#I know they do. they don’t make ME feel better though . I want to see mySELF represented for once

[cursingtoji]

the cardio machine i want is on the cardio machine

cw: gym rat toji x loser!gf - size kink, sweat kink (?), toji is a big old meanie. loser!gf series: geto gojo nanami.

loser!reader who, like a million other sedentary people on new year’s eve, said “new year new me” and proceeded to enroll at the local gym.

gym rat!toji who knew how things are in the beginning of the year, so the first week he arrives one hour earlier than usual to avoid all the lazy fucks that won’t last two months.

of course he makes a few mental bets on the ones that would quit and how long it would take, you included.

it’s easy to spot the “i don’t want lift weights cause i don’t want look jacked” type of girl.

at the breaks between one set and the other he looked around, not surprised to see you slowing down the treadmill after running not even two whole minutes.

sometimes he caught you staring at him through the mirror, not an uncommon occurrence amonst the women there, though you surprised him one day by tapping his shoulder after he finishing his weighted squats.

“can you… give me a few tips?” he looked so intimidated, from up close his shoulders looked like a wall, he stared at you from above, dark green eyes seemed to be heavily judging you, “never mind this was a bad idea, sorry” you turned around, grabbing you bottle and running off the gym.

by the time you managed to gather the courage to show your face back there two whole weeks had passed.

“consistency is the key you know” you were distracted looking down your phone while slowly walking the treadmill when the handsome man appeared beside you, the sudden presence destabilized you.

before you could become the viral video of the week when inevitably a gym employee decides to post the security footage of your ass rolling off the active treadmill, toji wrapped one big arm around your waist and pulled you to the stable floor.

“you caught me off guard the other day” he said completely unfazed by saving you from a life of embarrassment, “then you disappeared.”

“yeah i didn’t know if i wanted to come back anyways, i haven’t see any results so far” you pulled the hem of your shirt down.

toji snorted, “‘course you ain’t seeing results, sweetheart, you don’t lift.”

“well, it’s hard…” toji rolled his eyes, there was always an excuse.

though he also did a new year’s resolution of being more patient, for his kids primarily but teaching a cute thing like you could be a good exercise too.

soon enough, toji was correcting your form, texting you asking why you haven’t showed up to the gym and ringing your bell incessantly when you complained about muscle pain and said you wouldn't go that day.

“it’ll feel better once you start to move” he explained, resting on your door frame when you opened the door on your pajamas.

“let me alone, just today” you whined.

“you asked for my help now go put on something without cartoons on it” he waited for you to turn around and slapped your butt. it had been only one week he was coaching you but there was already a weird intimacy due to the fact he was pretty much always looking at your body and touching you.

to correct your form. obviously.

"what do i have to do today, coach fushiguro?" you asked from your bedroom through an ajar door which allowed toji to get a peek at your pink underwear and cute ass.

"cardio, bicycle first. get some blood flowing on those sore muscles" he tilted his head and raised his eyebrows watching you bend over to grab a biker shorts at the lowest drawer then holding back a laughter at the grunt of pain coming from you.

"once it gets better i can teach you other types of cardio" he walked around your kitchen examining your cabinets and stuff you kept in your fridge. needless to say it was all junk.

"can't wait" you replied sarcastically, failing to understand the meaning.

it took a few more days till you got used to toji's training, then he decided to focus on your upper body.

"such a simple movement, how do you manage to get that wrong?" he raised from the bench he was sitting behind you watching your form through the mirror. you almost dropped the weights at your feet when he came close. it was almost scary how much bigger than you he was especially seeing it throght the mirror. his right hand wrapped around yours on the dumbell and his bicep touched your arm as he pushed your arm closer to your body, "tuck your elbows in, straight your back" his free hand pushed your shoulders till they were touching his chest.

how come he smelled so good, so... musky and...

"are you even making any force?" he lowered his head, his reflection looking annoyed. so you decided to ignore the sudden heat between your thighs and flex your arm the way he taught you.

and just like he promised, when you were consistent enough and handling a good 5 minute run he decided to show you a more pleasing cardio.

"toji please~" you whined, thighs burning from riding him, you were using his rock hard abdomen as a support, but still.

"one more minute, come on" he looked at the watch on his wrist and slapped your ass, "haven't i prep-ed you good enough?" his thumb rubbed your bottom lip then pushed in meeting your tongue, where you tasted yourself in his digits one hour after he ringed your bell and said he was going to reward your good discipline, but he had to strech you first.

"good girl" you felt his abdomn flex when he raised from his laying position on your bed, "now leave it to daddy" he pecked your lips and quickly changed positions, putting a pillow under your ass and rolling his neck to start his cardio of the day.

[ditzydoe444]

okay wait cuz what about jason tries to make his pillow princess work for it to see what happens but she just gets soo tired easily :(( she doesnt know how to work in sex!!! so jay feels all bad (even tho seeing her struggle to please him does make him feel things) and takes control!!

— your fav, 🍓

MDNI 18+

a/n: i love all of your requests sm anon 😵‍💫😵‍💫

“come on sweetheart, it ain’t that hard,” jason cooed as he watched you bounce on his cock, your lips out in a pout whilst you whined. “s-so tired jacey,” your thighs were burning as you barely caught your breath. your chest was going up and down heavily with each breath you took, your arms trembling as they gripped his broad shoulders.

“sometimes you need to work for what you want, can’t have you just layin’ down looking all pretty whilst i do every can i?”

yes he can, and that was exactly what you wanted. you loved being a his little pillow princess, just laying down taking his cock whilst he did everything. now you actually had to work to get some sort of release and you weren’t sure if it was even worth it.

you were all hot and bothered, your hair stuck to your forehead and cheeks flushed from your frantic and desperate movements. “t-tired,” you mumbled, your movements slowing down.

a low chuckle escaped jason, “worn you out have i?” he teased, his large calloused hand touching your cheek softly. “want me to take over?”

you nodded eagerly, you were already knocked out from a couple of minutes, you weren’t going to handle this for any longer. jason didn’t hesitate to take over as he switched your position from cowgirl to a mating press, his large body pinning you down.

“such a pathetic little thing aren’t ya?” he grunted as his thrusts picked up, his balls slapping against your ass. “can’t even bounce in it hm?”

secretly though, jason loved it. he loved how pathetic and dependent you were on him to make you feel good, how only he could make you come. “this feel better sweet thing?”

“y-yes jacey,” you moaned as your arms tightened around his neck, “bet it does, you making all of those sweet cute noises.” jason loves the way your mouth opened in an ‘o’ shape, and how your eyes would roll back with each thrust.

“now tell me why i should let you come sweet thing, you’ve barley worked for it.”

“m-mph, don’t be mean jacey,” you whined as you snuggled into his neck, attempting to give kisses as a poor attempt of persuading him. “trying to bribe me with kisses now huh?” he smirked seeing how pathetic you were. “didn’t think you were that desperate.”

“p-please jacey, let me come?” you pleaded as sweetly as you could, giving him your best puppy eyes. jason’s eyes sparkled seeing your face, “aw sweetheart, you really want to come hm?”

“next time you need to work for it alright? i’ll be nice this time.”

[fear-is-truth]

❝ WITH THE LIGHTS OUT, IT’S LESS DANGEROUS ❞

warnings — murder mention. s2 spoilers. suggestive pairing — nam-gyu x f!reader word count — 745 a/n — english is not my first language sorry

THE DORMITORY IS UNNERVINGLY QUIET TONIGHT, just the occasional cough or the faint rustle of shifting blankets break the stillness, but even those small sounds seem out of place. the events of the night before hang like a disaster on a frayed piano string, threatening to snap at any second. bodies are still sore, bruised, and battered from the chaos that erupted when the lights went out—violence erupting in the pitch black, leaving a trail of terror in its wake. the air reeks faintly of sweat and fear, mingled with the metallic tang of blood that had dried into dark brown stains on the floor.

the thanos team is completely disbanded, not that you cared, anyway. you didn’t much like the rapper anyway, but his death felt like a strange relief—a violent severing of a bond you never wanted in the first place. se-mi, though. your chest tightens at the thought of her. se-mi didn’t deserve what happened to her. you don’t even know how she died—no one does.

now it’s just you, min-su, and that asshole nam-gyu.

min-su doesn’t say much these days. he sticks close but keeps his distance at the same time, like he’s not sure if you’re allies or just temporary survivors sharing the same sinking ship. nam-gyu, though, you don’t trust that prick.

you’ve learned to sleep lightly, one ear always tuned to the sounds of the room. and tonight, something feels… off. the faintest sound of movement makes you jolt awake, fingers instinctively curling around the shard of glass tucked in your sleeve.

“relax.” even without seeing him, you know it’s nam-gyu. the last person you want to deal with in the near darkness. “what are you doing?” you whisper harshly, fear twisting into irritation as his silhouette moves closer. he doesn’t answer, just shoves your legs aside like he has every right to be there. the audacity of this man.

“move.”

“get off,” you shove at his shoulder, but it’s like trying to push a wall. he wedges himself onto your narrow bunk, his body pressing flush against yours.

“someone needs to keep an eye on you.”

“you’ve gotta be kidding me.”

“not after what you did last night,” his arm bumps into your ribs as he makes himself more comfortable. “you’re better at playing dirty than i thought.” you bristle at the words. from anyone else, it might sound like begrudging respect, but from nam-gyu, it feels like a thinly veiled insult. after all, you were just trying to make it out alive.

“then keep an eye on me from your own bed.”

“what bed?” he snaps. you realise belatedly that his mattress must’ve been stolen during the free-for-all. you open your mouth to argue further, but nam-gyu suddenly wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you down against the mattress with him.

“shut up,” he hisses, breath warm against your cheek. “you think i trust you after everything? you’re lucky i’m still on your side, or you’d already be dead.”

the shard of glass digs into your palm, and you loosen your grip, debating whether to stay still or stab him. the latter is very tempting. a chill runs through you, but it isn’t fear. not entirely. his grip on you is unyielding, almost desperate, as if holding onto you because he doesn’t know what else to do with thanos gone.

“this isn’t necessary.”

“stop moving,” he hisses. you shift again, uncomfortable because there’s something hard pressed against your lower back. “unless you want to wake everyone up. trust me, they’ll have a field day when they see us all cuddled up.”

“this isn’t cuddling. it’s you being a creep.”

“call it what you want, just quit squirming for god’s sake.” he grouses, “you’ll just make it worse.” nam-gyu moves again, adjusting himself discreetly.

“make what worse?” the words tumble out before you can stop them, but the second they do, you freeze.

then it dawns on you.

oh.

heat rushes to your face, mortified as the realisation settles in. you freeze, hyperaware of every inch of him against you—the solid weight of his chest, the curve of his thigh pressed to yours, and now… the unmistakable press of his hardened cock slotted firmly against your ass. nam-gyu clears his throat awkwardly.

“just go to sleep.” the edge in his tone is softened by exhaustion, one that mirrors your own. “we’ll figure out the rest tomorrow.”

 fear-is-truth 2025 — all rights reserved. do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarise my content.

[joemama-2]

it’s late at night. he’s already situated on the bed, seeing you come into the room with unkempt hair, you shirt has splotches of dried milk and your movements are slow. tired.

why wouldn’t you be?

an energetic three year old who’s just like his father is hard to maintain. though you wouldn’t trade it for the world. “come here, baby.” he pats his lap, grinning softly.

you look over from where you’re taking off your jewelry for the day, in attempt to get ready for your nightly shower. “hm? for what?”

his eyes follow your every movement, patting his lap once more. “you know exactly why. cmon, daddy needs some stress relief.”

the laugh you let out causes his face to soften, admiring you in a way that’s reserved solely for his wife, for the mother of his son. “i thought we agreed you couldn’t call yourself that anymore.”

he adjusts himself when he sees you come over, crawling on the bed to situate yourself in a straddling position over his hips. his hands fall into place on the curve of your waist, thumbs rubbing small circles on the small patch of skin that shows when your shirt lifts up. “you did. i didn’t.”

“it’s cringey.”

“so?”

you huff, eyes rolling. he dips his head forward into the crook of your neck, planting a trail of warm kisses. “satoru, are you sure?”

“are you sure?” he asks, voice muffled by your skin. “i just want to pamper my wife after a long day, can’t i do that?”

“i feel hideous right now.”

he tips his head back, bright eyes staring back at you with an intensity you’ve come to associate with. the kind of intensity that lets you know whatever he says—he means it. “hideous? what did i say before, huh? i said don’t even think about saying stupid stuff like that again. and look at you now.”

your lips downturn. “don’t say that just to make me feel better.”

“i’m not,” he places a firm kiss to your lips. “you look beautiful every day, every second of the day. but you look especially gorgeous right now.”

you narrow your eyes at him, skeptical. “why right now?”

satoru’s lips quirk into a sly grin, his thumbs still tracing those comforting circles on your waist. "because right now, I see my whole world in front of me. the woman who gave me everything I could ever want—a family, a home, a reason to come back every single day.”

the weight of his words presses against the exhaustion hanging over you. it’s not just flattery. it’s raw and genuine, just like him, and it makes your chest ache in the best way. “you’re so cheesy, you know that?”

“and you’re so heavenly,” his grin widens, leaning in closer until your noses almost touch. “but you love my cheesiness, don’t you? admit it.”

your lips twitch, a small smile breaking through despite your best efforts to keep a straight face. “maybe I do.”

“there it is,” he murmurs, pressing another kiss to your lips, softer this time, as if he’s handling something fragile. “that smile’s all I need to get through anything.”

the words wrap around your tired soul like a warm blanket. and for a moment, the weight of the day fades, replaced by the solid, steady presence of him—your husband, your partner, the man who never fails to make you feel like the most important person in the world.

you sigh, resting your forehead against his. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Wrong.” his voice is firm, his hands steady as they pull you just a little closer, subtly rubbing you against his clothed cock. “I’m the one who doesn’t deserve you.”

and in that quiet, intimate moment, with the world outside fading into irrelevance, you believe him.

"now let me pamper you like I promised." he switches positions, hovering above you as you lay on your back. leaning down to raise the hem of your shirt, trailing sweet kisses and licks against your stomach—heading further south. your hips raise slightly as he discards your lounge pants, breath hitching in anticipation. hand running down through the streaks of his white hair, he smiles at the sight of your pussy hidden behind the grandma underwear you adorn.

hot breath tickling your core that leaves you almost jerking upwards for more. he kisses your clit through the loose fabric. “besides, mommy needs her fix too, doesn’t she?”

[euphoria-looney]

Thank you... for playing with me.

Pt.1

Bake No Hana (Nightcord at 25:00 ft. Kaito)

"It's finally come around, my punishment for having been born. In order to put an end to it, I stop breathing— Ah, I'm fed up with this."

I approached the girl who chose me last round, Penelope. I called her Penny though, and thought the name was cute.

It suits her.

Last round I wasn’t sure exactly what I was going to do, but she pulled me into her group, and even against the male group, we won!

It didn’t help that crunch that echoed across the room each time a team lost though, Astro has been colder than ever and the old guy got separated from me before I could follow him. I think it was fate that we all ended up on the same team.

I’m trying to sound positive because, at this moment in time, I have gone too far to give up now, whether that be hope or, the sick truth, for the money.

My mind is always racing and is looking for the truth that I’m hiding from myself. 

I’ve killed people intentionally or not, just to keep going for a cash prize that I’m not even sure I’ll win.

This isn’t the situation I wanted to be in.

I’ve said that line so many times.

When I was 5 and my mother ran away, that wasn’t the situation I wanted to be in.

When I kept getting neglected and abused in the manor, that wasn’t the situation I wanted to be in.

When I got kicked out at the mere age of 18, That wasn’t the situation I wanted to be in.

Getting into debt and sinking deeper into the amount needed to pay back, I bet you can think of the line I said next.

And now with all the corpses I’ve been near, the money dropping into the pig, the masked soldiers that looked upon you with their weapons, was this really how I was going to be free from debt? Was this the situation I wanted to be in?

“Hey!” Penny turned to look at me.

“Want to pair up?” I tilted my head at her.

“Why should I?”

“I don’t picture you going around here and begging these jerks.” I looked around at our options.

“Wouldn’t that bother you?” I raised an eyebrow to her.

“Bothering me or not isn’t the concern, winning or losing is.” Despite that, she didn’t make any plans to move away from me.

I cheered fondly at her.

“Then play with me, I’ll make sure you’ll win.”

“What will you do?”

“Whatever it takes.”

“... What do you see in me?” 

“Well, I wanted to ask you that.”

“You were someone who looked like they would come with me.”

“I feel the same way.” I raised my hand offering a handshake.

She took my hand, so warm compared to how she acted, and I tightened the grip before releasing her hand.

I’m glad we got the teams out of the way before the timer ended.

—

Third POV

“Alright, there's a five-minute break before the games start, my good sirs. Do whatever you’d like before coming back to meet up and enjoy the show, they’ll be playing marble games.” The frontman announced before everyone dispersed.

“What was that imbecile thinking, joining a game like this? She even had the option to leave and she chose to come back?!” Damian scoffed, rolling his eyes out of agitation.

“They did…” Duke murmured.

“No, they didn’t.” Damian looked at Duke as if he were mad.

“Yes, they did, a while back? You were there and berated them for acting like their mother…” Duke rebutted.

“That must’ve felt so humiliating…”

Dick rubbed his arm.

“... she was probably terrified to face you again, especially with how you treated her…”

Damian piped down after that.

“You’re not any better than us, Duke. You also shunned them away,” Tim said, defending himself and the others.

“I’m not saying I’m better than anyone and this doesn’t excuse what I did but all of you guys made it known through the whole manor that she was just like her mother, so greedy for money that even when she had too much she wanted more, is that what we’re seeing in front of us though?! A girl who's so loaded but still wants more?!” That left Tim speechless and guilty.

“I know what it’s like to be financially unstable, obviously after losing my parents and trying to find them it wasn’t easy, and it didn’t make it any easier with not even a penny in my pocket, so these people “killing themselves for a little money” even though it’s a life or death situation, that’s no different then being “free” out there, especially not in Gotham. So when Bruce rescued me and treated me with kindness and support, I thought that all his kids got this treatment, but now you guys want to berate her and call her an idiot but she was forced into this position…”

He turned to Bruce but was only met with the man looking away.

“Maybe when she left this game, she realized her life wasn’t meant enough and came back to this dehumanizing environment, she didn’t come for us to help her because of the memories of last time, she probably was so nervous always walking on eggshells around us that the moment we rejected her she knew that this was her only option.”

Jason knew it wasn’t targeted specifically at him, but at one point, he knew he had a bond with [name], that innocent kid with those cute bug eyes and that gummy smile. They had something special. Then he died and came back with the news. At that moment, he couldn’t help but feel betrayed by [name]’s mom. With everything that had happened to him,, he had changed his character, so with no one to blame…

Well, you are your mother’s daughter.

Doesn’t the saying go ‘like mother, like daughter?’

Also, the situation didn’t help with him constantly not talking to her, you’d have understood the feeling he got when she came to the manor after being kicked out just to beg for money?

He seriously could not blame the situation on you, did he, or did he forget that he contributed to it too?

The ignoring, the sneering, the insults, how one looks from the person she trusted the most could shatter her heart.

And of course that would be the first conversation she had with you... You didn’t talk to her.

“Well, did you guys hear what she said to that other girl, seems she has no plans-”

A knock interrupted the chat.

“I’m sorry sirs, but the games are starting. May I have your bets?”

“240”

“Wow, all of you, just in case she ever loses, would you guys like to buy her body? I assume you’re family and had an interest in that girl?”

“You!-” Damian was stopped by Bruce, who also had his hands clenched in anger.

“Thank you, that would be appreciated.” Smiled Bruce.

“Of course, and I didn’t mean you lose the bet, it’s just that the odds are against some players and good for others.” The Frontman nodded before heading off.

“Don’t worry, guys. Just hang on. I’m finding the location as fast as I can,” Oracle said through the earpiece before they left for the lounge.

Their nice, comfortable lounge.

—

If I am ready to die, why not know a little bit more about the person I’m spending my last moments with?

“You know~ since the last Joker attack nothing has been this tragic…”

“What game are we playing?” No small talk then… but that’s okay.

“Dang, you’re cold as ice.”

“What game are we playing, girl?”

“You tell me. These games are probably only known to these oldies, tell you what let’s make our own game, ten marbles we could do anything with that.

“So let’s… end this game in a single round.” I looked down at my lap.

“All or nothing. A simple bet.” I looked back at her again with my stupid smile that showed my gums and tilted my head.

It was something I was used to doing a lot as a kid.

I don’t know why I’m acting like this, maybe it’s because my misery will finally end.

That took a dark turn. Let’s get back on track.

“Don’t tell me you’d… rather do what they’re doing?” 

We looked at the old guys behind Penny, throwing their marbles that hit against each other. What was the purpose of the game?

Get the other players' marbles out before they do.

“Okay. Playing what then?” 

I huffed in amusement. 

“What’s with the hurry?” 

“You’re just dying to kill me, huh?” I teased

That was a rhetorical question, we both knew it…

At least I knew it was.

“We’ve got a lot of time on our hands, and we’re playing one round. What’s the rush?”

“What are we gonna do before then?”

“Talk” It had been a while since I’d done that with somebody in this hellhole.

“About what?” 

“Things we never told anybody about I guess.”

“One of us is gonna die, so… it doesn't matter what we tell each other. No one can really embarrass themselves anymore. Okay?”

—

“How long have you been in Gotham? It isn’t a place where one would particularly reside.” We were both sitting at the stairsteps at this point.

I started with a question.

“Just been here since I was born, my mom found the “love of her life” here. She said we’d enjoy it”

“Did you?”

“...” She didn’t reply but rather stayed silent.

“Your family, are they still here with you?”

“My brother.”

“Any parents?”

“My father died getting shot in some back alleyway, at the wrong place, at the wrong time.”

“And your mom?”

“She got high off of drugs when she lost my dad, she overdosed not too long ago and her family took her away from us blaming us for the reason she suffers. I don’t know if she’s still alive and recovering or dead.”

“Where’s your brother now then?”

“In a shelter,” she hesitated. I was asking more than giving, but she still replied, and that was enough for both of us.

“If you win this and get the money, what will you spend it on?”

“Buy a house for me and my brother, then take us somewhere else, Gotham is no place for us, even if the top schools are here, there’s a price to pay for everything.” She was right about that.

I scoffed a little bored of that answer.

“Hey~ with this amount of money you could buy that and so much more- is there anywhere you’d like to travel?”

“Houma.”

“Houma?”

She nodded her head.

“It looked peaceful and had lower crime rates than most places. It didn’t look like Gotham at all.”

I couldn’t help but huff at that.

“Hey. Don’t you think you should dream bigger, huh? Do Keystone City. Hold on– Go to Metropolis instead. They even have lower crime rates than most.

Penny finally turned her head around and looked at me for once out of this entire conversation.

“Metropolis?”

“Yeah, the Superfam lives there. You know the Kryptonite versions of the Batfam in Gotham?”

It seems she didn’t care much about superheroes which made me giggle.

“Really?”

She shook her head.

“Oh no, then we have you fix that, we’ll have a girl’s night out every week in Metropolis and get to meet the Superfam in the flesh, okay?” 

She looked away at that.

“Oh, guess we can’t both leave here?”

…

“Back when my father was alive he was the perfect guy, he was too generous for his good, I was too naive as a kid rushed into the room where he laid to rest before he was covered and saw his gorey body,” Penny told me.

“The first body I saw was this poor kid on the side of the street abandoned just like me, he died inhaling too much of Scarecrow’s gas.”

“Abandoned?”

“Oh! I haven’t told you my backstory, it’s not as tragic as yours, no. My mother married a billionaire and took cash before running away without me when I was five. Everybody blamed her actions on me, making me feel too shameless to ever ask for cash, then I got kicked out at eighteen and took too much debt for regular supplies and school debt then landed here.”

“I wonder if I had money, what would I do… Go to Houma with you?”

A silence ensued between us making me look away.

“Sorry, I forgot again.”

As the timer started running out the sun kept going down even lower. Penny stood up.

“Let’s do this.” I smiled at that.

—

Third POV

By now, some VIPs were disappointed not because they had lost money but because they had lost the guessing game of lives.

Others were happy with the result.

But for our main characters well, can you guess how they’re feeling?

Unnerved, whatever [name] was planning. Are they going to win this game, or will they lose? Would the Wayne family see their dear family die with a bullet to the head?

Bruce never meant to treat you like that, but you’d have to understand your mother betrayed him, and you were there… and you didn’t do anything.

Oh, what could you have done? 

Alert the whole house of her leaving? Then what?

It was never your fault, you did everything you could to appease them, they just never forgive your mother.

—

We stood up passing a dead body and went to an “empty” land.

“Whoever can roll it farther than the other person wins, okay?”

I let Penny get the head start.

I held my marble in my hand.

Pondering.

I didn’t have much to live for, did I?

I had no friends, no family, and nothing to my name other than the daughter of a gold digger or the bastard child.

What’s the point?

I I guess this game was pointless after all.

I let the marble slide off my hands landing a few inches from my foot.

Straightening my posture I feel Penelope approach me.

“Hey, what do you think you’re doing?” She grabbed me by the collar of the tracksuit.

“You win, I lose.”

“Stop. Why the hell would you try to do that?” She still kept a firm hold on me.

“Butter fingers, what can I say?” I chuckled, scrunching my eyebrows at her.

“Making sure I won. Is that what this is?”

She slammed me into the wall again.

“Did you think I would be grateful? Throw it again.” She demanded.

“And I still wouldn’t be able to win.” I kept my smile on.

“Ugh, don’t be dramatic and let me die in style, hm?” 

This was the reality, and if one of us had something memorable to do once we had gotten out of there, it would be her. Wouldn’t it?

“[name], that’s bullshit! Stop acting cool and just do a real throw!”

I sighed no longer keeping my damn smile on my face.

“I have nothing.”

“What?” Penelope didn’t let go, though. It seemed like she would allow me to talk a bit more.

“You have a reason to get out of this place… I don’t.”

Penelope kept breathing shakily. 

“I thought hard about what I would do, over and over, nothing. It’s like a dead end.” I felt myself tearing up.

I didn’t want to burst out in tears, I hadn’t done that in a while. 

I’ve always hated getting emotional, but it feels like a relief to get it off my chest.

“If anybody has a reason to go back out still there, it’d be you.” I laughed despite tasting the salty tears that leaked from my eyes.

Penelope didn’t seem the type to get emotional either, though that didn’t stop her from letting a couple of tears flow.

“Don’t die here, go out there… and find a place where you and your brother can reside. Far from any crime preferably to Houma.” I chuckled.

…

As Penelope walked away, I didn’t want that to be how our interaction ended, no, not like this pathetic goodbye.

“Penny!” I wasn’t sure she’d respond to that nickname but to my surprise, she stopped.

It made me widen my eyes briefly before going into a somber expression.

I held in my tears at that moment, stabilizing my voice.

“Thank you… for playing with me.” I was glad the guard let me have my closure, you don’t think they’d have the heart with their roles.

BANG

Player 240, eliminated.

—

The blood sprayed out before her body collapsed onto the ground with a sickening thud.

This wasn’t the situation anybody wanted to be in.

— 

That’s it for now. In the next part of this option, the Batfamily will suffer and have flashbacks, as one does. If anyone has any advice on how to write some scenes, that would be spectacular.

I’ll be working on a request and then my So Much More series before getting to Astro! And then maybe the next part of this, so don’t expect it anytime soon. That’s all from me!

Taglist time! ❤

Also, I love the idea and from fic from both @jellyfishmoon97 and @not-weirdoshrek and a new addition that I'm super happy I bumped into @alilobsessive.

@holysoulsweets @sh4rk-k1d @sillysealsies @loomspuddle @cantfindmelol @alwaysholymilkshake @leitor-sonolento @randomlyappearingartist @beyondblissxoxo @sirairi @yhin-gg @frankie-moon3 @welpthisisboring @yokesmam @bat1212 @enchantingarcadecreation @twismare @delias-stuff @ladylupuscrow @ferchu0406 @c4xcocoa @cruzerforce4256 @anonymoushehehehe @godoreo22 @blerp-22 @facelessisnthere @sirenetheblogger @themightybee4067 @boredselkie @tiffyisme3760 @random4137 @midnightgrimoire @mybones537 @chaoticmoontimetravel @jsprien213

I think that's everyone who wanted to be tagged, I hope I didn't spell any wrong and tag the wrong person.

[munsonsmixtapes]

older! eddie who is intimidated by your younger male friends

cw: hurt/comfort, age gap (reader is 25, Eddie 40)

You and Eddie enter the party and he immediately feels uncomfortable. He doesn’t know why. Maybe it’s because he’s the oldest person there or maybe it’s because he just wanted to stay in with you. This is your debut as a couple and you’re so excited to show him off.

He doesn’t know why since he’s much older than you and none of your friends don’t seem to understand why you’re together. He’s just feeling a bit insecure but he’s not going to let that ruin his night. He’s going to have fun with you and that’s what matters.

You loop your arm through his and lead him into the house, introducing him to all of your friends. It isn't until he comes across your male friends that a strange feelings arises inside him. He doesn't know what it is or where it came from, but what he does know is that he feels out of place.

"Guys, this is Eddie," you introduce him, beaming from ear to ear. All he can do is shake the hands of your friends as they introduce themselves, not really feeling chatty like he normally is. He honestly just wants to go home, but he's going to stay for you.

He looks at all of them, sitting on the couch and he's sure that it won't hurt them to stand up like it will for him. He's wondering now why you're with him when any of these other men would be better suited for the role. He's fifteen years older than you for crying out loud.

He's never cared, especially since you're an adult, but now he's starting to feel like his age. He can't compete with these guys. They're all in their late twenties and definitely don't have that chronic lower back pain that he always experiences.

He can't stay, not now. The whole thing feels weird to him now, being here with all of your significantly younger friends and he feels like he really shouldn't be there. So he excuses himself for a smoke.

You follow him because something feels off to you. You have a feeling that he's just going to leave without saying goodbye. Everyone else might not have been able to see how uncomfortable he was, but you can. You saw it the second you walked through the door. And you completely understand why he would feel that way. What you don't understand is why he wasn't honest with you.

You feel awful that you dragged him here and that he agreed because he wants to make you happy, but you wish he would have told you the truth. That's more important to you than some stupid party.

He's leaning against his van smoking a cigarette and you make a beeline for him, silently plucking the thing from his fingers and taking a drag of your own. You stand in front of him, staring at him even though he won't meet your eyes.

"You could have told me," you say, your tone coming out a bit more bitter than you intended.

"I'm sorry. I was excited, I really was. But then we got here and seeing all of your guy friends...I don't know, it made me feel old."

"You're not old, baby," you hand the cigarette back to him. "You're not old at all. I don't want you comparing yourself to them, okay? You're my man and I don't want any of them. I just want you." You press your lips to his then take him by the hands. "Now come show me how not old you are, hm?" You open the back of the van and he follows, fully intending on doing exactly that.

taglist: @the-witty-pen-name @k-yurieee

[startheskelaton]

I bet you ain’t ever seen Soundwave without his helmet before XD

In all seriousness though, I like to head cannon that Sparkplug feels more comfortable/confident with her helmet thanks to Soundwave, and that Soundwave was the one who gave Sparkplug her helmet as present.

I’m sorry to ask but are you ok with me sharing my headcannons about the one spark au?

Allow me to go on another tangent.

I realized with this AU, the main core of the story is the battle between extreme selflessness and extreme selfishness, and how they can dictate someone’s actions for both better and worse.

With Sparkplug in particular, she inherited a huge amount of heroism from Optimus Prime. She dose what she believes to be the right thing, even if it leads to her embarrassing herself because she misread a situation. She wants to make everyone happy because that’s just what she feels is natural. However she also inherited a sense of self worth from Megatron. If she believes she can do something, she will not stop until she can prove to everyone she’s capable. This also makes her extremely stubborn and prone to emotional outbursts. Even though she’s been given opportunities to thrive, she rejects them because that’s not what she wants to do. However the problem for her lies within her knowing that these parts of her are inherited from her parents. And that she is mostly defined by her parents.

Selfless: “I have a responsibility to live up to others expectations because they need to know that prime isn’t gone. If I don’t jump in when I see someone possibly getting made fun of, then I might have ignored someone in need of help. I’m gonna become stronger so my parents will feel safe enough let me become a scout”

Selfish: “I hate that people see me as a replacement, it wasn’t my choice to exist. If I don’t prove I’m a good person then everyone is gonna assume I’m evil like my dad. I don’t care if I could breeze by as a medical assistant, I’m gonna become a scout to see the world and prove everyone wrong”

So this is where the Soundwave helmet comes in.

The helmet was a gift from Soundwave to a young Sparkplug. A very prideful gift but a nice one. With it, Sparkplug developed the Shatter persona. This was essentially just her, but without the burden of responsibility and public judgement. She finds herself looking up to Soundwave a lot because for the most part, he sees her more like one of his cassettes then anything else.

So she plays it up with the persona. Because that would mean all of her personality traits were inherent to her, not given by someone else. A nice temporary escape.

[not-neverland06]

𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝙻𝚊𝚗𝚍’𝚜 𝚈𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜

Pairing ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ Arthur Morgan x fem!reader

A/N: Oh. My. God. I am so sorry this got delayed so many times. This is such an important chapter to me, it plays such a pivotal role in "Y/N's" development that I kept scrapping it and starting over. I didn't want to give this to you guys until it was perfect, and I think I've gotten about as close as I can. I'm predicting one more story chapter and then possibly one short epilogue.

Next Part - Hell Hath No Fury Series

Summary: Arthur's gone and you're own once more. The familiar ache of grief lingers as it always does. But the clouds must always part for light. Through death and grief, you still manage to find yourself.

It always seems to be cold at night, now that Arthur’s no longer there to keep you warm. You curl into yourself, knees tucked to your chest as you smother your face in the thin pillow on your cot. You press the fabric tightly to your mouth, trying to keep the sounds of your crying out of the other’s dreams. 

There should be no surprise that you’re on your own again. Beating a dead horse doesn’t make it move, but somehow, you keep finding yourself tangled in the reins, dragged along by the memory of men who’ve long since let go. You wonder, sometimes, if your life is one bet of many between god and the devil, seeing which one of them can get you to break first.  What you could have done to draw their ire, you don’t know, but you’re not sure how much more pain and loss you can handle. Your lifetime is filled with the empty graves of those you’ll never see again. Now, Arthur’s is just another headstone to add to your endless cemetery.

You worry that you’re too loud on the harder nights. But no one’s ever complained that they hear you crying and you figure they’re all probably too busy mourning in their own way to notice the way you do. 

Abigail is practically an empty shell of herself without John. As much as they fought she doesn’t seem to know what to do with herself. Especially knowing he’s in jail, destined for the noose, and there is nothing she can do about it. 

Karen’s not doing much better. With Sean in jail alongside John, she’s fallen to the drink. She’s adopted a fatalist view that, without Dutch, you are all doomed to die at the hands of the Pinkertons. Sometimes, looking at the depressing faces of those around you, you think she might be right.

Stuck out in the middle of nowhere, with only two rotting cabins between what was left of the gang, you are a far cry from the fearsome outlaws you once were. This is no longer the Van der Linde gang. Now, you’re barely any better than a group of desperate wanderers. 

You know sleep won’t come to you tonight, you’ve been tossing and turning for hours. Any longer and you’ll wake everyone else up. Wiping roughly at your eyes, you slip a blanket around your shoulders and head toward the creaking door of the cabin. You try to keep in mind that one wrong step and the groaning wood below you will alert everyone. 

Barefoot, you walk along the muddied planks of the porch and head towards what’s left of tonight’s fire. It’s not ever-burning as it once was. The gang takes care to ensure if anyone were to come looking for you all, you wouldn’t be such easy targets. 

You sink onto the log before the dying fire, with embers glowing faintly in the darkness. Sparks flicker and leap from the blackened wood, a futile effort to reignite the flame. Their struggle is in vain, though, there is no life left to kindle, no warmth to revive. The fire is gone. 

Light footsteps make their way towards you, but you keep your gaze steady on the flickering struggle before you. “I’m gettin’ real tired of this,” Sadie’s disappointed sigh is a familiar one as she comes to stand behind you. 

“Were you in town again?” You ask, ignoring the glare you feel boring into your back. She stares at you for a while longer before letting out a rough sigh and throwing herself down beside you. The log shifts slightly under her weight and you dip towards her. 

“I was,” she grumbles, something white balled up tightly in her fist. You turn towards her finally, eyes narrowed on the paper in her grasp. Her face is drawn tight, jaw set angrily as something vengeful burns within her gaze. 

“What is that?” You ask, tone inquisitive but not truly interested. Her eyes dart towards you before she shakes her head and tosses the paper to the dying fire. What’s left of it, licks eagerly at the paper, trying its damndest to burn brighter.

“Nothin’, don’t worry about it. Why can’t you sleep?” Her switch in conversation is quick and far from subtle. Your head tilts slightly in curiosity, gaze switching between her and the paper that’s slowly curling up at the edges. She’s hiding something, it’s easy enough to tell from the way she refuses to meet your eyes. Besides, she’s snuck into town plenty of times, you’ve never seen her come back this riled up before. 

You jump to your feet and she startles at the quick move. “Don’t,” she snaps, snatching at your wrist as you rush by her and swipe the paper from the fire pit. Sadie gets to her feet, hand held out with an expectant look as she waits for you to give her back to paper. When you don’t comply immediately, she says your name, voice low and tense, a warning. 

Lips curling up slightly in challenge, you leap back as she lunges for you, holding the paper away from her. “What is it?” You tease, curiosity curling over the lingering ache from earlier. 

She snaps your name again and you flinch back in surprise, “I mean it, don’t look at the goddamn paper.” You’d only been joking with her, trying to focus on anything other than Arthur. Now, there’s a familiar churning feeling of dread as you look at your friend. She’s not angry at you, she’s angry at the thin sheet you’re holding. There’s something on here she doesn’t want you to see, not for her own sake, but for yours. 

Your breath quickens, heart dancing dangerously fast against your ribs as you finally look at what’s in your hand. She hisses your name but you stubbornly ignore her, frowning when you realize it’s a torn-out piece of a newspaper. It’s a smaller article from the local St. Denis paper stand, talking about a ferry being lost at sea. 

“Oh, god,” you whisper, hand coming up to cover your mouth as bile rushes up your throat. You bite down on your tongue until the taste of iron fills your mouth, holding back the nausea. “This is him, isn’t it?”

Sadie lets out a rough sigh, shoulders slumping in defeat. “I didn’t want you to know.”

“You were just gonna hide this from me?” You nearly shout, taking one angry step towards her. Her brows turn down in guilt, mouth settling into a thin line as she shakes her head. “No? You weren’t?” You demand, tone rough with grief. “You were just going to wait until I put the pieces together myself?”

“Dammit, woman, you’re barely holding it together,” she barks out, snatching the paper from you once more. She turns her back on you, shredding it into pieces so small you’ll never be able to finish reading it. “I was going to wait until I didn’t think you were on the brink of completely fallin’ apart. Besides, it doesn’t say anything about the people on the ship, we don’t know what happened.”

“We never will!” The words tear out of you, a sharp, bitter exhale. A panicked smile twists your lips as you struggle to keep yourself upright. “Sadie, your husband is dead, you know that. You have your answer. I never will. I will never know what happened to him. And it doesn’t even matter because he left me!” Your voice cracks, a sob slipping free despite your best efforts to swallow it down. “I shouldn’t care about that goddamn bastard, but I do.” You turn away from her, shoulders caving in as you wipe roughly at the tears streaming down your cheeks. 

There’s a beat of silence behind you. You miss the way her face falls, her hardened exterior falling away just for a moment. She looks at you with something like understanding, pity more likely. She steps forward, her arms winding around your shoulders, trying to hold you steady through the pain. You struggle against her hold for a moment but she keeps her grip firm, forcing you to succumb to the small comfort. 

You sink into her embrace, breath hitching as the grief claws its way up your chest, relentless and unyielding. You can’t keep doing this. You aren’t made to endlessly love and lose, to watch pieces of yourself crumble with every goodbye. It feels as though there should be nothing left of you- no bleeding heart, no raw edges. And yet, every time you think you’ve reached your limit, life finds a way to push you further. 

But life, pain, and the ugly company of grief never stops or goes away, despite how much you wish they would. 

A few weeks later

Physical pains and ailments heal. There may be scars left behind, but for the most part, you can be wholly healed. Anguish of the mind and heart is a different beast to conquer altogether. That sort of pain ebbs and flows. It doesn’t slip away neatly. It comes and goes, sneaking upon you when you least wish for it. 

Distractions can dull the edge. The looming danger of death and the law from any of your multitude of enemies helps. But more often than not, the weight remains a leaden burden on your shoulders and a gnawing ache deep in your chest.

For now, the pain has numbed into something dull that makes you clench your teeth and hiss. But if you force yourself, you can find steady ground to stand on. You can keep yourself calm and sated, if you focus yourself on the anger rather than the grief. 

Anger comes easier than healing. It lashes out at the world and balms over the constant pain, if only for a little while. You find yourself getting into more and more fights around camp. The forgiveness of shared grief has its limits and you’ve been testing them for a while. You’re curious how far you can push before you’re forced out by the rest of them. 

Sadie’s efforts of finding a new place for you all to hide don’t go unappreciated. But this cabin feels like a cage, no matter how far you’ve come from the mud and chaos of the old abandoned camp.  The tight space presses against you, the silence weighs heavy against your chest and constricts around you tightly. You hear the faint rustle of the trees in the wind, but it’s a vacuous cavern inside. 

The memories of Shady Belle plague you like a ghost. The brief moments when you could almost forget everything pressing down, but now, that place, too, is just another reminder of what’s been lost. Memories of nights spent with Arthur or sitting outside and listening to Javier play his guitar are tainted with loss and rage. 

Sadie and Charles provide you brief comfort, but it will never be enough to make this place feel like home. You try to shake thoughts of Arthur, what the gang once was, and everything that came before. You’ve been running for so long, from your past and who you once were, but it feels like you’re being dragged right back. 

Unable to handle the suffocating silence any longer, you take Arthur’s bow out from the chest under your cot. You grab a handful of arrows and jump to your feet. Throwing the door of the cabin open, you stride past everyone lingering outside. A few people give you odd looks, but they don’t stop you from leaving. You’ve become a dark cloud around camp, your presence heavy and actions unpredictable. It’s almost a relief for them when you’re gone. 

Lady’s just as restless as you are, except the dumb beast doesn’t understand that neither of them are coming back. Charles doesn’t know what happened to Diablo or the other horses when he fled St. Denis and you’re not interested in looking for them. She’ll just have to live with the pain, same as you. 

“Let’s go,” you mutter, swinging onto her saddle and leading her out of camp. It’s as if a weight slips from your shoulder the further you get from camp. The tight grip constricting around your chest loosens and for the first time in days, you can draw a full breath as the world opens before you. 

The thick groves of trees thin and give way to sprawling plains of grass and wildflowers that stretch endlessly. Steering Lady off the trail, you ride her hard and fast, determined to put as much distance between yourself and those suffocating cabins. Dirt kicks up under her hooves, flying up behind you as she pushes herself to the limit. 

The world around you blurs into streaks of green and gold as memories and grief slip away from you. You lean forward over Lady’s neck, urging her to go faster even as she huffs beneath you. You’re racing the wind, chasing after a dream that’s been lost to you. The air lashes at your face, the sting sharp and cold. Your eyes burn and you tell yourself it’s the wind, even as wet streaks drip down your cheeks.

Bright beams of sunlight streak across the ground, illuminating the path forward. Morning dew glistening under the light, transforms the earth into a field of stars beneath your boots. You draw in a deep breath, letting the crisp air fill your lungs, and tighten your legs around Lady’s sides, signaling her to slow. Her chest heaves beneath you, each breath a puff of steam in the cold air. You can feel her desire to keep running, that shared, desperate need to escape clawing at both of you. 

But she’s exhausted, and no matter how much you’d like to keep going, you can’t push her until she collapses. You’re tethered, whether you like it or not, you’re always going to be pulled back to camp. It’s a cage and a haven. Though you hate the confinement, deep down you know survival outside of it might be beyond you. You don’t trust yourself not to wither in the wilderness alone. 

The sound of water rushing draws your attention and you turn towards a green hill rousing in the distance. Guiding Lady toward it, you crest the incline and slip off her saddle, letting her graze.

Below, a river carves through the land. Its rushing currents are strong enough to carry something away with no hope of return. You step closer to the edge, peering down as the sunlight dances on the water’s surface. It runs like liquid gold, unnaturally beautiful, almost hypnotic, like the siren call of a sailor’s doom. 

A herd of deer drift alongside the river, their presence serene and almost make the idea of simply drifting away, peaceful. Your foot inches closer to the edge, slipping on the wet grass, and for a split second, the earth feels like it’s tilting forward.  

“You don’t usually ride out this far.” 

The voice snaps you back, and you gasp, spinning around. Charles stands behind you, one hand on Taima’s saddle, watching you with a calm but expectant expression. 

“I can’t stand being there,” you say, moving toward Lady. Your hands fumble with her saddlebag, needing something to occupy them. His eyes flick briefly to the river, then back to you, his gaze sharp and knowing. 

“You’re not the only one.” He strolls to the edge and whistles softly.  “Far drop.” 

You keep your hands busy, pretending to rummage through your belongings. “I’m a good swimmer,” you tell him, voice flat. 

“Not that good.” His tone is clipped, a warning wove into his words.  

You let out a sharp breath and finally turn to face him. “What do you want, Charles?”

He shrugs, resting one hand on his belt as his dark eyes assess you. “Thought you might want some company.” He pauses, his voice lowering. “Or, at least someone to keep you from doing something stupid.”

You wince, knowing how it must have looked. You’re hurt and desperate, but you’re no fool. The river might be pretty, but you’re not looking to drown yourself in it. “It wasn’t anything like that,” you insist, and Charles gives you a sharp, assessing look. “Charles,” you snap, exhaling in frustration.  “Honestly. I just,” you take in a slow breath, shaking your head, eyes downcast. “I need a break.”

“Alright,” he says simply. “We’ll take one together.” He walks back to the cliff’s edge, dropping down to sit with his legs dangling over the side. He glances over his shoulder and motions you to join him. 

Your fists clench at your sides as you take slow, reluctant steps toward him. The dew on the grass seeps into your pants as you sit beside him, hands folded in your lap. Out of the corner of his eyes, you catch his profile, calm, steady, and scarred. 

The aftermath of St. Denis lingers on his face. A fresh scar cuts along his jawline, a reminder of how close he came to joining the others who didn’t make it. Yet, with some of them gone, he seems more at ease. Charles never agreed with Dutch’s grandiose visions, and though he and Arthur had a bond, it’s clear the gang’s collapse has freed him from some invisible yoke. He wears his hair in a braid lately, speaking with nearby tribes and helping them when he’s not in camp. 

If it wasn’t for some odd honor-bound obligation he’s got to you and a few others in camp, you don’t doubt that he’d be riding free by now. Still, he stays with you, and selfishly, you’re glad for it. 

A gunshot cracks through the quiet, echoing among the hills. Birds take flight from the treetops as a hunting group crashes through the grove below. They circle around the herd of deer and let their bullets fly wild. Their hounds snap at the flanks of the animals, jaws clamping around the soft throats of the doe. 

Charles scoffs, shaking his head in disgust. “You don’t kill the does,” he mutters angrily. “Just the bucks. These men... they have no respect for the laws of nature.”

You let out a sardonic huff of laughter, gesturing toward the chaos below.  “Welcome to the future of our country,” Your gaze drifts toward the horizon, where smoke from St. Denis factories smudges the sky. Even this far out, civilization stretches its claws, unstoppable. “The west is dying, Charles. The time of outlaws, of freedom, is being shackled and destroyed.”

You turn to face him, meeting the same burning anger in his eyes that’s been smoldering in your own for weeks. It’s the first time you’ve seen that fire in him so clearly- the shared, silent rage, you’ve both been trying to suppress. “Our time is over,” you tell him, voice low with finality. 

His eyes narrow, jaw tight with defiance. For a moment, he says nothing, but then he rises to his feet, his movements purposeful. “Maybe,” he says, his voice steady, “but not today.”

Without another word, he strides toward Taima, tightening the saddle and checking the reins with precision. “What’re you doin?” You call after him, brows knitting together in confusion. 

He gestures toward the hunters below, his tone sharp. “You want to do something stupid. Fine. But take it out on someone who deserves it, not yourself.” 

His words hit like a slap, and before you know it, he’s leading Taima down the hill. 

You linger in the sharp sting of what he said only for a moment. Jumping to your feet, you rush to Lady, adrenaline coursing through your veins as you mount her. With a kick of your heels, you follow Charles down the path toward the hunters, your rage finally finding a target. 

For the first time in a long while, the weight around your chest lightens. You might not be able to fix the world, but you can make sure someone pays for tearing it apart. And as you ride beside Charles, you remember why he’s still here. He’s not just keeping you alive, he’s giving you something to live for.

Sitting inside the cabin, the smell of venison drifts toward you. After the incident with the hunting party, you and Charles salvaged what you could of the herd. Neither of you liked the idea of anything going to waste. Some materials were given to the local tribe, and the rest have been feeding the camp for days now. 

Last night, you’d scoured the woods for herbs and other ingredients and discreetly left them on Pearson’s cooking table. You were growing desperate for a flavor other than plain meat. Judging by the faint smell of mint wafting through the air, it seems he finally took the hint. 

Propped against your flimsy pillow, you run your fingers along the worn leather of the journal in your lap. For weeks, you’ve toyed with the idea of opening it, of seeing the world through Arthur’s eyes. 

Here, in the rare serenity of a quiet camp, you finally give in. The journal is as you would expect, sketches, details of some of the more pivotal moments for the gang. Every once in a while you’ll find a sketch of someone and a brutally honest recollection of how Arthur thought of them. Some of them are less flattering than you would have thought, you’re almost worried for how he might have seen you. 

You make it through his entries about Blackwater, the sun setting lower in the horizon as the light from the window gets dimmer. Outside, voices grow louder as people gather around the fire for dinner. You force your eyes to stay on the page, blocking out their drifting voices. 

His entries after the mountains are almost amusing. He’s clearly frustrated about something, though, he skirts around directly addressing what it is. Only a few times are you directly mentioned, for the most part, he avoids writing about you. But you catch glimpses of yourself hiding in the pages. A half-finished sketch of your hand holding his, the beginnings of your face abandoned before he can finish. 

There’s an entry a few weeks after you acquired Lady. A sketch of her and Diablo grazing together, their noses nearly touching as they crane their necks towards the grass. Surrounding the drawings are small notes about herbs and foliage he’d collected on his hunting trips. Among those sketches, there’s a small blurb about the horses.  

Diablo seems to be taking a liking to Lady, odd pair, I think. 

An odd pair, you suppose there’s not a better way to put it. Something that never should have worked, a devil and a lady, yet it still clawed and fought to find its way. In the end, though, one of them was always going to be left behind. You can’t help but wish it hadn’t been you.

A rough sigh escapes you, and you flip past the next few pages. Then, you stop. A familiar pair of eyes stare back at you. 

You’ve changed so much since this journey began. Your skin is weathered, your once-pristine hair is now more often than not dirtied and knotted from the wind. Your body has grown leaner, stronger, shaped by the relentless movement and harsh diet. The woman in the red dress from St Denis was already a stranger, someone you couldn’t recognize. 

Even from Arthur’s view, you still don’t know her. The general shape of your face remains. You have the same slope to your nose, your jaw still tilts the same way. But your eyes are so different. He drew them with fire, with life, with a fight you had once thought yourself incapable of. 

You feel invulnerable as you stare down at her, as though her fire can be passed so easily to you. The feeling flickers and fades, replaced with the same familiar ache you’ve grown used to. 

You can’t make sense of it, how he could have seen you so kindly, and yet still walked away. 

“Got that look in your eye again,” Sadie’s voice cuts through the stillness, startling you. She leans against the doorway, one hand lingering on the revolver strapped to her hip. 

“What look?” You mutter, glaring down at the journal. It feels too raw, too personal to keep reading. Torturing yourself with thoughts of him isn’t getting you anywhere. He’s gone. You’ve faced death all your life- mourn, move on. That’s how it’s meant to go.  

“Angry,” Sadie tells you, voice soft and knowing. “Like how I looked after I lost Jake. You ain’t look like that when you lost your husband.”

You shrug, fingers tracing the lines of your face through Arthur’s eyes. “Arthur was nothing like my husband. He leaves something to be mourned,” you tell her simply. She watches you a moment longer, but when you get to your feet, her expression sharpens. 

“Going somewhere?”

“Out,” you reply curly, the cabin walls closing in around you. You’re growing tired of the suffocating way Charles and Sadie hover as if they’re both waiting for you to break again. That moment on the cliff, your grief by the fire, it was all a lapse of judgment, nothing more. You’ve fought too damn hard for your freedom just to throw it away because the men you love always leave you behind. 

“Need some compan-”

“No,” you snap, cutting her off. Your tone leaves no room for argument. 

You step outside, the balmy evening air clinging to your skin as you head toward Lady. You don’t know where you’re going, but that’s fine. You just know you need to figure out how to live for yourself. And you can start by riding. 

The moon hangs heavy in the sky, its light threading through the plains like silver threads. Clouds roll overhead, slowly swallowing the stars. You smell rain in the air, a promise of a storm tomorrow. You’re sure you’ll be holed up in the cabins tomorrow while it pours. 

For now, you have the trail and the night for yourself. You let Lady take the lead, her slow gait a soothing rhythm as you settle into the ride. Normally, you don’t risk staying away from camp overnight. There are too many lawmen and bounty hunters looking to make a name for themselves. Tonight, though, you make an exception. 

A loud whoop cuts through the stillness, yanking you from your thoughts. You pull Lady to a halt, eyes roaming the dark horizon. A lone rider crests the hill, silhouetted against the moonlight, his path set toward something hidden around the bend.

“Must be my lucky day!” He hollers, voice manic. There’s a flash, the sharp crack of a gunshot splitting the quiet, and a scream follows. 

You curse under your breath, driving your heels into Lady’s sides. The two of you round the bend in time to see the rider poking his head into a finely adorned carriage. The driver slumps lifelessly over the reins, blood pooling beneath him.

Grimacing, you draw back into the shadows of the hill. “Alright, ladies first,” the bandit taunts. He reaches into the carriage, his groping hand causing a shrill shriek before he’s grabbing a woman and tossing her into the dirt. You grit your teeth, tucking yourself further out of sight, hoping to go unnoticed.

The glint of his revolver catches the moonlight as he climbs into the carriage. From inside, the muffled sounds of arguing give way to fists striking flesh. The woman lies with her face obscured by her hands. She flinches and sobs with each punch landed and the noises make Lady shift uneasily. Her hooves snap against the dried brambles of a dying bush. 

“Damn horse,” you mutter, eyes clenched shut as the noises momentarily pause. 

“Who’s there?” He calls out. It’s barely a moment before his patience snaps and he fires a warning shot into the air. “You don’t want me to come find you,” he warns, voice low and tight. 

Knocking the brim of your hat down, you let out a resigned sigh and turn the corner, forcing yourself into the open. “Howdy,” you call out, trying to mimic the casual confidence Arthur used to have in moments like these. Bandits, outlaws- they all recognize each other through the ease with which they face situations like this. You only hope you’re a good enough liar. “Just passin’ through, friend, no need for problems.” 

For a moment, his gun dips to his side. Then, his face is twisting into a wide, erratic grin. “Nice trail isn’t it? Perfect for catching big fish,” he says, swinging the revolver toward the woman’s husband. She whimpers loudly and grasps at the slumped-over man. You can hear his shallow, wet breaths from where you sit. 

“There ain’t no need to shoot ‘em,” you tell him, voice steady despite the tension coiling around you. “There’s a fence not far from here, you’ll get more money selling that carriage than you will killin’ them.”

He crackles and it makes your skin crawl. “Where’s the fun in that?” He sneers, cocking the hammer back as he points the gun at the woman. 

This man laughs, taking far more pleasure in tormenting others than in the act of robbery itself. He’s malicious, sadistic—the very picture of a perfect outlaw. For a fleeting moment, he sees something in you, thinks you might be cut from the same ruthless cloth. But he’s wrong, and there’s something exhilarating about stepping beyond the mold your family and husband once shaped for you, discovering who you can be on your own terms.

Your hand drifts to the revolver on your side, slowly easing it out of your holster. His head snaps toward the sound of you pulling the hammer back, but it’s too late. From your spot atop Lady, all you see is blood splatter as his body drops to the floor. The woman screaming lets you know you hit your mark near perfect. 

Opposed to the man now bleeding out in the dirt beneath you, there’s no thrill in the kill, no satisfaction. Just the cold thrum of your nerves, the slight tremor in your hands as you slide off Lady and stride toward the couple. 

With the bandit dead, the woman’s husband seems to make a miraculous recovery. He springs up, blood still streaming along his chin. “Thank God for you, sir-”

He stops short when you tip your hat back. Perhaps his ears were still ringing from one too many blows, dulling his senses, or maybe he was simply too pigheaded to grasp the fact that he’d just been rescued by a woman. You level him with an unimpressed glare. “Not a problem,” you say flatly

“Oh, good heavens,” the woman gasps, whispering your name with a startling familiarity. You freeze, eyes wide, as your blood runs cold. 

Elsbeth Morton. 

You’d know the voice anywhere. Of all the people you could have run into, she’s the last you’d ever want to see. Your tormenter through finishing school. She used to cut your hair in your sleep, stain your dress, and make your life a misery for sport. 

Her sneer hasn’t changed, though the lines around her mouth suggest her spite has only deepened. “Well,” she drawls, voice laced with faux pity, “I see nothing much has changed for you. Still scrounging out an existence in the dirt, are we?”

Your jaw tightens. “Elsbeth,” you grit out. “You’re welcome.”

She laughs, short and derisive in a way that makes you bristle. “For what? Subjecting me to this humiliating spectacle? Honestly, I think I preferred the company of the bandit. At least he had the decency to get on with it instead of pretending to play the hero.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, forcing yourself to stay calm, but she doesn’t stop. “It’s almost tragic,” she continues, brushing the dirt from her skirts as if trying to erase the sight of you. “You’re still so desperate for approval, aren’t you? Trying to prove you’re something you’re not. What’s next? A big speech about how strong and independent you are?” She snickers, tugging her husband to his feet. “We both know better.”

Your voice comes out low and steady. “You’ve always been good at pretending you’re better than everyone else, Elsbeth.” God hates you, you’re sure of it. If he doesn't, why is she here? Dragging you back to everything you loathed about your former self—the vapid, dependent, hollow shell of a woman who had once believed her worth was defined by the man standing beside her.

“Pretending?” she snaps, narrowing her eyes. “Darling, I don’t need to pretend. You can wear all the trousers you want, but we both know you’re still the same timid little girl, hiding behind a man and hoping no one notices she doesn’t belong.”

Her words cut, but they don’t sting the way they once would have. Instead, they ignite something, a fire born not of anger, but clarity. 

You’re not the man bleeding out in the dirt, killing for the joy of it. But you aren’t the polished girl she remembers, desperate for a man’s approval. You’re something else entirely. Unbound by society, free to choose your own path, you’re a beast of your own creation. And if there is one thing you’ve learned about yourself- you love putting your past in the grave. 

You let out a slow breath, your hand drifting toward your revolver. “Elsbeth,” you call, voice sharp enough to cut through her self-satisfied grin.

She stops, turning back with an arched brow. “What now?” she huffs. “Come to beg for my acceptance? Or just another pathetic attempt to-”

“That husband of mine,” you interrupt, voice cool as steel, “was good for one thing.” You draw your revolver, the barrel leveling with her chest. “Teaching me to shoot.”

Her eyes widen, her sneer faltering as her hand instinctively flies to her necklace.

Your lips curl into a wicked smile. “Now, how about you hand over those pretty jewels?”

She scoffs, but you see the way her grin falters, the slight fear in her eyes. You shoot her a wink and take a step closer, reveling in how she stumbles back. 

“And while we’re at it,” you continue, voice tightening into a sharp, mocking edge, “why don’t you hand over those earrings too?” You laugh, waving your gun recklessly as you shrug with a faux playfulness. “Actually, what the hell, I think I’ll take that dress—seeing as you’ve gone and gotten it all muddy anyway.” You take a step forward, your gaze narrowing on her trembling hands. “Hell, even that hair ribbon. You always did like rubbing your finery in everyone’s face, Elsbeth. Let’s see how you like losing it.”

She stares at you, disbelief flickering in her wide eyes, her hands frozen in hesitation. “You can’t be serious,” she whispers.

“Oh, I’m dead,” you pull back the hammer of your gun with a slow, menacing click. The sound hangs in the air like a threat. Your eyes narrow, and a dangerous smile tugs at your lips. “Serious.”

She moves hesitantly, every motion weighted with reluctance, disbelief etched across her face. You, the woman she used to torment and cow with a simple look, now dismantling her composure piece by piece. The power shift is palpable, and for the first time in your life, you watch Elsbeth Morton falter.

“Go’n now,” you say, your voice cutting through her trembling silence. “Don’t keep me waiting.”

Her husband flinches as she begins to remove her jewelry, her fingers trembling as she unfastens each piece. You hold out your hand, and she hesitates, her face flushed with humiliation as she steps forward to place them carefully in your palm, one by one, like a chastened child.

He glances at you, then at her, his eyes wide with a mixture of fear and disgust as if the sight of her submitting is too much for him to stomach.

Your eyes narrow on him, your hand tightening slightly around the revolver. The smug smile creeping onto your lips says it all—you’ll deal with him next.

You understand, finally, that you’re no longer the woman shaped by the men in your life. The husband who failed you, the outlaw who abandoned you, the society that tried to break you. People will learn that you aren’t afraid to take what’s yours anymore, because for the first time, you’re carving your own path, and God help anyone who tries to stand in your way.

end. — I do not own the characters or the game Red Dead Redemption 1/2, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2025. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

Hell Hath No Fury Taglist: @buckysblondie @littlebirdgot @heloixe @summerdazed @committingcrimes-2047

@m1stea @pokiona @fleouris @soupvender00 @warmsideofthepillow03

@whimsiwitchy

[sinnabarmoth]

Taking Care

Pairing: Rafayel x Fem|Reader

Prompt: Mini fic of Reader being a soft!dom with the lads. (Not necessarily sexual, just sweet 'let me take care of you' vibes)

Word count: 1k

Links to the other lads: (Sylus) (Xavier) (Zayne)

You hadn’t heard from Rafayel in a couple days which was…concerning. For someone that got upset when you forgot to text him at least once a day his radio silence was baffling. You texted, you called, but nothing. You even tried asking Thomas but he just shrugged and said that sometimes when Rafayel was working on a new piece he went full hermit mode. No one but the food delivery driver was going to see him.

You decided that just wouldn’t do. You knew how Rafayel was and you would not put it past him to forget to eat or sleep because he was too in the zone while working. So you went to the store to buy some ingredients for a home cooked dinner and went to his place. You let yourself in using the spare key he had given you and wandered in. No signs of life in the living room or kitchen. You put the groceries away and went to the studio.

Sure enough, there he was. He was sat in the middle of the floor hunched over a canvas. There was some old half eaten food containers shoved off to the side and various sketches scattered around the floor.

“Raf,” you said, “Still alive over there?”

He sat up straight and you could hear his bones crack as he straightened. You could see him wince as he stretched and turned to look at you. “Oh hi,” he said, “What are you doing here?”

“You weren’t answering your phone, I came to check on you.” you got closer and noticed that his entire person was covered in smudges of paint both fresh and dried. His hair was greasy and lank, and there were huge bags under his eyes. There was also an undeniable funk coming off of him that made your nose wrinkle. “Good thing I did too. What on earth are you doing?”

“Inspiration called and I had to answer.” he gestured to the painting. “She’s nearly done. I’ve been adding the finishing touches.”

“Okay. Glad to know you’ve been working hard but this is too much. You smell terrible and when was the last time you slept?”

“I don’t need sleep.”

“Yes, you very much do.” you held out your hand, “You can finish your painting tomorrow. You’re mine tonight.”

“Oh really?”

“Not in that way. Come on.” you hauled him to his feet and pulled him into the bathroom.

“Cutie, this really isn’t necessary--”

“Raf, sweetie,” you cupped his face, “You don’t look well. I knew there was a chance you weren’t taking care of yourself but I didn’t realize it was this bad. Now come along, we’re gonna get you cleaned up, I’m making us dinner, and then you are going to bed. Got it?”

“I know better than to say no to you.” he smiled. “What do you want me to do first?”

“You can start by brushing your teeth and having a shave, you’re stubbly.” you turned him to the sink. “I’m gonna draw you a bath.”

After he had finished you ordered him to strip and get in the tub. There was a cheeky offer to join him but you shook your head and told him he wasn’t getting anything like that until after he had a full night’s sleep. You did however sit at the edge of the tub and reclined his head back so you could wash his hair and massage his scalp. A deep sigh of satisfaction left him as you gently lathered the grease out of his hair. You left him to dry himself off and went to the bedroom to grab a change of clothes and threw his dirty clothes in the wash.

He looked so much better. “There’s my clean soft boyfriend again.” Without having to worry about his bad breath you pulled him down and gave him a kiss, little droplets of water from his still wet hair dripped onto your hands. “Feeling any better?”

“Much.”

“Good. Now come along. I’m gonna get dinner started.”

“Want any help?”

“No. You’ll just slow me down. You can pick out a movie for us to watch though.” you pulled him into the living room and sat him down on the couch. “Stay.”

“Yes ma’am.” he gave a little salute and turned on the TV. You went into the kitchen and started cooking. It wasn’t anything extravagant, just some simple porridge that was filling and hearty.

As you were cooking you kept glancing over at Rafayel just to make sure he was still doing okay. It broke your heart seeing how little he was taking care of himself. Was this what he was like before? How many times had he done something like this? Did Thomas pull him out of his spirals or did he end up just crashing and took care of himself after he got some actual sleep? You didn’t want to know. He had you now and you weren’t going to let him keep up these kinds of bad habits. Inspiration be damned! His health mattered more to you.

Once the food was ready you handed a large serving over to him, threw a blanket over your laps, and settled down to watch the movie he had picked. “Thanks for doing all this. It wasn’t necessary though. I was fine.”

“You were most decidedly not fine, Raf.” you ran a hand through his hair. “You looked like death warmed over and smelled just as bad. It’s not just you anymore, you have to take better care of yourself, doesn’t matter about inspiration. I want you healthy. And if you can’t be trusted to take care of yourself then I’ll do it for you.”

“I’m glad to have such an attentive caretaker.” he leaned his head on your shoulder. “I might just fall asleep right here.”

“Not until after you eat.” you picked up a spoonful of porridge and brought it to his mouth. “Eat.”

“You’re also a very no nonsense kind of caretaker.” Rafayel sighed but happily opened his mouth to accept the porridge.

“I don’t mess around when it comes to caring for what I love.” you kissed the top of his head. “Now keep eating, we’ll go to bed in a bit.”

After dinner was eaten and the movie finished Rafayel was really close to nodding off. He had started slipping about three quarters of the way through the film. When you asked him if he wanted to go to bed he shook his head and said he wanted to finish the movie first. You figured he was just too comfortable curled up next to you to want to move. But when the credits started rolling you dragged him off to the bedroom so he could have a sleep in a proper bed.

You snuggled in next to him, holding him close. “Good night, Raf. Sweet dreams.”

“So long as you are here, I know they will be.” he sighed, his eyes slipping closed. “I love you.”

You smiled and kissed his sleeping face. “Love you too.”

[lostintransist]

Fallen Angel | Charcuterie

Part 1 | AO3 | *This is a story told in scenes and can be read in any order though is listed in chronological order on the masterlist.

<I know you still have it. Can you take the credit card and buy a bunch of cheeses, meats, fruits, and pick up some of those fancy ice cube trays you’ve been eyeing?

The message from Simon had you fighting back the urge to rip him a new asshole. You know he isn’t trying to be rude. The guys were due home after six weeks gone and Simon needed a few days to acclimate to the fact you were not one of the soldiers and would bitch him out if he tried to treat you as such. It didn’t help that your period was kicking you down every step it could find and then dragging you into the octagon by your hair to go ten rounds.

>Incorrect. I snapped that fucker in half because it made me nauseous to have a black card in my wallet when I couldn’t afford to fill my tank.

Ten minutes pass before your phone dings with the message tone.

<You snapped a metal card in half?

>Yes. I was very determined.

You can feel the nose pinching from wherever Simon might be right now. He only did that move when exasperated. You watched John pull the same move about any number of minor annoyances.

John’s face appears on your phone for a video call within three breaths. Of course, they were talking about you.

Rolling your eyes and praying your eye doesn’t start twitching you answer the call. John is sporting a new bruise on his cheek and a split lip. You know better than to comment on it since the guys will let you look them all over when you get home.

“Hi, love. Can you do me a favor?”

Your tongue slides over your teeth behind your lip, the syrupy sweetness of his voice makes you want to reach through the phone and strangle him. Fuckers must not have deleted the period tracking app from Johnny’s phone like you demanded they did.

“What?” You ask brusquely.

“In my bedside drawer is a plain envelope with your name on it, inside is your copy of the card to the house fund. Can you take that and go buy whatever Simon already texted you and a snack for yourself?”

You can hear Johnny in the background asking to say hi and then getting promptly dragged away. From what you can see around John they are on a military base somewhere, the nondescript buildings in light beige and gray giving it away.

“Which bedside drawer John? All of your drawers can be reached from your bed.”

He had two and every time you visited his room to spend time with him or to simply sniff his pillows because you missed him you noticed the two nightstands and the massive dresser next to the bed.

Gary’s bark of a laugh reached you as John focused off-screen to glare at him.

John’s face softens when he turns back to look at you.

“The nightstand closest to the door, please.”

“Why have you been keeping a card for the house account from me? None of you let me pay anything into it.”

You weren’t bitter about that argument still. You weren’t.

He lets out a slow breath as he decides you won’t pick this fight back up now.

“I wasn’t keeping it from you. It only arrived before we left on this last job and I haven’t had a chance till now to tell you about it. But from what you did to the card from Simon it seems like a good thing I haven’t given it to you yet.” He looks at you with one brow cocked under his hat.

“Keep it up John and I will shrink all your hats one by one.”

The smile that broke across his face at your threat warmed you from the inside out.

“We love you, and we will be home by six. Be sure to stop by the pharmacy and get some painkillers for your cramps.”

With that, he ended the call.

“Fucker,” you mutter angrily to yourself as you stomp across the house and into John’s room. “Telling me what to do from across the country so I don’t bite him. Yes, I need pain meds and yes we are out. No excuse hang up the call instead of letting me yell at him like a man.”

Your angry tirade continued as you slid on your shoes and drove first to the pharmacy and then to the store. You bought two energy drinks to ensure you could survive until your guys got home and then spent an hour looking at cheese. Okay, more like an hour talking to the cheesemonger before getting yourself a couple of slices of Swiss and turkey to go along with the fancy cheeses you bought for the guys. The ice trays you did not need to buy this trip since you had already bought some two weeks ago to make your at-home drinks more fun.

At 5:30 the cheese tray sat ready, the ice had fully frozen, and all of the guy’s preferred alcohol had been pulled from the liquor cabinet. Cracking open your energy drink you transferred it into a new glass and sat down to wait for them. They would be early. John seemed to forget that when they were all motivated to get home they moved faster. Fifteen minutes earlier than John’s prediction and they rolled in the door. You rose to meet them, flurries of kisses and hugs as they all dispersed to their rooms to change and come back to the kitchen for food.

Gary came back first, wrapping himself around you like if he squeezed just right he could absorb you. You smiled and leaned into the love, having missed them tremendously while they were gone.

“You come back whole?”

He hums in confirmation and then is peeled off of you as Kyle replaces him in your embrace. Gary doesn’t fight it; instead, he grabs a plate and piles it high with the many options you grabbed beyond cheese and meat. This process is repeated until all of your men have been grounded in your presence and gorge themselves on food.

Finally able to move freely again you grab your own plate from the fridge and sit down at the table with them.

Johnny pokes at your plate.

“What’s this now?”

“I didn’t want fancy cheese so I bought some normal cheese,” you shrug as layer a cracker, cheese, and a bit of your turkey to pop into your mouth.

His hand sneaks forward to try and steal one for himself but you smack the back of his fingers before he can touch your plate. With one hand over your mouth, brows pulled together in frustration, and an angry finger pointed his way, Johnny gets the point.

Swallowing hard to clear your mouth you address him.

“If you don’t want fancy cheese next time don’t let Simon be in charge of texting me. You know he always wants the good stuff,” you finish your sentence with a sip from your glass. “Now if no one else needs me I am going to go curl up and die.”

Kyle opens his mouth to add something but you speak over his objections.

“I will lay down in John’s bed so everyone can fit in for a cuddle.”

John and Simon share a smile before looking back at you.

Your loves were home, and with them came the constant evolving chaos that was the home you shared.

Masterlist | Fallen Angel Masterlist

@lilynotdilly

[gracie-eilish]

feel better sweet girl

☁️🩵🌙🫧💤

The relentless chill of winter had left you with a cold that clung to you for days, making your nose stuffy and your voice hoarse. To make matters worse, a stomach bug had hit you out of nowhere, leaving you completely miserable. Your body felt like it was fighting a war on two fronts, and all you wanted was to crawl back into bed and stay there until the world decided to be kind again. Thankfully, Billie was there, ready to take care of you.

You were curled up on the couch under a mountain of blankets, your hair a mess and your face pale, with a tissue box and a trash bin close by. Billie walked in from the kitchen carrying a tray with a steaming mug of ginger tea, a small bowl of plain crackers, and a glass of water. She’d already made it clear you weren’t lifting a finger today.

“There’s my sick little cutie,” she cooed, setting the tray down on the coffee table. She crouched beside you, brushing a strand of hair from your face and frowning softly. “How’s my babygirl feeling now?”

“Like garbage,” you muttered, your voice scratchy. “Cold garbage.”

Billie pouted, leaning forward to kiss your forehead. “Aw, mamas. That’s not fair. You’re too cute to feel this bad.”

You cracked a weak smile despite your misery. “Flattery isn’t gonna make my stomach stop hating me.”

“No,” she admitted, “but it might make you smile. Which it just did. So, technically, I’m doing amazing.”

You rolled your eyes at her cheeky grin, but you couldn’t deny how much better she made you feel just by being there. Billie grabbed the mug of tea and held it out to you. “Here, love. Sip on this. Ginger’s supposed to help with nausea.”

You sat up slowly, Billie steadying the blankets around you as she helped you get comfortable. The tea was warm and soothing, even if you weren’t sure your stomach would appreciate it. She watched you closely, her blue eyes full of concern.

“Good girl,” she murmured when you managed a few sips. “Now, crackers. They’re boring as hell, but they’ll help settle your tummy.”

You gave her a look. “You’re really selling this whole recovery thing, babe.”

She grinned, leaning over to kiss your cheek. “You’re lucky you’re cute, or I wouldn’t be so patient.”

“Patient?” you teased weakly. “You’re enjoying bossing me around.”

“Maybe a little,” she admitted with a wink, holding up a cracker. “Open up, mamas.”

You groaned but obliged, taking the cracker from her hand and nibbling on it. Billie smiled proudly, like she’d just achieved something monumental. “See? We’re making progress.”

Once she was satisfied you’d eaten and sipped enough tea, Billie settled onto the couch beside you, pulling you into her lap and tucking the blankets around you both. She pressed a kiss to your temple, her hands rubbing soothing circles on your back.

“Poor baby,” she murmured, her voice soft and sweet. “I hate seeing you like this.”

“I hate being like this,” you muttered, leaning into her warmth. “Everything hurts.”

“I know, love,” she said, kissing the top of your head. “But I’m here. You don’t have to do anything but rest, okay? Let me take care of my babygirl.”

You felt a lump rise in your throat at her tenderness, but you quickly swallowed it down. Crying would only make your stuffy nose worse. Instead, you snuggled closer to her, letting her love and care wrap around you like a second blanket.

As the day went on, Billie didn’t leave your side. She brought you more tea, held your hair back when you had to run to the bathroom, and even changed into matching pajamas just to make you smile. When you started shivering despite the mountain of blankets, she pulled you into her arms and held you tight.

“God, you’re freezing,” she said, her voice filled with worry. “Come here, lovie.”

She rubbed your arms and shoulders, pressing kisses to your cheeks and forehead in between. “You’re like a little ice cube,” she teased, though her concern was still evident. “My poor little popsicle”

“You’re too good to me,” you mumbled with a small smile, your head resting on her shoulder.

“Of course I am,” she said with a cheeky grin. “You’re my baby. It’s my job to spoil you.”

By the evening, you were completely drained, barely able to keep your eyes open. Billie had coaxed you into eating a little more, promising you’d feel better with something in your stomach. Now, she was brushing your hair back gently, her fingers working magic as she played with the strands.

“Love,” you said weakly, your voice barely above a whisper. “You don’t have to keep fussing over me.”

She leaned down to kiss your nose. “I’m not fussing. I’m pampering. Big difference.”

You smiled, your heart swelling with love for her. “Thank you, Billie. For everything.”

Her blue eyes softened, and she cupped your cheek, her thumb brushing against your skin. “Always, baby. I’ll always take care of you.”

She kissed you then, her lips soft and warm against yours. It was a gentle, lingering kiss, full of love and reassurance. When she pulled back, she smiled down at you. “Now, let’s get you to bed, mamas. You need some real rest.”

You nodded, too tired to argue. Billie helped you to your feet, wrapping an arm around your waist as she guided you to the bedroom. Once you were tucked into bed, she climbed in beside you, pulling you close and wrapping you in her arms.

“I love you,” she murmured, her lips brushing against your ear. “My sweet girl.”

“I love you too,” you whispered, already drifting off to sleep. With Billie’s warmth and love surrounding you, the misery of the day seemed a little more bearable.

☁️🩵🌙🫧💤

[magiturge]

How did Hank and Sheriff first meet? And develop their relationship further?

well.. for their first meeting, you know. it left an impression.

with hank momentarily hesitating on the trigger to relish in the success of their rampage, just to lay with their brains on the table. it’s a lasting image.

in terms of developing their relationship more i need to back things with more context lest i wake some day, read this and feel a harrowing emptiness.

so if you’ll take a seat, pardon me, it’ll be long.

hank killing sheriff left a lingering grudge on him, printed on his mind for the years to come and as a result, hank became the target of almost any anger that came of the sheriff. even if more of sheriff’s mental strain and break came from jeb, his anger would funnel towards hank because his wrongdoing was more cut and dry than what jeb did to him.

the grudge festers and it’s almost as if it’s been put on a pedestal, kill hank j wimbleton, get your get back. give them the bullet you owe them, straight to the dome. you’ve got a force of men behind you, a fortress of some kind so do something with it. get that revenge.

and yet, those feelings aren’t reciprocated, because it was never that personal for hank.

..

the question here is “what does it mean to be recognized and acknowledged by hank j. wimbleton?”

what does that mean?

it’s what the sheriff wants, or atleast thinks he wants. for hank to get it into their head when he finally takes the shot that the sheriff is above them. you’ll see that i reign above you, that i’m better than you and you won’t get that jump on me again. you’ll answer to me, i’ve got the edge over you.

it’s just that hank doesn’t care.

even hatred isn’t reciprocated.

..so when they cross into the industrial sector, perhaps on their way to a different mission, and a particular grudge bearing cowboy puts his boot down, with years of actually toughening up under his belt, things are different.

somethings are the same though.

because when they have a spat on the wall of the industrial sector, and despite sheriff’s grand improvement in his capabilities in combat, when he gets slipped under and hank gets the upperhand, what does it do?

it relishes on the trigger, just the very first time.

because hank doesn’t respect anyone, hank doesn’t respect the sheriff.

and that’s how it gets its victory rugpulled out from under it, because he isn’t a defenseless coward anymore, he’s a coward that’s got a tougher shell and knows a way around a gun.

this should feel good, that he gave hank that bullet to the dome he owed him, but it doesn’t. not because he feels guilt, or remorse but that feeling that clarity that.. he’s watched hank clearly die in front of him long ago, and they came back. they always came back. even in a more grody, wretched shape they came back.

what made this death any different. and what stops them from coming back and chasing him down for this loss.

you’re acknowledged, at what cost.

one thing i like to clarify with hank, is they don’t have an issue with dying itself, but they have an issue with the way they die. if it was a stupid reason, a win stolen out from under it, bullshit that makes it all an inconvenience.

and that was all 3.

this is where i like to imagine they begin to have reoccuring spats between the two of them, across the industrial sector. ending in tight draws, be it from mutually sustained injury or sheriff ducking under the bullets of his own men into safety, a scummy tactic to escape his own loss.

..

hank is fragile. even in their hulking, tall and ominous frame they’re fragile. a network of bodies that don’t belong to them but they bear anyway. skin that isn’t theirs, grafted onto injuries. a heart that beats oddly, an inorganic jaw, muscles meeting the end of recruitment.

they’re a skilled killing machine, but they’re not immune to bodily exhaustion.

when you’ve got a score to settle, a petty useless on and off fight, with an equal parts FRUSTRATING target to catch. a practical moving turret, a once aimless useless coward knowing his way around a revolver, it gets exhausting.

so even when you’ve got the motivation to fight on, at some point, your frankenstein’s monster of a body will fail.

i’ve neglected to mention throughout this on sheriff’s side, he’s been continuously ruminating on just getting hank to buzz off again. that anger got washed away in victory and the clarity of this useless, resource wasting spat comes in.

so when hank’s body gives out in exhaustion, and they’re staring at each other. instead of gunning him down he..

..runs.

instead of keeping it up, he runs. instead of making sure hank is dead, even knowing as he glanced that the body is still moving, he runs.

..something about hank, is that it views many things through the lens of how optimal it would be in combat.

and the choice of a coward, turning his back on them, choosing to not shoot him dead like any reasonable mercenary would, his ‘stupidity’ was intriguing.

that’s how it begins.

because one of you is a script, and the other an actual entity. there are differences to be worked with.

their relationship develops more in the way of trial and error as hank is a rather independent, socially avoidant person in the sense it has little use for small talk, talking to people in general, sparking a conversation. sheriff also holds a certain image of hank in his mind as a killing machine incapable of grasping things like affection, friendship, even the idea of caring for someone, being considerate.

hank doesn’t have faith in anything, it just does.

sheriff has little expectation, but hungers the most.

it’s all still a cat and mouse chase, still with knives and guns but with an addition of chasing down thoughts and emotions.

a curious, intrigued desire to understand.

because you’re peculiar, and you did something stupid. you’re not the same as i last remember you being, a coward that put up so little of a fight and ran. you know what you’re doing now, and that irritates me.

sheriff is the most human of the cast to me, having had a social life, a job, a rational and completely reasonable fear of someone chasing him with a gun with intent to kill. a seldom seen sense of self preservation. he’s jaded and he’s desensitized but he doesn’t forget.

those kind of human treats, those luxuries of affection, of consideration and care.

hank doesn’t know that by default, it’s taught, it’s learned, it’s attached.

they never stop fighting, but they also never stop exploring each other.

they never normally vocalize their want of the other but they never stop digging their nails into each others skin when the embrace isn’t tight enough.

it’s a rocky, unpleasant and jagged path they’re walking..

and it feels good.

[nelle-y]

A love story told through voicelines (V)

C/W: slow-burn, Diluc x gn!reader, reader works at the flower shop in Mondstadt, fluff, shorter than the rest but that’s because it’s the end

Note: The story comes to a close! Thank you all so much for your support, I couldn’t have done it without you guys🫶🏻 If you have some ideas for other fics, feel free to leave a request in my inbox! (Part 1) (Part 4)

(You) About Diluc: Reflections

I’ve been thinking a lot about our fight. I don’t know if it was the heat of the moment or my own pride, but I said things I shouldn’t have. I called him stubborn, like his concern for me was some kind of flaw. He didn’t deserve that!

But when he called me reckless… it stung. I wanted to defend myself, to tell him I could handle it, but deep down, I knew he was right. I was reckless. I got hurt because I wasn’t careful, and instead of thanking him for worrying about me, I threw it back in his face.

I know he was just trying to protect me. That’s who he is—he takes on the weight of the world, and I made it even heavier with my words. I was so caught up in proving I didn’t need him hovering over me that I forgot how much he cares.

If I could go back, I’d say something different. Or maybe… I’d just listen. He didn’t deserve my anger. He deserved better.

(Diluc) About you: Reflections

My thoughts are quite repetitive when it comes to them, and maybe that’s how I drove them away—by caring more about their safety instead of them. I didn’t mean to hurt them, but seeing the scar on their arm reminds me of how much I could lose with one careless act. It was unbearable. And I let that fear dictate my words.

I know I can be overbearing. They’ve told me before that I control too much, and that I was… incredibly stubborn. Maybe they’re right. I wanted to protect them, but I didn’t stop to think about how they felt, what they needed from me in that moment. I acted as if I knew best, and in doing so, I ignored the trust we’ve built.

If I could go back, I’d handle it differently. I’d find the right words, words that wouldn’t hurt them. But now… all I can do is hope I haven’t broken something I can’t repair.

(You) About work

I’ve been trying to get back into the rhythm of working at Flora’s shop, but… it feels strange. The flowers are the same, the customers are the same, but something feels off. Maybe it’s me. Or maybe it’s the weight of everything that happened at the manor. I keep catching myself glancing toward the road leading to Angel’s Share, wondering if he’s okay, or if… he even cares.

*sigh* I need to focus. These asters aren’t going to arrange themselves.

(Diluc) About you: From afar

I passed by Flora’s shop today, and I saw them working as usual, but… quieter. Seeing them brought it all back—those quiet moments at the winery, their laughter, the way they always managed to surprise me. It’s unbearable, how much I miss them.

I almost stepped in, but quickly retreated. What would I even say? “I’m sorry”? Would that even matter by now? I’m sure they’re mad at me—maybe furious. And I’m sure… if I could change anything, I would change even the night I resigned from my position as Cavalry Captain if it meant bringing them back.

(You) About Diluc: Finally aware

I saw him today, you know. Well, not saw as in meet with—he just passed by. He didn’t come in; though strangely, I took a step in his direction. Out of habit, I suppose. I don’t think he noticed me… and why would he? After everything… Ugh! Why am I still dwelling on it? It’s not like I’m waiting for him or anything.

He’s just so… stuck. In my mind. I keep hoping to see him, even just for a moment. I miss eating with him, and trying to make him laugh. I miss the flowers that we took care of in the winery. I miss Adelinde.

I miss him…

And it’s infuriating, because I was the one who left. I needed space. I chose to leave the winery because it felt like too much. So why? Why does he linger like this? Why does every passing memory of him feel so sharp, so close, like it was yesterday?

I don’t know what this is. I thought leaving would bring me peace, but it’s only made me realize how deeply he’s rooted in me. I don’t know if I can ever let him go, even if I should.

…Could it be? Could this feeling—this aching pull—be love?

No… not could. It is. I love him.

(Diluc) About you: Finally aware

I need your thoughts on something. It’s… rather personal. For some time now, I’ve found myself increasingly distracted by them—always thinking about their safety, their well-being, even their smallest habits. Every little thing they do seems to pull at my attention. At first, I dismissed it as concern, but it’s different—stronger.

When I spoke to Adelinde about it, she said it sounded like love. Love. I… I don’t know what to make of that. But the more I think about it, the more everything starts to make sense—why I can’t stand the thought of them being hurt, why their smile lingers in my mind long after they’re gone.

I’ve even gone as far as to read about it in novels from Inazuma, though I’ll admit most of them are overly dramatic. Still… I couldn’t help but see myself in the pages. And now I can’t ignore it anymore.

This is love, isn’t it? I can’t believe it took me so long to realize. But… it’s oddly comforting, too, to finally understand why I feel this way. It all feels clearer now.

… I can’t let it end like this. I’ll speak to them, no matter what it takes.

(You and Diluc) Character story: Confessions

The day was drawing to a close, and the horizon burned with hues of amber and crimson as the sun dipped below the mountains. The world seemed to hold its breath, waiting.

They didn’t know why they were running—only that their feet carried them forward. Wind gracing their hair, tugging at their clothes, and each breath coming quick and sharp with the patter of their feet. Were they running to the winery? They haven’t really thought about it. They were just chasing the closest thing that felt like home.

Inside the manor, Diluc sat at his desk, quill hovering over an unfinished report. He’d been staring at the same sentence for far too long, his mind elsewhere. His eyes kept straying to the lamp grass resting in a small vase—“For when nights are long, and the weight feels heavy—may these remind you that you’re not alone.”

In a breath, the quill laid flat on his desk, ink leaving a stain that may or may not come off. He didn’t care, though—he had other business to attend to. One that could change his life, for better or for worse.

As he ran, he thought of what to say. He’d gone over the words a dozen times in his head, but nothing ever seemed quite right. Every thought felt too small, too simple to convey the storm of emotions swirling inside him.

The crimson sky had turned to blue, stars slowly forming like the constellations they once had. They both remembered that night—their head on his shoulder with only nature to accompany them, silent, and sanctified.

The moon hung low in the sky by the time they crossed paths on the dirt road. Neither had planned for this exact moment, yet it felt inevitable, as if fate itself had intervened.

They stopped a few paces apart, both breathless—Diluc from his hurried strides, and them from their sprint. For a moment, neither spoke. The quiet hum of the wind wrapped around them, heavy with all the words they hadn’t yet said.

“I…” they muttered, but their voice caught. After a breath or two, they spoke again: “I didn’t think I’d run into you.”

“I could say the same.” Diluc’s eyes softened as the faintest hint of a smile tugged at his lips. “Though… perhaps I hoped for it.”

Their breath hitched at his words, and they looked away, unsure of what to say. They hadn’t expected this—hadn’t pictured him to be so calm, so open. The reality of seeing him here, in the flesh, was almost overwhelming.

“I don’t even know why I came,” they confessed, voice trembling. “I just… I missed—“ they hesitated admitting they missed him. It terrified them—how one word could strip away everything they’d worked so hard to hide, yet hold the power to give them everything they wanted.

They swallowed hard, the silence between them growing heavier, and tried again. “I missed… the winery. Adelinde. The flowers. The peace of it all.”

But the lie tasted bitter, and they knew he saw through it. Diluc waited, silent and patient, as though he knew the truth would come, in time.

“I missed you,” they finally whispered, their voice breaking. The confession escaped before they could stop it, leaving them vulnerable and exposed. Their heart raced, the fear of rejection and relief of honesty crashing into each other.

“I’m sorry…” they added, one reckless word after the other. “For being so careless, for not understanding that you were only trying to protect me—for everything.

“I thought I did the right thing, leaving the manor. I told myself I needed space. But since then, all I can think about was you. I couldn’t stop looking forward to our lunch dates, to the moments you’d pass by the flower shop, to even catching a glimpse of that slight smirk of yours.

“And it’s all so infuriating,” they continued, voice gaining strength, yet still trembling with frustration and longing. “Because I look at you with that unreadable expression of yours, and it’s like you don’t care. You’re always so calm, so distant, like nothing ever fazes you. It’s maddening!

“Even when we were together, it was the same. You always tried to shoulder everything alone, hiding behind that stoic exterior. I could never tell if you were trying to protect me or push me away. And now…” Their voice wavered, and they dropped their gaze, overwhelmed by the torrent of emotions spilling out. “Now, I don’t even know if you missed me at all. Or if I was just someone you had to look after.”

They hadn’t noticed how Diluc closed the gap between them until they felt a gloved hand caress their hair. “I cared.” They looked up at him with a somber expression. “More than I should. And I still do.” Diluc’s eyes had changed. The unreadable mask they had always found so frustrating had slipped, replaced by something raw and vulnerable.

“I tried to convince myself it was better this way,” he continued, his voice low but steady. “That keeping my distance would protect you—from the burdens I carry, and the dangers that follow me. And though I wasn’t completely wrong,” he put attention to your scarred arm. “Pushing you away felt worse. For both of us.”

He hesitated, his thumb brushing against their cheek as if grounding himself. “You were never just someone I had to look after. You are… everything I’ve been too afraid to lose. I thought keeping my feelings buried would keep you safe, but all it did was drive you away.”

His voice softened further, but the intensity of his words only grew. “I can’t bury it anymore. I won’t.”

Their breath hitched, tears pooling in their eyes as he stepped closer, his other hand reaching to gently hold theirs. His grip was firm, steady, and yet full of care—just like him.

“You have undone me completely,” he said, his voice shaking with the weight of his emotions, “and I have no desire to be put back together.”

The confession hung in the air, raw and profound, and the sincerity in his eyes left no room for doubt. In that moment, the barriers between them shattered, replaced by a warmth that enveloped them both.

Tears slipped down their cheeks, but they smiled through them, their heart full for the first time in what felt like forever. “I’ve been undone, too,” they whispered, fragile yet filled with hope. “And I don’t want to be whole without you.”

The stars above, as well as the wind, bore witness as they stood there, hands entwined, finally allowing their hearts to speak what had been unsaid for far too long.

—end—

[hannahssimblr]

Astrid, 

Hope you got my postcard from Phuket, and that the Bangkok one shows up, eventually. Maybe it is actually lost, like maybe I’m doing something wrong at the post office. It’s fine if they all go into the abyss. I am writing just to write, because it feels romantic or whatever. You probably hate the idea of this. I could just text you. I texted you forty-five minutes ago. Still miss you. 

We’re in Phi Phi now. Islands, very beautiful. I bet you already know about them, but I’d never heard about this place before I came here. The landscape is kind of mental, like giants made it. Weird to look at. We went out on a little boat yesterday to see the sights. Jonas jumped off and swam, and I did not. My tattoo is still healing. Stupid fucking thing. I waved over a boat of girls and told them Jonas was saying he fancied them, and then he got annoyed with me, because he wasn’t saying that, and he was embarrassed. I think he should learn to talk to women without wanting to die, and he says I think about women too much, that I’m too invested and I should think about something else. History, philosophy, whatever. Why would I when there are women like you on the earth?

At night, instead of going out and drinking, we go to bed early, in our bunks, him on the top, me below like always, and he tells me all this shit about the Suez canal, or what the Falklands war was all about, since I was stupid enough to ask a follow up question once. Then I fall asleep to escape the boredom. We get up at six and do activities, then. Lots of walking. My body hurts. 

Jonas finally tried those scorpions he was banging on about, and now he’s sick, btw. Food poisoning. I don’t really know how to take care of him, except coming back to the hostel every few hours, making sure he has water. Until he’s better, I guess I’m just wandering around on my own. Luckily, it’s nice to look at. Maybe today I’ll swim with my arm out of the water. Running out of space. Love and miss you can't wait to see you.

xxx Jude. 

I snap open the lid of a bottle of water and carry it into the hostel room. It smells bad there, but I’ve stopped saying it, because it makes Jonas look like he’s about to cry. He’s curled up on his bunk, a complexion like curdled yoghurt, as a chink of morning light spills through the blinds and over his shivering body. Mostly naked. Too hot, then too cold, then sipping water, then throwing it up. I hover in the doorway. 

“I’ve water,” I say, and he just stares. Resigned, half-dead, maybe. “Should you go to hospital or something, do you think?”

“No, I feel slightly better.”

“Oh, okay. Do you want the water, or?”

“Yes. Bring it to me.”

I approach him like a leper, not sure why, as I’m fully aware he’s not contagious, but it’s been ten days since I’ve thrown up, and I’d like to maintain my healthy aura. He regards me with bleary eyes as I back away. “It is good you are an artist and not a nurse.”

“Yeah, I don’t know. I’m not so good with illness.”

“Even though you are always ill.” A tentative sip from the bottle. “You went out this morning?”

“To the post office.”

“Another postcard to Astrid.”

“Yes.”

I can tell he wants to laugh but lacks strength, managing only a feeble wheeze. “Is she missing you as much as you are missing her?”

“No, I don’t think so. She’s much better at distance.”

“She’s an independent person.”

“Yeah.”

“Tell me what she is doing today.”

“It’s Wednesday, so probably going to reformer pilates. Then she’s supposed to meet a friend from university for lunch. After that, I don’t know. Something spontaneous and thrilling, probably.”

“And you?”

“What about me?”

He manages a watery smile. “You’ll be doing nothing again today? Missing her?”

“I was thinking I might wade into the sea, actually. Keep walking out until I disappear, wailing after Astrid like the pathetic little freak I am.”

“It’s Wednesday?”

“Yes, Wednesday.”

“I signed up for something today.”

“Well, I don’t think you’ll be going, by the cut of you.”

“No,” giving up on the water for now, he rolls onto his back, watching insects congregate around the plastic light fixture. “You could go in my place. It’s a… meditation thing.”

I pull a face. “Meditation? That thing where you sit cross-legged and go like ‘om’?” I demonstrate, but feel bad for making him laugh. Apparently a bit painful for him. 

“Yes,” he says. “Kind of. You might find value in it.”

“Is that the kind of guy you think I am? With like, dirty feet and harem pants?”

“Since I am the one who signed up, is it the kind of person you think I am?”

“Not far off.”

“Well, meditation has many benefits. It’s not just for the dirty-feet-squad. It’s good for people who suffer with various mental health concerns, and people who have racing thoughts they cannot stop and such things. Maybe it will inspire you to stop thinking about women’s breasts.”

I scoff. “Why would I do a thing like that?”

“So you can think of more productive things that will inform you, and grow your mind rather than rotting it away.”

“Like the Falklands war, for instance.”

“Yes, like the Falklands war,” he says, suddenly animated. “Thank you for saying that. Or the targeting of Libyan migrant workers on suspicion of being mercenaries by—”

I take a brisk and decisive step out of the room. “Well! Glad you’re feeling better, Jonas. See you later. Keep drinking that water, et cetera.” I swing the door shut and amble away, down the hostel hallway and back to the beach, rearing for another day of nothing, bored senseless by the edge of a lonely ocean.

Beginning // Prev // Next

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

Trine [13]

Anselm Vogelweide x Blue Jones x afab!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • Trine Masterlist • ko-fi •

Summary: Blue doesn't approve of Anselm's choice of pet names.

A/N: Special shout out to the lovely @midgardian-witch 💚🫂 who encouraged me to post this (it has taken 100 years).

Warnings: sexy times mentions, Blue being a brat, german (Blue doesn't speak it), typos, not beta read, please let me know if I have missed a warning!

Word Count: 914

“Well, I hate it.” Blue says, a little too dramatically as he puts the chocolate covered pistachio in his mouth and chews. “It’s awful.” 

Anselm can’t help but smile, however he does manage to suppress his chuckle. “And why is that, mein lieber?” He squeezes Blue’s thigh a little as he talks, making him squirm. 

Blue is sat on Anselm’s lap, in Anselm’s private office. 

He had forgone getting fully dressed today, swanning around in his baby pink silk, short, dressing gown and slippers. Grumpy and inconsolable. 

You were busy today, an important meeting followed by seeing some old friends. (The phrase 'old friends’ had been enough to get Blue scowling.) And you wouldn’t be back until late. 

Even Anselm’s best tricks weren’t breaking his foul mood, and even though he did love Blue’s petulant little pout, he was very aware that he had not smiled once since you’d kissed them just before you left this morning. 

“It just is.” Blue huffs, leaning back a little against Anselm’s chest and staring daggers at the laptop screen.

Anselm presses a light kiss to Blue’s shoulder blade, “What about the cut of this one?” He moves the mouse and clicks on a different suit. Usually shopping cheered Blue up no end, whether it was in person or online. (Anselm had opted for the latter today, as Blue did not want to leave the house.)

“Ugly.” 

Anselm laughs this time and he can feel Blue preen a little, pleased that he has amused him. 

“The colour is disgusting as well.” 

“I like it, mein lieber.” 

“Well, you have no taste.” Blue folds his arms. 

“Is that true?” Anselm lightly kisses his neck and Blue nods.

“Absolutely.” He juts his chin towards the screen, “And neither does this designer. I know you’d get it handmade but this prototype is just ghastly.” 

“Just ghastly?” He repeats with glee, thoroughly enjoying how worked up Blue was becoming. Anselm takes a pistachio from the bowl on his desk and presses it lightly to Blue’s lips. 

“There’s no sense of style.” He huffs before he opens his mouth and licks the minuscule amount of melted chocolate from Anselm’s fingers liberally. “I would dress you better than this hack, or yourself.” 

Anselm can see the little frown deepening on Blue’s face, “I thought you liked them, mein lieber? You have three suits from them, and two-”

“Why are you calling me that?” Blue snaps. Despite the bluntness of his words his tone, surprisingly, doesn’t come across as rude. More… distressed and trying to cover it. 

“Mein lieber?” 

“Hmm.” Blue purposely stares at the computer.

Anselm slowly drags his left hand up to Blue’s face, lightly stroking his jaw and gently coaxing him to turn. Blue huffs again, rolling his eyes, but turns his head. 

“Are you not my dear? My love? My spoilt little brat?” Anselm squeezes Blue’s waist a little, making him yelp and Blue scowls harder. 

“Meine liebe,” Blue says disgruntledly. “You’re saying mein lieber.” 

Anselm chuckles again, understanding. He called you ‘meine liebe’. “My sweet, you will have to forgive german and its old fashioned formalities. Meine liebe is the feminine, mein lieber is masculine.” 

“Oh,” Blue paused, the thoughts turning in his mind for a moment. “Well, I don’t like that either.” 

“Do you not, my love?” 

“No, I don’t want ‘mein’ that just sounds… wrong, horrible. Meine is sweet and nice and,” reminded him of you. He wanted to be called the same sweet words, held in the same regard. 

Anselm smiles, nuzzling his beard into Blue’s cheek for a second. “Meine liebe it is.” He mutters in Blue’s ear, making him shudder and press closer. 

Blue swallows, wrapping his arms around Anselm’s neck. “I like that.” He whispers. 

“Well, thank the old gods, because at last, it seems like my beloved is satisfied with something.” Anselm pinches Blue’s thigh lightly, making him yelp and squirm, Anselm’s tight grip on his waist stopping him from completely escaping. 

“I was satisfied with the chocolates.” Blue mutters but Anselm ignores him.

“All day I’ve been more than accommodating with your bratty behaviour, and after I promised our wife I would cut you some slack and not be too harsh on you.” 

Blue leans back, pouting a little but it’s not enough to cover his smile. “She asked you to be kind to me?” He teases lightly, obviously thrilled that you and Anselm had had a conversation about him. 

“She demanded it.” Anselm strokes Blue’s cheek softly, before sliding his fingers around to the back of his neck and squeezing firmly. “And, I will be. For the whole of today.”

Blue grins wickedly.

“But don’t think you’re going to get away with this behaviour, oh no.” He tuts.

“Oh no? Are you going to wait until later to punish me? I better make the most of it then.” He grins, showing off his canines. Thoroughly looking forward to the idea of riling up Anselm even more and facing his delicious wrath later on. 

But instead of a stern word, Anselm gives him an equally dangerous smile. “Quite the contrary. Our liebe told me before she left, that she will be punishing you for any and all your transgressions today.” 

Blue pauses for a moment, his eyes wide and then swallows audibly, a shiver of delight running through him. 

“Ah, much better,” Anselm kisses his cheek and rubs his nose against his. “I much prefer seeing joy in your eyes over sorrow.” 

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[28harryssunflower]

In love against all odds

The hum of the city outside feels distant as you sit beside Harry on the couch in his cozy flat. The soft glow of the lamps casts a warm, amber light across the room, but no amount of light could chase away the heavy tension in the air between you two.

You notice it immediately - his fidgeting. Harry’s not the type to sit still, but today, he’s especially restless. His eyes keep flickering toward his phone, then away again, and his fingers tap an anxious rhythm against the armrest. The weight of the past few days hangs in the space between you, the unspoken words filling the room like a thick fog.

You’ve noticed it. People’s comments, the sideways glances. How could you not? When you’re 19, and he’s 28, it feels like the world has a constant opinion about you and Harry. The age gap, they call it. They don’t understand how you can make it work - how he can be with someone so young, someone who hasn’t even lived fully yet. You’ve heard the whispers, seen the way people look at the two of you when you’re out in public. They don’t see what you see, what Harry sees.

But Harry? He’s always been the one to carry the weight of their judgment. And tonight, you can feel it even more than usual.

Finally, Harry sighs, his voice soft but heavy with worry. “Y/N, we need to talk.”

Your stomach churns at his tone, because you know where this is headed. His eyes meet yours, but there’s something distant in them, something that makes your heart sink.

“What’s wrong, Harry?” you ask quietly, your fingers reaching for his, trying to offer him some comfort, though you feel like you might need it just as much as he does.

He pulls his hand away, running it through his hair in frustration. “I don’t want you to get hurt,” he says in a low voice, as though he’s rehearsed these words a thousand times in his mind, trying to make them sound right.

Your heart beats faster, the sudden chill in his tone making you uneasy. “What are you talking about?”

He hesitates, looking down at his hands, the words tangled in his throat. “It’s just… everything. The age gap. The way people look at us. I can see it getting to you, and I don’t want that. I don’t want to be the reason you’re hurt by their bullshit. You’re young, Y/N. You deserve to be free of all this. Free of the judgment. You shouldn’t have to put up with it.”

Your chest tightens, and the words hit you like a punch in the gut. “You’re saying you want to break up?”

Harry looks up at you then, his eyes full of regret, pain, and something else. Fear. “I don’t want to, but I think it might be better for you. The longer we go, the harder it gets. And I can’t stand seeing the way people talk about us. It’s messing with you, and it’s only going to get worse.”

Your breath catches in your throat. You’ve heard him worry about this before, but never with this much finality in his voice. It feels like he’s already decided, and the idea of losing him, of losing this - your relationship, your connection, your love - makes your chest ache in ways you can’t even begin to describe.

You swallow hard, forcing the lump in your throat down. “I’m not the one who’s hurt by this, Harry. I know the comments. I hear the whispers. But I’m not going anywhere. Not because of some stupid age gap or because of what people think.”

He shakes his head, his voice cracking with emotion. “But I’m scared, Y/N. I’m scared that one day, it’s all going to get to you. I don’t want to see you get crushed by their judgement. I don’t want you to resent me for it.”

You stand up, feeling the anger and hurt surge in your chest. “Do you really think so little of me? Do you think I’m too weak to handle this? I love you, Harry. I chose you. I’m not some naive kid who doesn’t understand the consequences of this relationship. I know exactly what I’m doing. And I’m not going to let anyone make me doubt that.”

Harry looks up at you with wide eyes, as if your words are slowly sinking in, but doubt still lingers in the lines of his face. “But it’s not just about us, is it? It’s about everything else. The pressure, the constant comments, the whispers. It gets to you, Y/N. It has to.”

You take a step toward him, your eyes fierce and unwavering. “It does get to me sometimes. But you know what? That’s not your fault. And it’s not mine, either. We’re not responsible for other people’s opinions. We’re not here to live for them. We’re here for each other. And I’m not going to let you go just because it’s hard. That’s not what love is. Love isn’t giving up when things get tough. It’s fighting for each other.”

Tears well in Harry’s eyes, but he quickly blinks them away. “I just… I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want to see you sad because of something I can’t control.”

You kneel down in front of him, lifting his chin so that he’s forced to look into your eyes. “Harry, listen to me. You are in control. You’re in control of us. And I love you. I love us. That’s the only thing that matters.”

He closes his eyes for a moment, taking a shaky breath, and when he opens them again, there’s something different there. Something more certain.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he whispers, his voice breaking, the rawness of his feelings spilling out.

“You won’t,” you reply firmly. “We’re in this together. No matter what people say, no matter how hard it gets, we’ll get through it. I love you, Harry. And that’s never going to change.”

He reaches for your hand then, his fingers trembling slightly, but his grip firm. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

You smile softly, brushing a lock of hair from his forehead. “Well, you don’t have to worry about that. We’re not going anywhere.”

For a long moment, he just looks at you, the words of doubt and fear starting to fade away, replaced by something more certain. Something that feels like hope.

You lean in, kissing him gently, your lips soft against his, a promise sealed with every touch. He responds slowly, his arms pulling you closer, and in this moment, you know that nothing - nothing - can break the bond you share. Not the age gap. Not the judgment. Not the noise of the world.

Because what you have is real. And it’s worth fighting for.

And as the kiss deepens, you know one thing for sure: you and Harry will always face everything together. No matter what.