved. See it when you look at Ellie, and Tommy. See it when you laugh. See it in your eyes.”

No, no, no—what was he doing? You were so good, so painfully kind, and good, and his poison was going to seep into your fingertips and taint your perfect disposition.

“Don’t think I’ve ever been the person you thought I was.”

His eyes met yours, and he could see your face fall slightly before you recovered, helplessly trying to change his mind.

“Maybe not. But you already said it today—you remember. You remember the way things were, the person you used to be. Those memories, those reminders—they’re proof. Your now can’t erase the then.”

You felt dizzy, lightheaded—every fiber of your being was screaming at you to stop, back off, you’re gonna hurt yourself all over again, slam the door and walk away—but the despondency in his eyes was simply devastating. It was always his damn eyes.

His entire body seized up tight when you slowly lowered your head down towards his stomach, maintaining eye contact as your warm breath passed over his navel. He watched on silently as your lips brushed over the wound you’d just tended to, featherlight and barely-there, but the touch was searingly hot.

“The same Joel who had magic kisses.”

You raised your head again, lifting your arms to wrap loosely around his neck, coaxing him forward towards you. His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. He let you guide him closer into your embrace.

“The same Joel who can’t wrap a damn Christmas gift."

His lip slightly quirked up at the corner as your fingers toyed with the hair at the nape of his neck.

“The same Joel who’s never been to a college party.”

His eyelids fluttered as your nose brushed against his. You were gazing at him from beneath your lashes, tempting and so damn sweet. He felt your warm exhale across his cheeks.

“The same Joel who still owes me that kiss.”

For a brief moment, he lost himself, his mind emptying until all that was left was you, everywhere, overwhelming and all-consuming. But as you leaned forward to close the gap, he knew he couldn’t do this to you. Not again. Couldn’t let you give yourself away to someone so unworthy.

“Your dad.”

He said suddenly, his words loud and intruding in the small distance between you. You felt the vibrations on your lips when he spoke, and you drew back quickly, the haze of desire in your eyes replaced with a puzzled look.

“What?”

Joel stared you down, arming himself against your targeted attacks on his protective barriers.

“Your—your old man. He was one of the doctors at the Firefly hospital.”

His words rammed into you like a fucking semitruck, the wind momentarily knocked out of you. You stumbled back slightly, your shoulders bracing with tension as a new emotion flickered over your face—fear.

“You’re—you’re lying.”

“I’m sorry, darlin’.��

Joel's brief apathy corroded at the sight of such horror on your face, his eyes flooding with tears yet again as he squeezed them shut. He had the sudden uncontrollable urge to wrap you in his arms and shield you from the world, to protect you—but how could he? How could he possibly protect you from himself?

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t know—by the time I’d realized, it was already too late, and I—”

“I didn’t even think he was still alive.”

His lids snapped open to look at you once more where the initial shock on your face had worn off, replaced with a frigid sort of acceptance, a jarring finality. Joel felt like he was suffering from whiplash at your abrupt change in demeanor.

“Never got close enough to see him in California. At least now I know.”

You couldn’t be fucking serious. You were just... content with this? Forgiving Joel so easily, so readily? What the fuck was wrong with you?

But then he saw the way your posture shifted, suddenly on the defensive, your stare now pierced with suspicion and criticism. The tenderness in your eyes had shifted to communicate your wariness, your distrust. For the first time, it was like you were looking into the face of a stranger.

Somehow, he felt more comfortable with this than the love you’d so shamelessly displayed for him just moments prior. This, he deserved. This, he could handle.

“Y/N—”

“I think you should go.”

You declared curtly, shutting him out completely as your turned away. You felt your heart begin to split in two all over again—you hated the sudden animosity you felt towards the man you cared so deeply for, but it was threatening to overwhelm you as you listened to him sigh heavily, his feet thumping against the ground as he slid off of the table.

You heard the rustling of his clothes as he slipped his shirt back over his head, his posture sagging lowly as he stared at your back, the distance between you two only widening with each shaky rise and fall of your shoulders.

It was better this way, Joel convinced himself. Better for you to hate him than to love him. Better for him to push you away than to let you back in. Better for both of you to keep moving forward without looking back—better to hurt you a little now before he hurt you a lot later.

He left without another word.

TAGLIST: @spiidergirlsworld @canpillowscry @str84pedro @daddy-din @pedropascal-whore @canpillowscry @pppmitt @thirdoffive @lovekk2plus @elliescumsl0t @kagajgajaguwbeidheubqk @cookielovesbook-akie @kamcrazy123 @ohnosy @dayrdreaming @notsosecretspy @arquiiva (please comment to be added/removed)

#tlou #the last of us #tlou series #joel miller smut #joel miller #joel x reader #tlou smut #tlou imagine #the last of us smut #the last of us fanfic #joel and ellie #pedro pascal #pedro pascal smut #joel miller x female reader #pedro pascal x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #projectionistwrites

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72crowe89 · 5 months

Text

Mishimas and Kazamas as Fire Nation Family Members

Note: Spoilers from Tekken 8 leaks/Avatar: The Last Airbender, including the comics

Heihachi as Ozai

Megalomaniac

Instigated his father's death to take his place

Hates his son(s)

A test of his son's strength led to said son being permanently scarred

Reina as Azula

Takes on Daddy's mannerisms

Cruel and arrogant

Proficient fighter at a young age

Mocking/dismissive relationship with an older brother/brother figure

Jin as Zuko

Betrayed by his father/father figure

Compelled to fight against the family's evil ways

Wrestles between being good and being evil

Mother disappears under mysterious circumstances

Lars as Iroh

Noblest member of the family

Leaves the family military for more honorable pursuits

Mentor figure to his nephew

Stands with his nephew when he's doing good, and against him when he's doing bad

Jun as Ursa

Comes from a family of high spirituality

Deeply loves and is protective of her son

Disappears under mysterious circumstances

Willingly/unwillingly leaves her son with an untrustworthy father figure

Asuka as Kiyi

Connected to the main family but not a part of it

Fiery personality

One of the youngest members of the combined family

Mostly divorced from the main family's machinations

As for the other family members, I couldn't fit them cleanly in like I could the others

Kazuya would have been the perfect Zuko (Heihachi even scarred him as well), but he utterly loathes Heihachi and becomes as evil as his old man. He doesn't have Zuko's desire for acknowledgement nor his struggle with good and evil (although Tekken 8 may change that). Since he also doesn't have the "normal" father/son relationship with Jin (having been dead until he was an adult), there's not enough emotional investment on Jin's part for him to be Ozai

Lee is working on the side of angels, but it's more out of convenience, opportunity, personal vengeance, and some affection for Lars and Alisa rather than morality, so he doesn't fit the Iroh mold. Also, like Kazuya, his main motivation is not Heihachi's love, so he doesn't fit Zuko either.

Kazumi is almost the opposite of Ursa: whereas Ursa loathed her husband and loved her son, Kazumi loved her husband, and although she also loved her son she wasn't above having him killed if he turned out evil. She also tries to kill her husband rather than kill for him. They both do come from a storied lineage, however.

Jinpachi was a peaceful man who loved his grandson and, as far as we know, his son as well. He doesn't fit "Wage war on the world" Sozin or "Kill your son for your hubris" Azulon. He probably would've work as an Iroh who's a balancing influence on his descendants, but he gets possessed and dies before he gets the chance.

#tekken #tekken 8 #avatar the last airbender #atla #heihachi mishima #fire lord ozai #reina #reina mishima #azula #jin kazama #zuko #lars alexandersson #iroh #jun kazama #atla ursa #asuka kazama #atla kiyi

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rascal-xo · 1 year

Text

~ RASCALXO MASTERLIST ~

A/N: REQUESTS ARE OPEN :)

Taglist Form • • • • Bonus Blog

titles with ** next to them contain mature content - Read at your own discretion (SMUT, heavy violence, and or some levels of gore)

I mostly write Call of Duty fics but I am willing to do any other kind of requests too Living in the Shadows: Series Masterlist |Simon Riley x Female Reader|

———————————

CoD Black Ops Cold War

** Red White & Blue(Series):Frank Woods x Female Reader

Chapter 1

What The Future Holds: Russell Adler x Reader

The Pain We Ease: Russell Adler x Reader

Electric: Russell Adler x Reader

CoD Modern Warfare II

** Unspoken Love: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Female Reader

Spoken Happiness: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Female Reader

Sweet Indulgence: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Female Reader

Surface Tension: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x GN!Reader

** Sweet Nothings: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Female Reader

Bittersweet: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x GN!Reader

When it Rains, It Pours: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Female Reader

Desire: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Female Reader (WITIP PT.2)

** Loose Ends: Alejandro Vargas x Female Reader

Special Affairs: 141 x G!N Reader

Special Affairs Pt.2: 141 x G!N Reader

Unhealed Wounds: Soap MacTavish x Female Reader

New Faces: 141 x Reader

Stone Cold: Simon Riley x Reader

Stubborn: Simon Riley x Reader

Sunday Punch: Simon Ghost Riley x Female Reader

War and Cookies: Soap Mactavish x Reader

Burning Bridges: Simon Riley x Reader

Dare or Dare: Simon Riley x Female Reader

** Rules of Entanglement: Phillip Graves x Reader

** Fiery Touch: König x Reader

** Home: Phillip Graves x Female Reader

** Broken: Simon Riley x Female Reader

** Ticking Bomb: Simon Riley x Female Reader

Dark Desire: Professor Price x Reader

** Out of Reach: Simon Riley x Female Reader

The Angel of Death: Simon Riley x Female Reader (Part 1) The Angel of Death: Simon Riley x Female Reader (Part 2)

** What Make Us Tick: Simon Riley x Gender Neutral Reader

Flipping The Switch: Simon Riley x Reader

K.O.: Simon Riley x Female Reader

** The Lost Soul: Simon Riley x Female Reader

** An Unspoken Past: Simon Riley x Female Reader

** It was just a dream: Simon Riley x Female Reader Bittersweet: Simon Riley x Female Reader

At Peace: Simon Riley x Female Reader

The things we never said: Simon riley x female reader

Out of our hands: Simon Riley One Shot

Headcannons

How They React To Gossip : 141

Domestic Bliss: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Female Reader

**Stargirl (Domestic Bliss pt 2): Simon Riley x Female Reader

All My Love: Simon Riley x Female Reader

When they Smoke weed for the first time: 141

#black ops cold war #call of duty #cold war #russell adler #frank woods #frank woods is blueprint daddy #russell adler is a dilf #russell adler x fem!reader #russell adler x reader #alex mason #frank woods x reader #call of duty headcanons #call of duty fanfic #call of duty smut #captain price #call of duty black ops #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty ghost #call of dooty

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cowboydisaster · 1 year

Text

The Fire In Your Eyes

part III: blackwater ii

originally posted on 1 march 2023

pairing: Arthur Morgan x fem!reader

word count: 10k

summary: disaster strikes while you're working a real estate scam with Arthur and Hosea. A job gone wrong leaves you with two options: flee or die.

a/n: chapter three!!! This is a big chapter, and a very important one! This is our last chapter in blackwater. Reader discretion is advised while reading this. Please look at the warnings and decide for yourself whether or not you want to read. As always, thank you to my beta reader @margowritesthings

warnings: gore, death, animal death, wounds, trauma, mentions of post traumatic stress, reader discretion highly advised.

SERIES MASTERPOST

The camp is quiet tonight, well this morning to be exact. Mostly everyone has gone to bed already. With the ferry job in Blackwater coming up, the gang has been working extra hard, counting for early mornings and earlier nights. The dark blue sky is littered with stars and constellations, and you lean back against the log on the ground to look up at them. They freckle the sky, and you gaze up at them in wonder. You’ve always been amazed by the stars. Your momma used to teach you about the constellations. She would lie on the grass with you, not unlike you are right now, hand intertwined with your own while the other pointed up at the stars. Sometimes your Pa would come out too, sit on the other side of you, sandwiching you between your parents when you were just a girl. Your favorite has always been Lupus, ever since childhood the constellation has stuck with you, watching over you like a guardian angel. The stars string together, making the perfect form of a howling wolf. It takes you a little bit, but after some familiar searching you finally find the collection of stars.

The warm campfire heats you despite the chill of the night, warming your bones and keeping you content even as wind rolls across the plains tousling your hair. You could lay here forever, watching the stars. It's quiet, peaceful. You crave time like this, time to get back to your roots and feel free. As you watch the constellation, you wish that you could throw back your head and howl with it. Your momma always called you her little star, and shit, it's no mystery as to why. You’re aflame, fiery and burning brighter than the sun, your personality shines, you’re bold and beautiful. A silent tear drips down your cheek, and you hastily wipe it away, watching as a white streak shoots across the dark night. A shooting star.

"Hey, momma…" You whisper up at the sky, laughing despite the tears in your eyes. You close them, thinking of a wish to ask of the star. What do you want? Of anything you could have, what should you wish for?

A throat clears beside you, and you startle, instinctually reaching for the wooden handle of your knife and unsheathing it half way.

"Hold your horses there, dont go pokin' holes in me just yet, I brought you a beer for chrissakes." Arthur chuckles, resting down beside you against the log. You slip your knife back into its sheath, muttering a small apology as you gratefully accept the glass bottle from his extended hand. He's already popped the cap for you, and you press the rim to your lips, savoring the unfortunately warm alcohol.

"So… ya settling in alright?" Arthur asks, bringing one knee up to rest his elbow on. The firelight dances in his soft eyes, matching the fire in your own as he looks to you under the brim of his hat. He’s wearing a black stand collar shirt tucked into a pair of blue jeans, and he must have just taken a bath in town. You notice the sweet smell of lavender on him, and his freshly trimmed beard. It makes you release a laugh under your breath, the thought of him using oils in a bath.

"Yeah.. I think so." You answer honestly, watching the burning logs in front of you.

"What’s your plan then? Should be well enough on your feet… you- you leavin'? Or-" Arthur looks down to his lap as he asks, not wanting to look into your eyes for fear of seeing your response. You sigh, thinking over what you should do and what you want to do. You don't want to go, not in the slightest, but you should.

"I don't know… Maybe I'll just stay a little longer. Not like I have anywhere else to go, or any family to go back to." You whisper, setting your beer on the dirt and pulling a few pieces of grass out from the ground to distract yourself from thinking. Arthur nods, bringing the neck of his bottle to his lips and swigging back some while contemplating your words.

Arthur doesn't want you to go, he can't place why- he doesn't want to label why, but he wants you to stay. Arthur knows what staying means, staying means risking your life every day, being on the run every day. It's no life you asked for, it's no life you deserve. He wants you to get away, to live a life with a husband and a family. Not to turn out like him. And at the same time he's so driven to be around you, to talk to you, be with you. It's a dilemma that frequents the pages of his journal.

"If you're leavin', you'll wanna be long gone before this ferry job comes round." Arthur whispers darkly.

You know he's right. If you're mixed up with the Van der Linde gang during the ferry robbery you'll never get the price off your head, not alive anyway.

"Yeah…" You mumble, biting your lip and pulling at the grass.

Arthur notices the shift in your mood, the uncomfortable feeling that's come over you from thinking about the situation. He wants to comfort you, tell you it'll be okay. But you both know he can't promise that.

"Ain't no need to rush a decision. Ferry job's a ways out yet. Just think on it." He says, resting his hand on your leg in a show of comfort. Immediately your eyes shoot to his hand, it rests a little above your knee, warm and comforting, a show of support. It's been a long time since someone has cared for you in the way Arthur has. And shit, you barely know him.

"Okay." You smile.

Arthur squeezes your knee gently before placing his hands on the dirt and standing up. He brushes some dirt and grass off his jeans before placing his hands on his belt and looking to you one last time.

“Think I’m gonna turn in for the night, you?” He asks, grabbing his bottle from the ground.

You could go to bed now, but the stars are so beautiful, and you have a lot to think about. You need to make a decision before the robbery, which is approaching all too quickly.

“Reckon I’ll stay out just a bit longer…” You whisper, laying down against the log again to look up at the sky. Arthur nods, tipping his hat to you lightly.

“G’night, miss.” He whispers, taking a few steps back before turning and heading towards his tent. He glances back at you a few times before he makes it there, watching as your eyes sparkle, just like the stars you’re watching.

You have nowhere to go, and no means of making money besides whoring. And you will not sell yourself to the sleazy rats that occupy the town. You have no quarrel with the women who choose that path, you understand their limited options in the workforce, but you can’t. And if you do go, you’ll have no one. Your Momma and Pa are gone, you’ve left your hometown on account of lawmen tracking you down, and you’ve lost your damn horse. The only people you have now are those who have welcomed you into the gang: Arthur, Hosea, Abigail, the girls and Jack.

So you’ll stay.

— — —

You snatch an apple off of Pearson’s table, crunching into it as you make your way over to the table. The fruit is sweet, a perfect breakfast that wakes you up and satisfies your early morning sweet tooth. Well, fairly early. You slept in a bit later than usual, until about 9am, and by the time you'd thrown on your outfit for the day , a white shirt and black pants, it’s about a quarter after. So far no one’s given you trouble for your little slip up, but you expect some hassle from Grimshaw later.

“Come sit, there's still some room, we saved you a seat so we didn’t have to sit by Uncle!” Jenny hollers from the table across camp. Seated at the little round table are Jenny, Abigail and Marybeth. With a small smile you head over, chuckling as Uncle yells something from his spot on the ground in front of the fire.

“Mornin’ ladies.” You offer, sitting down at the wooden table and resting your elbows on the top. Marybeth is invested in a book, with a cup of coffee that's sitting on the table. Jenny sits with her boots resting up on the tabletop, sharpening her knife, and you and Abigail share an amused glance at her behavior.

“We was just talkin’ about how Jenny’s getting pretty serious with Mr. Summers.” Abigail prods, raising her eyebrows a little and nudging you with her elbow. Jenny rolls her eyes, jokingly glaring at Abigail for a second before returning to sharpening her knife.

“And so what if we are? You gonna offer me some advice or somethin, with you bein’ married and all?” Jenny asks, looking across the center of camp to where John is talking with Arthur, Dutch and Hosea. Your eyes linger on the four men for a moment, as their conversation looks heated. Hopefully everythings alright. You’ve noticed the stress levels have been especially high in camp with the ferry coming soon. It's only a few nights away.

“We ain't married. Well not really anyways, not officially.” Abigail looks downtrodden by the fact, and you try to quickly change the subject to ease her heartache. You’ve seen the tension in their relationship, and heard her quiet cries at night when John sleeps by the fire instead of in their tent.

“You’re askin’ for marriage advice? Are you two tyin’ the knot?” You ask, to which Jenny quickly shushes you, clamping her hand over your mouth with wide eyes. Marybeth has shifted interest from her book to your conversation, fully leaning in with a big smile.

“Have you talked about it? My lord- marriage, what a dream!” Marybeth beams, leaning in towards the table with hopeful eyes.

“We did,” Jenny releases her hand from your mouth with a chuckle. She's blushing and you couldn’t be happier for her. “After this ferry robbery we’re heading down to Tumbleweed. There’s a minister down there who agreed to do it, he’s a rather progressive fella, doesn’t know about our career choice, of course. God, we’re gonna be married.”

Marybeth squeals at Jenny's admission, jumping out of her seat to engulf the blonde girl in a hug. You and Abigail share a glance, giggling at the girls. Jenny deserves marriage. It’s not something you’d imagined that she would see value in, but you can see the joy in her eyes. The way she looks at him, like he’s her whole world. Love isn’t something you’ve thought much about. You’ve always figured that if it happened, it happened. You’ve never sought it out, you’ve always been too busy surviving to worry about it. But what Jenny and Lenny have, you admire.

Amidst the quiet celebrations, a throat clears itself. You’d missed the approaching footsteps of Arthur, but you now turn to find him standing by your chair.

“Ladies,” Arthur greets, dipping his head lightly before turning his attention to you. The girls’ chatter quiets down to hushed whispers and giggles as Arthur buckles his gun belt over his waist while addressing you.

“Ride wit’ me?” He asks, a hair falling down into his face as he clasps the golden buckle. Arthur hasn’t asked you on a job with him since you’ve arrived. In fact, you haven’t left except to run errands since he’d brought you back just a few days ago. Your brows knit together as you sip at your coffee, setting it down on the table before standing up.

“Uh, sure, what’re we doin’?” You ask.

Arthur begins walking towards the hitching posts of camp, rolling his sleeves up in the warm sun. You follow after him, grabbing your hat from its nail in your tent on the way out and following him to the horses. As you approach the hitching posts, you watch as Arthur runs a brush over his mare, getting her coat in pristine condition and offering her little treats as he talks.

“Hosea and I’ve been cookin’ up this little real estate scam. Could use another person, and I dont trust many of these fools.” Arthur glances around the camp, eyeing Micah and Bill in particular, both have purple bruises blossoming along their cheeks from your fists, and Arthur chuckles for it.

“Just gotta keep this feller tied up for a while so Hosea can work his magic, I’ll explain on the way, c’mon.”

Arthur pulls two cigarettes out of his satchel, offering one out to you, which you gratefully take. As you grab the premium roll, your hand brushes lightly against his own, and you blush, noticing the warmth, and the sheen of sweat to his forearms,

“...Sorry.” You mumble, not understanding your flustered state. Arthur only chuckles at your blush, leaning down to strike a match against the bottom of his boot.

“Here.” He whispers, and you place the cigarette between your lips, leaning in towards his match. The end of your smoke catches and you inhale the tobacco, relishing in the subtle ease of your anxieties.

“Thanks.”

Arthur tosses the spent match onto the ground, stepping onto it for good measure before grabbing the saddle horn and hoisting himself onto Boadicea. Following his lead, you pat your unnamed buckskin before climbing up onto him. You miss your horse, the bond you shared, and you notice the way Arthur adjusts himself in his seat, taking any extra tension off the mare’s back. He keeps his reins loose, and his hands steady, giving the mare her head in a show of trust. As you both pick up a trot heading away from camp and towards Blackwater, you listen to the quiet affirmations that he whispers to Boadicea, the flies that he swats away from her ears and neck. He really loves his horse. Your heart warms at the sight.

“So this job…” You start, hoping to gain some insight on what the plan is. Arthur had mentioned real estate. You had seen in the paper that there’s a run down shack for sale with a decent bit of land, but you can’t imagine that this scam has anything to do with it. It’s called Beecher’s…. Something. But it’s run down and the ground is full of rocks. Only an idiot would ever use it for farmland, assuming that's what this is about. Arthur turns his head a little to the side in order to yell to you as you canter from Tall Trees towards the town.

“Yeah, there's a piece of land for sale round here called Beecher’s hope,” ah, Beecher’s Hope, that's it, “It’s goin’ up for auction. There's an oil man nearby who wants the rights to the land for a rig, but he don’t wanna pay full price for it. His names’ Cornwall. Now we ain’t actually met him, he just sends his errand boys out, but the money is good.” Arthur yells over the sound of pounding hooves.

“Okay, what’s that got to do with us? Could you explain this a little more before you drag me into town without a goddamn plan?!” You yell, pushing the buckskin faster to catch up with Boadicea.

“Calm yourself, woman. I got a plan. There’s another feller that wants the land just as bad as Cornwall, apparently he's in town just waitin’ to bid on this place. He’s Gavin Clifton, never heard of him, but Hosea says he’s big business out west, a direct competitor to Cornwall.”

“Okay? I'm still waitin’ to hear our part in this...” You say, more confused than you were two minutes ago.

“Cornwalls payin’ us to find Mr. Clifton and keep him from getting to this auction. It’s a win-win. We get paid, Cornwall gets his land and everyone goes home happy.”

“Except for Gavin Clifton.” You joke.

“Yeah, well at least he’ll be alive. He’s holed up in the saloon, been spending the night there while in town. We go in with masks, just hold him in his room till it's over, in and out.”

“Okay, can do.” You quip, slowing the buckskin to a trot as you head into town. They’ve fixed Blackwater up in the past few years, replacing dirt roads with pavers, and started putting up a town hall. Although the fresh coats of paint and hooves clicking against the road is nice, you miss the simplicity of how it used to be. They’ve brought electricity to Blackwater, and it's becoming far too ‘city-like’ for your tastes.

“Saloons’ right up here. Have your mask ready. We don’t wanna alarm anyone so we slip them up right before we get to his door.”

You mentally smack yourself for not realizing it until now, but you pat your satchel and remember that your best robbing neckerchief is tucked away right on your bedside table in camp. You curse under your breath as Arthur pulls Boadicea up to one of the iron hitching posts and tosses her reins over the keeper.

“Arthur-” You somewhat whisper, jumping down from the buckskin, not even hitching it and jogging after the outlaw. You grip his bicep in order to get him to face you. It’s not exactly a conversation you wanna yell out for everyone to hear. When he turns around, his eyes scan over you, as if he’s expecting an injury.

“I don’t have anythin’ to cover my face with.” You whisper, letting go of his arm, and letting your own fall to rest on your belt buckle.

“And here I thought you was a bigshot outlaw, miss?” Arthur jokes, immediately placating you when your face falls into a scowl. You can’t hold your frown for long, as Arthur’s smile causes your own to slip free, but you still swat him on the chest for the blow.

“I ain’t nothin’ of the sort, now give me somethin’, please.”

He flips up the leather flap to his satchel, reaching in and pulling out a plain black neck slip. You’re about to take it from his hand, but instead he lifts it up, carefully removing your hat. His finger brushes against your cheek as he brushes a stray hair behind your ear, before he carefully slides the neckerchief mask down over your head. He straightens the cloth so that it rests between your collarbones before he gently places your hat back on your head. You blush, unsure of why it felt so intimate.

“W-what was that?” You ask, readjusting your hat a little as Arthur rests another cigarette between his lips.

“Nothin, just gettin ya fixed up is all.” Arthur says, striking a match against the brick wall of the saloon before lighting his smoke. His relaxed eyebrows and inattentiveness to your shock prove that to him, that move was normal. You’re not used to being around gentlemen, let alone gentlemen that are also masked killers. It throws you for a loop, and you’re left reeling as he pushes the door open to the saloon. The glass swings back shut in your face. What in the hell has gotten into him? You settle your nerves for a few seconds before pushing the door open and stepping inside.

The Blackwater Saloon, much like the rest of the town, resembles a wannabe city. The walls facing the road are made of glass, with gold printed words advertising the place, and the inside is fashioned with nice, sit-down tables and a room length bar. A few patrons sit around, some drunkards who are using the afternoon as an opportunity to get wasted, others who have stopped by for a decent meal. The poker table sits unused, chips lying around with no one to bet them, a shame, you think. You could make good use of those chips, outplaying every man in the bar, you’re sure.

You find Arthur, once again, leaning on the bar, just like in Tumbleweed just a week or so ago. This time he has no drink in hand, instead he’s chatting with the bartender, discussing the rental of a room. You step around the round tables, spurs clicking against the wooden floor as you make your way next to him at the bar.

“You got any real nice rooms? Big ones that someone might rent out for a week or so?” Arthur asks, subtly inquiring about Gavin Clifton’s whereabouts. Arthur doesn’t want to barge in on the wrong room, he needs to know exactly where Clifton is, and he’d be staying in a suite of course. Nothing but the best for a big oil man.

The bartender, a tall, skinny feller with light blonde hair and a mustache the size of Texas, puts down a few glasses that he had been wiping down. The glass clinks against the freshly waxed wooden bar as he puts them down, focusing on Arthur.

“Yeah, we got one. Real nice room, I’m afraid it's taken for the time being.” The bartender squints, eyeing Arthur up and down, focusing on the revolvers that hang from Arthur’s hips. Arthur is well dressed, and it's clear to anyone that he doesn’t work an honest job. The bartender gestures his hand at Arthur before picking up another wet glass and drying it down with his pearly white towel.

“Well whatchu need it for? If you’re lookin’ to pay for a woman there’s other rooms. There’s a girl works here often, and damn she's got a fine way of-” ‘

The bartender’s nasty grin is cut off as you reach across the bar, grabbing the man by the collar and pushing his head down against the bar with a slam.

“Just shut the hell up and tell us which room it is.” You growl into the ear that's not smashed against the wood. The bartender raises his hands as much as he can in the position, whimpering for release from your small, yet mighty fists.

“Room two-B, now please, Miss!” The bartender cries, and immediately you release your grip. He springs back up with wide eyes, glancing between you and Arthur as he rubs at the new ache in his neck. He points a finger at Arthur, looking shocked and afraid.

“Y-You better learn to control your wife mister!” The bartender yells.

You’re surprised to watch as Arthur’s smirk falls into a deadly glare. It’s threatening, scary if you didn’t know him. He takes a step towards the bar, and the tender steps back.

“You best watch your tongue, boy. I hear you talkin’ about any woman like that again I’ll put you in the ground.” Arthur growls. Even you are thrown off at this point. The bartender has the fear of god in his eyes as he nods coyly at Arthur. Gone is his earlier confidence and nonchalance, replaced by pure terror at Arthur’s threatening stance.

Without another word, Arthur heads in the direction of the stairs. You’re once again left reeling and catching up to him.

“Hey, you okay?” You whisper, jogging up the steps behind him.

“Yeah, just can’t stand fellers like that one. Goddamn fool.” He says, passing a few women for hire as he climbs the staircase with you. Trying to make light of the situation, you nudge Arthur with your elbow, chastising him lightly.

“All these women here, I’m surprised you didn’t take his offer.”

Arthur apparently doesn’t find your joke funny. He’s in such a sour mood today, and everything feels off as he turns a little to address you.

“Just cause I run with a bunch of degenerates don’t mean I’m one too. I ain’t never bought a woman, never seen a woman as something to be bought.” Arthur hisses, irritated as he walks up the rest of the stairs without you. You sigh, shaking your head a little as you follow after him, leaving some distance between the two of you.

As you reach the top, sliding your hand along the wooden railing that overlooks the bar down below, you pull your mask over your nose in time with Arthur. He approaches the door, labeled “2B” in fancy gold lettering.

“Mr. Clifton?” Arthur hollers, lightly knocking on the door. His other hand rests on the grip of his revolver, just in case.

“Uh, yes? Is this about the mouse? Please I told them I’d pay extra if you’d get this vermin out of my room. I paid good money for this place and I will not tolerate rodents.” The accent that reaches your ears through the doors is one of European descent. A British man, you assume, come to make his fortune in the West. Well, it worked. He struck oil, as they say. Arthur turns and glances to you with a hilarious look on his face of confusion, on account of the mouse dilemma, you assume.

“Yeah, we’re here about the goddamn mouse, now open up.” Arthur says, patience clearly growing thin with the man.

You can hear the room’s lock click before the door slowly opens, just a crack. Arthur pushes his hand against the wood, forcing the door open with a slam.

“Gavin! Good to meet you. Now me, you and the lady, we’re just gonna have a little chat the rest of the evening. Just until about..” Arthur stops, pulling out his golden pocket watch, not the platinum that rests on your nightstand from Tumbleweed, “what do you say? Eight o clock? That sound good, mister?”

Arthur’s acting is on point, threatening the man without ever speaking a word of violence. From an outside perspective it sounds like he’s just talking to an old friend. It’s played up and sarcastic, but hell, it's effective. The room is big, with a large red comforted bed in the middle of the room. Opposite of the bed is a set of glass doors, now covered with curtains, but if pulled back there’s a balcony overlooking the docks. The room has a small counter with various expensive liquors and a yellow sofa with an ottoman.

Clifton is a short, chubby man with little glasses resting over his beady eyes. His outfit is expensive, and his hair, what's left of it, is neatly combed to the side. He stumbles back, completely flustered, confused and afraid. The backs of his knees hit the king sized bed that rests in the center of the room, and he sits in exasperation on the mattress.

“I- I have someplace to be! I have to be at an auction in just thirty minutes! Listen, whatever you yokels want I can get you, but if you kill me, you’ll never escape the bounty hunters.”

Arthur chuckles at this, pulling his lasso out of his satchel and stretching the rope a little to check its tightness. You watch as he moves to the bed, tying Cliftons hands behind his back.

“Well y’know, I’ve been running from bounty hunters my whole life and they ain’t got me yet. But don’t you worry, I ain’t gonna kill ya. Unless I have to… am I gonna have to? Mr. Clifton? Arthur asks, once again playing up his charisma for the benefit of the job. Clifton shakes his head rapidly, sweating in fear as he looks between you and Arthur.

“No! No, you’re not going to-”

Clifton thumps against the bed as Arthur knocks him out with the butt of his pistol. His arm is so fast, you barely noticed it until Clifton was knocked out cold. Arthur holsters his gun, and you can see as his charismatic facade falls away. Gone is the witty, threatening, sarcastic outlaw, and returned to you is Arthur. He turns to you slowly, pulling his mask down around his neck.

“He ain’t wakin’ up for a bit. We can just wait here until Hosea gives us the go ahead. He’s gonna ride by when the auctions done, whistle up to the deck,” Arthur nods in the direction of the glass doors before walking over to it and opening it.. “I’ll leave one open so we can hear when he comes by, should be over just after dark. Once Cornwall has that property he’s gonna send us the money in the mail.”

You nod, glancing at Clifton’s unconscious body once more before sliding down the wall to rest on the wooden floor. After Arthur fixes the door, he comes over to your spot. He sits down against the wall beside you, careful not to poke you with his spurs as he does so.

“Here.”

Arthur pulls a little burlap sack out of his satchel and hands it out to you. Curiously, you peek inside of it. To your surprise, it's almonds, and you reach down into the sack to pull a few of the sweet nuts out. Arthur does the same, and for a few minutes you sit in silence, chewing on your snack and watching the waves on the lake through the open door. Watching the water piques your interest, and the question bubbles up before you’ve even thought about it.

“When’s the ferry supposed to come anyways?” You say somewhat quietly, as if your voice could break the serenity of the afternoon. The sun is just beginning to dip below the lake, casting the town, and Arthur in a beautiful golden halo. You find yourself staring, wondering if it’s the golden light that is making Arthur look so handsome right now, or if it’s just him. With a blush, you shake the thought out of your head. Arthur brings his fist to his mouth, dropping a few almonds into it before answering your question.

“About three days, I think. But ferries can be unpredictable. We’ve got one of our men, Javier, set up in a camp nearby watching for it. If he sees it, he comes and gets the rest.” Your eyebrows pull together as you try to recall Javier from camp, and you deduce that you haven’t met this particular man yet. Arthur’s demeanor shifts, you see the slouch in his shoulders, and the downcast look of his face. Slowly, he brings his eyes up to yours.

“You leavin’ before then?” Arthur asks almost sheepishly, as if he’s afraid of your answer.

You look down at your feet, watching the golden light reflect on your spurs.You don't even have to think about it. Earlier, you’d already decided to stay, but you can feel your reasoning change. Leaving the gang would not only leave you on the streets, it would leave you without family, and as you look up to meet Arthur’s gaze, you realize that you can't lose them- you can't lose him.

You’re terrified by what it means, and you shove the emotion deep down to answer his question.

“No… where would I go? You lot are all I have now. Jenny, Lenny, Abigail and the girls, John, Jack, you.”

Arthur brings his right knee up, digging his heel into the wood floor as he rests the back of his head against the wall.

"You know what you're gettin' yourself into then…?" Arthur whispers. You chuckle a bit, thinking of the gang. So far from who you've met, they're some of the kindest folks you've ever known.

"Arthur, I was a wanted woman long before I met you." You remind him.

"I know, but it's- it's different. We're a target. And sometimes we gotta do things that-" Arthur pauses, thinking over his words for a moment, "I just don't want you gettin' mixed up with us and then regrettin' it."

"Arthur, I won't regret it. Now if I went off on my own, gettin' taken advantage of and selling myself, instead of staying here with you lot? I'd regret that for the rest of my days." You counter, watching the gentle lapping of water at the bank of the river, and the kids that are kicking a ball around the deck. It's not that Arthur wants you to leave, he wants you to stay but he knows this life. He knows the pain of loss and fear and grief that running with them will grant you. If you stay and plan on running with the men, you'll have to kill. There will come a time when it's someone else's life or yours and by god he can't have you out if you're not ready to make that decision.

"The man you killed- why you're wanted. Tell me what happened." Arthur asks. At the mention you look down to your hands.

"Well my momma was real sick, she died when I was about fifteen. And then it was just me and Pa." You chuckle lightly, "and my daddy, well he didn't know anything about teenage girls."

Arthur laughs at the thought, surely you were a handful as a teenager.

"And he tried, he tried so hard to raise me good, but after momma he just couldn't. He drank. God- Arthur he drank so much that if he weren't killed he would surely be dead by now." A few tears fall down your cheeks and you hastily wipe them away, not wanting to be seen crying.

"And he spent all our money on liquor. Brandy was his preferred poison, but once he ran out of money he drank anything he could get his hands on. He was different. He was meaner and nasty, but deep down inside I knew he was just my daddy, and he was hurtin' just as much as I was."

Arthur watches the few tears that drip down your nose, and his heart breaks for you. He knows the feeling all too well, unfortunately.

"He started takin' out loans, and after the bank wouldn't give him any more he started goin' to loan sharks. Nasty men came by the house all the time, givin' and takin' money. They took all mommas jewelry, they took my things…"

Arthur's full attention is on you as you toy with a wrinkle on your jeans, distracting your body from the turmoil in your mind.

"And one day we had nothin' left to give. He gave it all away. And so this man came in, busted the door down and beat my Pa, right in front of me Arthur, like I wasn't even there to see. He wasn't movin' and I tried to get him up, I tried so hard, but he was gone."

The tears flow freely down your cheeks, and you don't try to stop them this time, letting them silently trail down your face as you recall the nightmare of a time.

"I knew how to track, and I took my daddy's gun that he had hidden away. I followed the man's horse, till I came up on a little camp that he must have just set up for one or two nights… and I- I killed him."

Arthur doesn't move a muscle, fixating on the pain on your face and wishing that he could take it from you. But the hurt runs deep, it won't go away, not ever, and he knows from experience.

"After it was done I found a note in his pocket… My daddy's debt was fifteen dollars. Just fifteen goddamn dollars for his life. I would have done anything to have had that money."

Arthur leans over, and much to your surprise, he envelops you in a hug. You tense up for a second, unsure, but instinct takes over and you melt into his touch. His arms are strong around you, respectful of course, as Arthur is nothing short of a gentleman. And as you shed quiet tears into his shirt you let out a held in breath. You needed this. It's been far too long since you've been embraced by another. You wrap your arms around Arthur's torso, sniffling lightly. You feel so small in his arms, wholly covered and protected by him. You’ve been watching out for yourself for so long, it feels nice to have someone to watch your back.

"I'm real sorry, I know how this-"

Arthur stops and tenses at the sound of whistles. Carefully he lets you go, and rushes towards the open door, placing his back against the wall so that he can peek outside without being seen. You follow his lead, glancing out and gasping at the sight. A large ferry is pulling alongside the docks, huge and white with shimmering gold rails in the streetlights. You can make out a few silhouettes of people along the docks, and you wonder if Javier has already alerted the gang of its arrival.

“Ferry’s here folks!” You hear a man call out from the dock, to which some claps and cheers sound out. The ferry is full of rich passengers, who’s pockets will soon be left empty thanks to the Van Der Linde Gang.

“Arthur, what do we do? Are they down there?” You ask, anxiety causing your heart to beat quickly as you scan the dock in search of familiar faces. He is doing the same, and you glance over, not missing the worry on his face. When he feels your eyes on him he attempts to comfort you with a small smile.

“It’ll be just fine. They’ve got this.” He whispers, but you can see that it’s a facade, you know he’s worried.

You both watch out the door for a while, a few passengers have started to straggle off the boat, and then you hear the first gunshot. Gasps and shrieks of fear from the boat cause your stomach to turn, and your knuckles turn white from the tension. You need to do something. Your friends are down there and you have a bad feeling about the whole situation. A few moments after the warning shot is fired, lawmen’s whistles begin to go off, and you watch as men with shiny gold deputy stars on their chests run onto the docks.

“Arthur I gotta go do something, we can’t just stay up here.” You plead, and he purses his lips as if greatly thinking over his options.

Arthur kneels down against the door, staying out of the way of any wandering eyes from the street and dock down below.

“Okay someone’s gotta warn Hosea. You know where the property is. Take Bo, she's faster than your buckskin. I'm gonna head back to camp and warn the others. They gotta start packin’, if this goes south we gotta get outta here fast.” He says, glancing to where Clifton is still knocked out on the bed.

“And him?” You ask, gesturing to the oil man.

“We leave him here, ropes ain’t tight he can get himself free when he wakes up. We got bigger

problems right now. Let’s go.”

With that he stands up, and moves to the door. You both rush down the steps, attempting not to look suspicious despite the rushed walk. The bar holds more patrons than it did earlier, and you can slip out easily enough by walking between the crowd of people. Arthur pushes the saloon door open ahead of you, holding it until you’re out before running to the hitching posts.

“Keep your head down, ride fast, and be careful. Don’t get hurt, alright?” Arthur asks before jumping onto the Buckskin and spurring him towards camp. You watch the dust that the horse kicks up before moving your attention to the docks. There’s a few lawmen on the docks, guns aimed at the ferry. They haven't shot yet, not wanting to miss and kill the passengers who are being robbed inside.

You’re frozen in a state of shock, as a shot goes off from inside the boat, and the front half of the ferry explodes into a fury of flames. You gasp, stepping backwards towards Boadicea, who you should be on and far away with right now, but you can’t force your muscles to move. There's so much yelling coming from the boat, and fiery pieces of debris fall down into the water, sizzling and steaming. Flames erupt over the front of the boat, along with fearful screams. The noise and sight of the explosion has spooked all of the horses nearby, and you watch as a few of the gang members' horses that were hitched on the dock run away.

“Shit, Shit, Shit.” You curse, knowing that you have to help them. Hosea is safe where he is, but who knows how bad the explosion was? You glance to Boadicea, petting her neck lightly.

“I'll be right back girl.” You promise before running towards the ferry. Your heart pounds in your ears as adrenaline pumps through your veins. There’s a handful of lawmen on the deck, and you sneak behind stacked crates to avoid them, pulling your revolver out of its holster just in case. In the windows of the ferry you see Dutch and Micah approaching the door, along with a man you presume to be Javier.

“They’re coming out, shoot to kill! The detectives should be here soon!” One of the lawmen, presumably the sheriff yells, and you stumble backwards at his statement, head going dizzy from all of it.

The detectives?

Dutch bursts the ferry door open, guns raised as he fires. There's a saddle bag hanging off of his shoulders, stuffed to the brim with cash and gold. Your eyes boggle at the thought of how much must be in it. Three lawmen go down from his shots, giving you the opportunity to run to the boat. You break for it, ducking from the haze of bullets and heading straight for the edge of the dock.

“We are getting out of here!” Dutch yells out, silencing a few more yelling lawmen with his guns.

You run past Dutch, through the door of the ferry and gasp at the sight. Many of the passengers are dead, both from the explosion and the guns of the Van Der Lindes. Your jaw falls slack and you look up in disgust at a chuckling Micah. He also has a full saddlebag over his shoulder, and a sickening grin on his face.

“Oh we’re just gettin’ started missy.” He chuckles, and you recoil at the sound. There’s a small group of passengers still in their seats, trembling in fear and ducking down. It makes you sick to see what they’ve done and for a moment you deeply regret coming back to help.

Javier follows Micah out of the door silently, and then you see Charles and Jenny, struggling with a body. Charles is groaning with pain, and you notice the bloody burn that covers his hand before you recognize the body he’s helping to carry.

“Oh my god.” You whisper, hands clasped over your mouth as they struggle to carry Davey out of the boat.

“We need to get out of here, right now Dutch!” Charles growls, angry, challenging Dutch’s decisions.

“Clearly!” Dutch yells, shooting down the last of the lawmen before making a run for the horses. You do the same, running to the saloon’s hitching post and grabbing Boadicea’s reins before jumping into the saddle. You grimace at the sound of Charles throwing Davey onto Micah’s horse.

“Where’s Sean? Mac?” Javier calls out, jumping onto Boaz.

“I don’t know, son, but we will come back for them.” Dutch hollers out.

Just as you’re about to spur Arthur’s mare, you hear the sound of pounding hooves. It's like a war chant, the rumbling of hooves slamming down the roads towards town. The ground shakes with their power and you canter towards the other gang members, terrified.

“They got the goddamn Pinkertons on us! Bastards!” Dutch practically screams, looking feral and as if any form of rationality has left him. You don’t even recognize him, and you try to ignore the blood that is staining his hands and once white shirt. You don’t know what happened on that ferry before you made it down, but it was something awful.

Everyone, including you, pulls out their weapons and starts firing. You watch a swarm of men in black suits gallop down the slope from the plains, brandishing carbines.

“Look at me, we’ll be okay honey. You stick with me, alright?” Jenny calls to you, and you nod your head, leaning off of Bo for a moment to squeeze Jenny’s hand. When she releases, you pull your revolvers out and start firing at the swarm.

Pinkertons fall, alongside their horses. Your stomach aches, your head is pounding from the adrenaline and the trauma. As everyone shoots, a hole opens up and you all spur your horses to break for camp.

“Everyone get goin’ now! Leave none of them breathing!” Dutch screams over the shots.

Shots continue to ring out as you push Boadicea past the church and towards home. You try not to think, kissing and begging the mare to keep running as you turn to take down as many Pinkertons as you can. You aim, taking down three men quickly. Their horses continue running, as if oblivious to their riders' deaths.

Jenny is galloping her horse beside you, and she curses as she fires the last round from her revolver.

“Goddamnit!” She yells, and you try to hold off the detectives as much as you can while she reloads.

Another shot rings out, just like the hundreds that are being thrown across the plains, but this one doesn’t miss. Warm, crimson blood splatters across your face and you gasp, watching as Jenny’s limp body slides down to the ground off of her horse,

“NO!” You shriek, sliding Boadicea into a stop and leaping down from her.

“Jenny- no, no, no… you’re okay, you’re alright.” You coo, pushing your hands over the wound in her chest. Tears fall from your eyes, landing on her body that is growing colder by the second. She weakly grabs your hand, looking up to you with teary eyes while shaking her head in protest. Bullets are whizzing above your head as you lean over your friend, begging a higher power to stop this nightmare.

“Get back please- don’t… don’t stay out here. Please get back, please tell,” Jenny chokes on a sob, red coughing up from her lips, “Please tell Lenny how much I love him.”

You nod, tears dripping from your eyes as the shots quiet. The Pinkertons have all been killed, and the gang stands around on sweating, steaming horses in shock. Everyone’s eyes are on you and Jenny in horror. Jenny’s grip on your hand grows weaker by the second, until it slips away from your own entirely. Your breath hitches as you look up to find her eyes glassy and unmoving, her chest has stopped rising. Everything is still, and you sob, shaking her shoulders and begging her to get back up. Her long blonde hair falls around her head, turning crimson from the blood that is soaked onto your hands. It’s everywhere, everything, all you see is red.

“No… no, Jenny p-please, we have to go please get up. No- no, no!” You scream into the wretched night, leaning your forehead against her arm and crying. You don’t even care that the gang is watching, your only concern is your friend. The once giggling girl who’s carefree, bubbly attitude shone around her like a halo. She was good, and now she's gone.

“Oh not sweet Jenny too… Goddamnit! Put her on your horse, we have to go right now!” Dutch yells, and you look at him with pure hatred. This is his fault, and you hate him with a burning passion at the moment, but you know he’s right, you have to go.

“I can’t- I’m not-” You cry, and Javier notices, jumping down from Boaz. He picks up Jenny carefully, and your eyes follow after him as he puts her body on the back of his horse, like she's a bounty, or a damn hunted animal. Everyone begins galloping back, save for you and Charles. He’s noticed that you’re frozen in shock in the dirt, and he won’t leave you here. You’ve not seen much of him, but if Arthur trusts him, then so do you. You’re frozen on your knees, and Charles slides down from Taima, beckoning you to leave with him from a few feet away. Boadicea is still standing at your back, seemingly uneasy and afraid. Her tail swishes, and her ears are pinned from fear and frustration, as if she wants to help you, wants to get you out of here.

“Hey, I know this is hard, but we need to get out of here, c’mon.” Charles insists, voice calm even in the chaos. You nod quietly, finally standing up and moving towards Boadicea. You pet her neck, wiping your tears before gripping onto the saddle horn.

“O-okay” you whisper, numbly.

A shot rips through the once quiet night, landing at your feet and you whip around to see one last Pinkerton hiding behind a lonely oak tree on the plain.

“Shit!” You curse, pulling out your revolver and taking aim. He’s in a spot that’s hard to aim at. His position behind the tree is perfect for him to pop in and out, firing shots without taking any.

You squeeze the trigger and the bullet whizzes past his head. The finely dressed man pops out from the tree, quickly shooting his weapon.

You gasp as a searing, burning pain shoots through your thigh. The force causes you to stumble backwards and fall onto your butt, and you grip at the shooting pain. Boadicea steps forward, putting her nose to the ground to nudge at you, as if checking if you’re alright. You cry out, pushing down on the wound to stop the blood that is gushing from it. Unbeknownst to you, the Pinkerton still has his sights on your head. Charles aims, shoots, and kills the Pinkerton…but he is a split second too late.

A squeal reaches your ears, and a loud boom as Boadicea rears, and then falls to the ground at your side.

“NO, no no. Please, not you too. No-” You sob, crawling over to her and ignoring the scorching, shredding pain in your thigh as you lean over the mare’s neck.

You pet her, watching her eyes grow weary and her breaths get weaker. Her legs kick out lightly, of course she’s still putting up a fight, even in death. Her chestnut coat is turning dark with blood, seeping from her neck and pooling on the ground. Your hands are the same shade of crimson, alongside your shirt and pants. Whether it’s your own, Jenny’s or Bo’s, you’re not sure. You stroke her neck, pulling the bit out of her mouth and sliding her bridle off amidst broken, strangled sobs. You’ve lost too much today. Not her too. Charles steps over, revolver in hand with one last bullet in the gun’s barrel. You know what has to be done, but god, you can’t watch, and you're not strong enough to do it yourself.

Charles' hand rests on your shoulder, and you whimper, turning your head around and covering your ears to soften the shot that will surely ring out in a moment. You squint your eyes shut, anticipation running through your body and causing your hands to tremble and shake over your ears.

The last gun that is fired tonight doesn’t end the life of a lawman, or a pinkerton. No, the last shot that pierces the silent night ends the quiet suffering of Arthur’s beloved Boadicea. When you open your eyes, she’s gone, put out of her misery by Charles’ smoking gun. Tears fall down your cheeks silently, as Charles helps you to your feet. You cry out, grasping at your thigh. It's bleeding heavily and you put pressure on it as you walk.

“Cmon, I'll put you on the back of Taima.” Charles whispers, calling the appaloosa over before picking you up by your waist and helping you onto the back of his horse. The outlaw mutters apologies as you grimace in pain.

The ride is silent, save for Taima’s hooves and your groans of pain as the galloping pulls at your gunshot wound uncomfortably. The reality of what’s just happened settles, but you can’t seem to rid yourself of the shock. In a way you’re grateful for it. The adrenaline makes the shot through your leg bearable, and keeps all the emotions you’re going to deal with at bay for now. You glance down to your left thigh, scowling as you get a good look at it for the first time. The wound is big and messy, the bastard shot you with a goddamn rifle.

You don’t even realize you’ve made it back to camp, mind still reeling with horrendous memories from the night. Some of the adrenaline has worn off and your thigh throbs in pain. It has bled down your leg, soaking your sock and boot in the sticky red liquid, along with Taima’s back leg. It hits you that you’re back when Charles dismounts. A flurry of people are rushing around camp, tearing apart what used to be your home. Tents are packed into wagons, but crates and pelts and belongings lie abandoned in the dirt. Your eyes follow the things that are being left behind. Jack's books, people’s pictures, clothes, your watch from Arthur in Tumbleweed, they all remain abandoned as everyone files into wagons and onto horses. Charles helps you down off of Taima, and you cry in pain when your feet hit the ground, sending a white hot stab of pain through your leg.

“Charles?!” A voice calls out- a familiar one. You see Arthur, dismounting your buckskin a few feet away. He looks panicked, probably on account of the blood that has soaked through all of your clothes. Unbeknownst to him, most of it isn’t yours.

“What happened?! Shit- are you alright?” Arthur runs over, gently placing his hands on your arms and scanning over your body. You can’t bring yourself to nod, to lie.

“No…” You choke on a cry as Arthur envelops you in the tightest hug you’ve ever been held in. Just for a moment, when his arms are wrapped around you, everything is okay. It’s over far too quickly, as someone across camp calls out to him for help.

“Hosea, I-” You whisper, remembering your original task. It hits you like a wall of bricks, you were supposed to warn him and you failed. Arthur nods, glancing down to your thigh.

“Don’t worry, I know. We got him. When you weren’t back I sent Uncle after him, he’s good for somethin’ at least.” Arthur says, glancing back to Grimshaw who is yelling after him.

“Now, look at me. We gotta go right now. You’re strong, I know you are. I need you to hold on to that strength just a little longer for me, okay?” you nod, bloodshot, teary eyes glancing up to lock onto Arthurs, “I'm gonna put you up in the wagon with the girls. They’ll get your leg fixed up in no time, here.” Arthur pulls his dark neckerchief from earlier over his head, and kneels into the mud.

“This is gonna hurt, I'm sorry but I gotta make it tight.” He says, wrapping the cloth around your thigh, careful not to touch you other than where he needs to. He ties the cloth just above your wound, pulling the neckerchief tight. You grip onto his strong shoulder, digging your nails into his shirt as the tight knot pulls uncomfortably at the wound. You groan at the pain, trying to push it away.

Once Arthur deems the makeshift tourniquet tight enough, he stands back up, ushering you towards the wagon. The girls are already inside. All but one… Abigail, Tilly, Marybeth and Karen are all huddling together, whispering to Jack who is crying into his little fists. His cheeks are red and raw from the salty tears that have traced down his puffy cheeks.

“Johns gone to scout ahead and clear the roads, took Micah with him” Abigail explains.

There’s no time for further explanation as Arthur’s hands grip onto your waist, carefully hoisting you up into the wooden wagon. He apologizes as you wince, settling you down before glancing behind him, as if looking for something.

Oh…

“Where…where’s Boadicea?” Arthur asks, looking to you like he already knows the answer but is just hoping for a different one.

Your face crumples into tears yet again, and you wipe them away while trying to look Arthur in the eyes.

“She didn’t-” you shake your head, “She didn’t make it. Arthur, I'm so sorry.” You hiccup.

A pain, old and deep, flashes across Arthur’s face for a moment as he bows his head, jaw clenched in pain as he hides the emotion behind his hat. He nods, fighting back something deep within himself before growling a bit, deep in his chest.

“Did she-” Arthur gestures towards Blackwater with his hand, and you don’t miss the tears that have welled in his eyes, although he refuses to let them fall, “She suffer?” He asks, looking up at you with an emotion so raw, that it has you crying. You shake your head, knowing that she didn’t. Charles stopped that from happening and you’re grateful that he was there.

Arthur nods, pushing down the emotion like he always does. He attempts to comfort you with a small smile, but it is broken and painful.

“You need anything’, anythin’ at all, have someone come and get me, okay?” Arthur whispers, before turning to head back towards Charles.

You scooch yourself back against the wood grain of the wagon, wishing that you could fall into the earth and be swallowed whole. Your typical hellfire attitude has been broken today, beaten down by the traumas that you’ve been handed. It will come back, and you’ll be okay. But now? You’re not.

Abigail leans over towards you, letting go of Jack with one arm to wrap it around you. You lean into her touch, closing your eyes as Tilly and Mrs. Grimshaw gather around you with Strauss’ medical kit.

They pull and prod at your leg, forcing the bullet out and sewing the flesh back together. When they dig the bullet out with sharp metal tongs, ripping and tearing through your skin, you cry out, screaming for all of the Van Der Linde gang to hear as they start the journey north. But no one complains. It’s preferable to the deafening silence.

The pain you feel is nothing compared to the constant ache of loss as you numbly stare at Jenny’s body that had been stacked on top of Davey’s in front of you for the trip north. They’ve been covered with a white sheet, but the all too familiar crimson has soaked through the material, staining it and forever ruining its purity.

It’s much like the blood that has soaked into your clothes, splattered across your skin. You could scrub it away for hours on end, but it will never really be gone. Not in the way you want it to. The memories from today are burned into your mind, like a sickening brand that you’ll carry with you for years.

Now, sitting in the back of the rocking wagon, stained with blood and tears, surrounded by the soft cries of your friends, the bodies of friends, you know why you’ve put up your walls. When Arthur rides past to check up on you, and the horse under him is a spotted appaloosa instead of the familiar, warm chestnut mare, you know why you haven’t allowed yourself the comfort of a family… because good people die.

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x y/n #arthur morgan x you #red dead redemption two #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 fanfic

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