#WE GONNA KEEP PULLING WE’RE GOIN FOR GOLD

[whimsicalpolitical]

Empty gold - Matty Healy

fwb x matty

continuation of this

warnings: 18+ mdni, smut, p in v, alcohol, vomit, handjob, smoking,

-

The hum of the hotel air conditioner drones in the background, a constant reminder of the sterile luxury surrounding you. Matty Healy lounges on the king-sized bed, intently focused on his Nintendo Switch. The soft glow from the screen illuminates his features, casting shadows that dance across his face with every flick of his fingers.

You lie beside him, propped up on one elbow, watching him play. Your thoughts are miles away, oscillating between the upcoming gig and the knot of unease in your stomach. The ticking clock on the nightstand tells you that you have just under two hours before you need to leave.

"Matty," you begin, your voice hesitant. He doesn't look up, but you know he's listening. "What will the other boys think if I always come to the gigs?"

He pauses the game and turns to face you, an eyebrow arched in amusement. "You think they don’t already know we’re shagging?"

You bite your lip, feeling a blush creep up your neck. "I mean, we’ve been pretty discreet..."

"Discreet? Love, they’re not daft. They’ve known from the start."

Your heart skips a beat. You always assumed you had kept things under wraps. But of course, they would know. They are like family, and families have a way of sensing things.

"And they don’t mind?" you ask, your voice softer now, vulnerability peeking through.

Matty shifts closer, his hand reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. "Love. Why would they mind? We’ve all been friends before and just because we’re havin‘ a bit of fun doesn’t mean they don’t like you anymore.“

He continues, “they really could not care less. And I’m sure they’ve got their own girl problems to deal with.”

You nod, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders. His reassurance, the warmth in his eyes, makes you believe it. The boys have always been important to you and you sure as hell don’t want to fuck it up.

"So," he says, a mischievous glint in his eye, “you excited for the gig, then?"

“Yeah of course, but it’s not my first, remember.”

At his first gig you came to be there for him, being Matty’s best friend for years you wanted to support him and the boys.

"I remember," he says, picking up his Switch again, but not before pressing a quick kiss to your cheek. “Now let me finish this level and then we can get into anything you would like to do.”

“Oh?” You ask with a grin, obviously not having pure thoughts.

“Can’t you multitask?” You ask, resting your hand on his lower leg which is sliding upwards but in a torturously slow pace.

“I have to get this level, babe, have to win against George.” You roll your eyes, your hand on his upper thigh rubbing circles against his jeans.

“So you better concentrate and don’t get distracted.”

Matty laughs and glances at you quickly before his eyes drop to the little screen. “And your what? Gonna jerk me off?”

You giggle and nod before moving your hand to his crotch. “Yeah, you want that?”

“Fuck f’course.”

You’re shoving one hand down the front of Matty’s jeans. “Jesus. Doesn’t take much to get you going, does it?” You tease and begin to move more deliberately.

Matty sucks in a quick breath and exhales, “don’t act like you’re not drenching your underwear right now.”

“Fuck off.”

You observe Matty, a smile tugging on his lips but his breathing going a bit faster than a couple of minutes ago.

“Lift your hips.” You demand and he obliges.

“Good boy.” You tease, laughing when Matty stares at you like he’s going to kill you. You don’t fail to notice the blush creeping up his neck though.

“Piss off with that.”

You pull his jeans and boxers off, sliding the fabric down his legs but not completely off. You continue by settling down onto his thigh.

He’s not fully hard yet but when your fingers wrap around the base of his cock, pumping your fist a few times, he’s letting out the groan that had settled in his throat.

"Shit." his voice quivering, "keep goin.”

You tut, “be nice, matty.”

“Sorry, love.” he groans, “please keep going.”

You hum and of course you do as he says, loving his breaths and groans too much to just wait. Your fingers move to his tip trying to collect as much pre-cum as possible to get him wetter.

When you’ve spread his cum around you start to move your fist again, up and down his shaft. Too slow. Matty bucks his hips to gain more but you hold his hips down.

“Why so impatient?”

“Babe, you’re joking,” his breath is jagged, on the edge of exploding and splattering all over your fist. “Fuck, just go faster.”

“Are you winning?”

“What?”

“Your game, Matty. Are you winning?”

Your fist starts to move faster and he looks so divine that the pressure of his thigh is starting to get you soaked.

“S-second place.”

You lean forward against his ear, “keep going then, don’t lose now.”

Your lips trace against his neck, lingering against the skin. He can’t keep the device straight, he won’t win like this and you both know it. Not that it matters. Not while you're touching him.

"Is this good?" you ask, breath tickling against his ear.

Matty nods rapidly, "good.. so good," fingers twisting around the switch as his eyes flutter closed. "fuck," he gasps, the switch slipping from his hand onto the bed when your thumb circles the tip of his dick again. An otherworldly feeling he feels just with you.

"Yeah?" you grit, continuing to stroke him.

One hand of Matty holds onto your while the other finds your cheek, lazily trying to connect your lips. Your knee slides between his legs, spreading them just enough for your other hand to creep between and grab his balls.

"Oh- christ ," matty wails, kissing at your bottom lip, sucking at the skin.

Your expert fingers fondle his balls while the other fists his dick, pre-cum making your fingers glisten and move with ease.

His throat squeaks, the most pitiful noise a grown man could've made, his bottom lip still latched onto yours.

Matty’s going crazy for the sweet taste of your lips and the friction of your palm rubbing against his cock.

"i'm gonna cum," he babbles, stomach flipping, waves of pleasure crashing through his tingling limbs.

You don't respond to his whining, your nose brushes over his as his breaths become shallow and staggered. An iron clad grip on your shirt as he teeters over the edge, hips stuttering into your palm.

"Fuckin’ hell," Matty mewls, bursting all over your hand,

"Shit, darling," your eyes darken, gazing down at your hand still wrapped around him, somewhat proud of what you've achieved.

You smile and lower your head to his wet chest and thighs. You begin to lick his skin, changing from soft licks to soft bites as matty squirms over you.

“Taste good?” He asks and you nod, cleaning him up completely.

You kiss him again when you’re done, slipping him your tongue to show him how he tastes and he groans. The both of you grin into the kiss.

“M’ so glad I’ve brought you with me.” His hand finds your ass to playfully hit it one time. “Was fuckin’ worth losing against George.”

“I would hope so.”

“Course, babe.” He smiles, “let’s get dressed then.”

-

The hallway is dimly lit, a quiet hum of activity vibrating through the walls as the crowd outside buzzes with anticipation. You lean against the cool, textured surface, trying to catch your breath. The distant thrum of bass seeps through the floor, a steady reminder that Matty’s concert is about to start.

But then he's there, a flash of dark curls and an easy smirk as he strides down the hall. He spots you immediately, his eyes lighting up with something between mischief and desire. Without a word, he grabs your hand, pulling you toward him with that familiar urgency.

Your back hits the wall as his lips crash onto yours, and suddenly, nothing else matters. His hands are everywhere—one tangling in your hair, the other pressing into the small of your back, drawing you closer. You respond in kind, gripping the front of his shirt, pulling him as close as you can. The kiss is hungry, heated, a collision of need and want that you've both been holding back since this morning.

His breath is hot against your skin as he breaks away, just enough to murmur your name, low and rough, before capturing your lips again. The world narrows down to just this—the taste of him, the way he moves against you, the faint tremble in his touch that tells you he’s as affected as you are.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you know the show will start soon, that someone could walk by any second. But right now, with Matty’s hands on your waist and his mouth devouring yours, the thought seems distant, almost irrelevant.

He pulls back, just slightly, his forehead resting against yours as he catches his breath. His eyes search yours, dark and intense, as if he’s trying to memorize this moment before it slips away. You can feel his heartbeat against your chest, mirroring the frantic pace of your own.

“When are you on?” you start, but he cuts you off with another kiss, softer this time, but no less demanding. When he pulls away again, his thumb brushes across your cheek, and he gives you that lopsided grin that always makes your heart skip.

“We have 15 minutes,” he murmurs. His gaze lingers on you for just a second longer before he steps back, leaving you breathless and wanting more.

“Don’t wanna wait,” you admit, “just fuck me.”

“Romantic.” He jokes.

“Like we should be,” you hiss, “we’re fuck buddies.”

It’s not like you don’t want to change that. It feels like you’ve been falling down like autumn leaves but you want to beg him to not let winter come and let your hearts freeze.

“Right.” Something shifted in him, he sounds hurt. But this can’t be.

His tongue swipes along your bottom lip and you drop your jaw, allowing your tongues to lazily reunite. One of his hands delicately traces your spine while the other cups your cheek, cradling it harder then usual. You lean your face into the palm of his hand, letting him hold you close.

His hand leave their place to go under your skirt and pull your panties just down your thighs. Then he grips your hand and pulls it to your dripping center.

“Do it yourself then,” he orders, “c’mon, get yourself drenched for me.”

You of course obey and start to slowly rub circles onto your clit.

He opens his belt and pulls his pants and boxers down to his knees only to end up fisting his hard cock.

Ironically he pulls a condom out of your cleavage and rips it open with his teeth.

You’re lost in your own pleasure, already thrusting a finger into yourself, you betrayed yourself by letting out a too loud moan.

“Didn’t say you could do that,” Matty shakes his head, “bad girl.”

He’s angling his cock so it lines up with your entrance and slowly, oh so slowly, he pushes inside. You watch through heavy lidded eyes as his face goes slack and his brow furrow.

"Yeah, fuck, that's it," he growls when you start to lift your hips as well. He lets his head fall back and groans but tries to pull himself together to watch as the evidence of your arousal smear between you both with each rock of your hips. His hands hold onto your legs.

His mouth reaches your breasts. He starts licking and biting the hardening bud and making you whine. He grins against it, changing the breast to the other one, achieving the same reaction.

"Feel so good," you practically slurr, your mind growing numb as your pleasure builds. He releases your breast with a smack to his lips and his eyes look black when he meets your gaze.

He clenches his jaw before he mutters lowly, "fuckin' take it. C'mon, let me see you work for it."

You take a deep breath and stabilize your palms against his chest before tilting your hips up and dropping them down quickly, over and over in a steady, fast rhythm that had your skin slapping together obscenely in the dingy hallway.

"Yeah, that's it. Fuck, what a good girl," he murmurs. You can see the shift in his face now and it fucking thrills you. Gone are the sweet, loving looks and chaste, gentle kisses. Now that his own pleasure is mounting low in his stomach, his cock throbbing and begging for release deep within you, he is growing impatient. He bares his teeth while you keep up your fast, tight pace, eyes flashing up at you hungrily, heat flushing his chest and neck.

"Keep fuckin' yourself on my cock, love," he grits out.

"You think anyone else can ever make you feel like this? Fucks sake," he adds, his voice dropping to a whisper with his last words. It has you tipping your head with a deep moan, your gaze locking onto the ceiling while you continue to ride him as best you can with trembling legs, ignoring the ache everywhere else in your body.

“Matty,” you moan.

And he can feel it. He can feel your legs shake, he can hear your breath stutter and he knows you are growing weak but fuck if you don’t try to push through it just to please him. The mere thought practically short circuits his brain, his senses dulling at the idea of someone as perfect as you. But you’re just fuck buddies as you said.

Everything hurts now and it gets harder to move.

So he decides to help. His hands find their place on your hips, thumbs pressing into the crease of your thighs, and he bucks up into you, each movement paired with a deep grunt that has your eyes rolling to the back of your head and your fingernails digging into his chest.

You drop one leg, relieve washing over you, the discomfort washing off immediately.

When your body shuddered and your jaw hangs open, a sharp gasp the only sound to leave your lips, he smirked because he knew what would happen next.

Your perfect fucking pussy clenches around him so deliciously, squeezing and relaxing over and over again while each wave of your orgasm rips through you. The sight and feel is unlike anything else, the experience simply incomparable.

He groans loudly and falls forward as he spills inside the condom.

“Christ,” he gasps pulling out of you.

He’s nice and pulls your panties on, kissing your cheek, “have to go on stage now, we’ll see each other later, yeah?”

“Sure.”

He leans down one more time to capture your lips in a kiss before he’s off to fulfill his duties as a rockstar.

-

The whole show you had to watch matty get drunk as fuck, smoke one joint after another, touching his dick on stage and kissing a fan during robbers. Proper kissing. Gripping her hips, pulling her closer and licking her lips as if he didn’t just fuck you an hour ago.

You’re pissed and you don’t even know if you have the right to be.

You thought about your ‘relationship’ a lot these past months and maybe it’s for the better to end it. As fast as possible.

So you wait for him to walk backstage but it’s not walking, he stumbles backstage, holding on to the walls.

“Jesus Matty,” you roll your eyes and grips his arms.

“Hi, darling, don’t you look pretty.”

“Stop. We have to talk, okay?”

“Hmm, talk dirty?”

He tries to touch your waist and pull you on top of him but you push his hands away and walk to the door a few steps away from him.

“I can’t do this anymore.”

“What?”

“Us. Just sex, we have to stop.”

He looks baffled and he stands up almost falling over in the process, “shit,” he mumbles. “If this is about the girl, love, it’s part of our show and-“

“It’s not about the girl, Matty. It was a huge mistake. All of it.”

“But-“ matty tumbles forward and takes your face into his hands, “we were so good. Admit it.”

“Matty-“

“Admit it.”

“Obviously but that doesn’t mean it feels right anymore.”

“Course,” he huffs, “you’re sick of me?”

His hands fall down and he turns his back on you facing the abandoned black couch.

“Fuck,” he half screams making you jump a little.

Matty searches around for something, you don’t know what but it gets clear when he half runs towards a bin. He crouches down and throws up inside, falling to his knees.

“For fucks sake, Matty. How old are you?”

You sit down next to him, your hand instinctively reaching out to rub his back. Matty’s breathing is ragged, and he groans softly between each heave, his face pale and twisted with discomfort. For a moment, you’re unsure of what to say, so you just keep rubbing his back in small circles, hoping it brings him some comfort.

“You’re fine, Matty. Just breathe, okay? You’ll be fine,” you murmur softly, trying to keep your voice steady despite how furious you are.

He retches again, and your hand pauses for a brief moment before resuming its soothing rhythm. Matty’s body shakes with the effort, and then finally, it seems like it’s over. He leans back against the wall, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His eyes are glassy, and he looks at you with a mixture of regret and shame.

“I’m… I’m sorry,” he mumbles, his voice hoarse and broken.

You shake your head quickly, cutting him off before he can spiral further. “It’s fine.”

You can see the guilt weighing on him, though, and it tugs at your heart. For all his bravado, for all the times he’s seemed invincible, moments like this remind you how human he really is, how fragile.

“You shouldn’t… shouldn’t have to deal with this,” he mutters, slurring slightly.

You let out a small sigh and shake your head again. “Stop that. We’ve been friends for too long, Matty. Just let me help you.”

He closes his eyes, leaning his head back against the wall, as if trying to escape the reality of the situation. But you don’t let him withdraw completely. You reach out, gently turning his face toward you. He resists at first, but eventually, his eyes meet yours.

“I’m taking you home,” you say firmly.

Matty looks at you for a long moment, his expression conflicted, but then he nods weakly. He’s too tired, too drained to argue. You help him up, and he stumbles a bit, leaning heavily on you for support.

“Come on, let’s get you out of here,” you say softly, guiding him towards the door.

The drive is quiet. Matty’s head lolls against the window, and every now and then, you glance over to check on him. He’s half-asleep, his breathing slow and even, but his hand occasionally twitches as if reaching for something just out of reach. You keep one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting on the console, close enough to his hand that he could grab it if he wanted to.

When you finally reach his place, you park the car and gently shake him awake. He groans, opening his eyes blearily.

“We’re here,” you say softly. “Can you make it inside?”

He nods but doesn’t move at first. You watch him struggle to find the energy, and after a few seconds, you unbuckle your seatbelt and step out of the car. You walk over to his side and open the door, offering your hand. He takes it, and you help him out, steadying him as he stumbles slightly.

The walk to his door feels longer than it actually is, but eventually, you’re inside. Matty collapses onto the couch, his body sinking into the cushions as if he’s finally allowing himself to let go.

You kneel beside him, pulling off his shoes and tossing them to the side. Then, you grab a blanket from the back of the couch and drape it over him.

“Do you need to throw up again?”

“Nah, don’t think so.”

Matty’s eyes flutter open, and he looks at you with a vulnerability that you’re not used to seeing. “Thank you,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible.

You give him thumbs up, “now sleep, we can talk when you’re sober.”

You turn around to leave but he grips your wrist.

“Please don’t leave me.”

You’re met with a boy whose eyes are tearing up, his lip wobbling.

“What?”

“I’m sorry- fuck,” he groans, one hand rubbing his forehead, “I didn’t want to kiss her. It felt wrong and it wasn’t you and I was mad because you said we’re fuck buddies and we are but I want more.”

“Matty don’t-“

“No, I don’t even know why I didn’t ask you out properly, yeah. I just thought that if I could shag you I already have you. M’ so sorry.”

He takes your hand and leads it to his lips to press his lips to your skin. “Please don’t leave me. Let’s do this right. I’ve always-“

“Don’t, okay?“

Your heart aches at the sight of him like this, so vulnerable, so raw. You’ve seen him put on so many faces—confident, aloof, charming—but this is different. This is Matty stripped down to his core, no defenses, no games. And yet, the doubt still lingers in the back of your mind. What if this is just a drunken confession, something he’ll regret in the morning?

“Matty…” you whisper, your voice trembling. “I want to believe you, I really do. But… what if this isn’t real? What if you don’t feel the same way when you wake up?”

He looks up at you, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “It’s real. I swear to you, it’s real. I’ve always felt this way, I was just too much of a coward to admit it.”

You want to believe him, but the pain of uncertainty gnaws at you. You’ve been through so much together, and the thought of losing him completely if things go wrong terrifies you.

He sits up, his hand still holding yours as he leans in closer, his eyes searching yours with a desperation that breaks your heart.

“I know I’ve messed up. I know I don’t deserve you, but please… just give me a chance to prove it to you. I’ll do anything.”

“Matty, you’re drunk. I need you to understand that this isn’t something we can just brush off if you change your mind.“

He shakes his head frantically. “I won’t change my mind. I can’t… I’ve been running from this for so long, and I’m done. I need you to know how much you mean to me.”

He leans up and you’re so close to breathing each other’s air but you pull away. “I can’t, not now.”

“Okay,” he whispers. “Alright, then let’s talk in the morning, darling. But please don’t leave me?”

You reach out, brushing a tear from his cheek, and give him a small, sad smile. “I won’t.”

He closes his eyes, leaning into your touch, and for a moment, you both just sit there in the silence, the weight of what’s unspoken hanging heavy between you. Finally, you settle down next to him and rest your head on his chest. It’s not like you haben cuddled Million times.

“Get some sleep,” you murmur. “We’ll talk in the morning.”

[ragingbookdragon]

Soap was definitely a jeans and t-shirt type of man. Hated penguin suits for the life of him. But when the team saw him come in with a clean pair of dark denim jeans, a forest-green plaid dress shirt, and a dark brown buttoned vest with tan leather straps, they knew something was up; he’d even gotten a new pair of dark dress shoes. He was running a hand through his gelled hair, a little longer than usual, but clean-shaven head and face, the scent of wintergreen aftershave wafting around him, mixing with the smoky, tobacco and cedarwood cologne he was wearing.

Price looked up from his deck of cards, looked down, then back up in shock. “Soap?”

The sergeant blinked, fixing the button of his vest, before fumbling with the gold chain that connected from his button to the watch in his pocket. “Yeah, Cap?”

“Uh…where you goin’, son?” he asked and Soap flushed a little, clearing his throat as he shifted on his feet.

“Got a date.”

Ghost snorted. “With the lass he’s been head over heels about for the last six months.”

Gaz shook his head. “You’ve been dating someone?”

“Won’t shut up about her,” Ghost answered, and Soap crossed his arms over his chest.

“I just wanted to make sure she was legit first. We’re not that serious.”

“Uh huh,” Ghost shot back. “Show us your phone background then.”

Soap blushed and shoved his phone in his pocket. “Fuck off,” he griped and looked at the captain. “I’ll be back by eleven. Call me if anything happens.”

Price waved him off. “Go have fun.” As soon as Soap disappeared, he turned on Ghost. “You didn’t tell me he was seeing someone.”

“It’s not my business,” he retorted.

“Of course, it is. Look at ‘im. He can’t be left alone to his own devices.”

***

The night had gone amazing. The food was wonderful, the atmosphere was even better, and Soap was on cloud nine as he walked with her hand in his down by the water. He felt like a teenager again, his heart beating a mile a minute in his chest and as they came to a bench, she pulled him towards it.

“Can we sit?” she asked, and he nodded.

“Of course, love,” he said and sat down with her. She seemed nervous, fiddling with her hands. “Love? You alright? Look like you’re sweatin’ bullets.”

She sighed and nodded. “Yeah, I just need to tell you something. It’s…really important and I think it might define the rest of this night.”

Now, he was nervous, and he took her hand, gently rubbing his thumb over her knuckles. “Love, whatever you need to tell me, I’m listening.”

“I appreciate that,” she answered and took a deep breath, looking into his eyes as she said, “John, I’m not a biological woman.”

He blinked. “Huh?”

She gestured below her. “I’m not a biological woman. I was born a biological male. Y’know…male parts. Boy. Man.”

Soap nodded slowly. “So…you’re transgender? A male to a female?”

“Mhm.” She pulled her hand away, resting it in her lap. “I had my top and bottom surgeries a few years ago, and I’ve been on medication since I was a teenager.” Her eyes seemed sad. “I just…wanted to tell you this before things went farther. I know I waited a little longer than usual but I…I didn’t want to ruin things between us.” Tears gathered in her eyes. “I really like you, John. I mean, I really like you. And I want to keep seeing you, but if you aren’t comfortable with this, I understand a-and I won’t hold it against you if you want to stop seeing me. Some people are okay with dating people like me, and some aren’t. I just…needed you to know.”

Soap was quiet for a moment then he reached over a put his hand on her cheek, turning her face to his, thumb brushing away the tears on her skin, then he took his other hand and did the same before tilting her face up and down, side to side until a startled laugh escaped her.

“What are you doing, John?” she questioned.

He smiled at her. “Looking for all those wrinkles you must’ve gotten from frowning so much thinkin’ o’er how you were gonna tell me this.”

She laughed pitifully, a grimace coming over her lips after. “I once ended up in the ER for not telling a man I was seeing. Not that I think you would do something like that to me, I just, y’know…needed to be sure.”

Soap’s face turned uncharacteristically serious, and he promised, “Love, I will never lay my hands on you. For any reason.” He wiped her tears away. “And whether you are a biological woman or not doesn’t matter to me. I love you exactly for who and how you are. You’re perfect. In every way. I love you.”

She blinked, gaping at him. “You…you love me?”

Soap swallowed thickly, cheeks crimson as he pulled away and scratched the back of his neck, awkwardly stretching like he did when he was flustered. “I mean, I care about you greatly. A great deal. A large extent. Quite a lot.”

“You love me,” she repeated as she nuzzled into his side. “It’s okay, John, I love you too.”

He melted, wrapping his arm tight around her, squeezing her against him. “You make me really happy, love. And thank you for trusting me with this I know it was something important and I’m even sorrier if I made you feel like you couldn’t tell me.”

“John, you make me happy,” she answered, looking up at him. “And I told you this because I trust you. You have nothing to be sorry for.” She smiled. “Do you maybe want to spend the night at my place tonight?”

“I’d love to,” he said. “But do you want me to come over? I understand if you don’t want me to.”

“I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t sure.” She smiled. “Besides, I want nothing more than to sleep next to you.”

“You won’t be next to me, love,” he said, standing from the bench, and pulling her with him. “You’ll be in my arms where you belong.”

Her smile rivaled the moon above and she wrapped her arms around his neck. “John MacTavish, you are a real catch, you know that?”

“Nah,” he said, shaking his head. “You are.” He pecked her lips. “I love you, lass.”

“I love you.”

[thiswasinevitableid]

Golden (OT4)

The winner of one yeehawgust poll was: Fools Gold

The entrance to the trail is innocuous. The normal sign posts, the wooden information board with faded tips for identifying rattlesnakes and avoiding heat stroke that half the hikers never even read. 

“Ready?” Duck pulls his hat lower over his eyes against the evening sun. 

“Indeed.” Indrid adjusts his red sunglasses; they’re the same ones he wore when Duck first found him in the mountains, the only part of his wardrobe he hasn’t updated to match this century. 

As they cross from the parking lot onto the trail proper, a massive, shaggy-furred dog lopes toward them, boofing happily.

“Hey Sass” Duck kneels, “don’t suppose the big fella is right behind you?”

The dog wanders over to the nearest shade structure, sniffing around the water fountain. If Barclay were coming down that trail, Sass would be doing what he always does; running back and forth between his owner and the people he’s excited to see. 

“I’ll radio Juno and ask her to come get him.” He pulls out his walkie talkie as Indrid pours some water into Sass’s waiting mouth, “then we better get goin’. We’re burnin’ daylight.”

—---------------------------------------------------------

If Sass weren’t so fucking cute, Barclay would be really, really pissed at him for running off and leaving him behind. But he knows the big pile of fluff didn’t mean to; dogs never seem to get as discombobulated by this place as humans. He thought Barclay would keep up like he always did. 

The sun peeks around the pile of rocks he’s using for shade and he scoots across the sandy dirt until he’s behind another boulder. He knows his friends will find him. They always find each other. He just wishes he knew where he was. 

Or when he was. 

He has no one to blame but himself; they know that whatever weirdness surrounds this portion of the Superstition Mountains, it has the potential to grow and shrink without warning. That’s why Duck insists they all carry survival backpacks with them if they’re within a mile of the last known boundary.  Barclay came out looking for Pine Nuts–he loves making brittle with them to give as presents. He went to his usual gathering area, Sass trotting along with him and snuffling the brush. 

Then he turned and realized the way back wasn’t how it was supposed to be. The fucking mountains had swallowed him up. 

He sips some water and waits, listening for familiar bootfalls. Aubrey’s in Phoenix performing, and Dani is with her, which means Indrid and Duck are probably the ones who’ll find him. 

Feet shuffle in the dry earth and he stands, intending to wave down whoever it is in hopes they aren’t lost or, better yet, are looking for him. 

The man who’s just rounded the corner is dust-covered and sunburnt, and Barclay’s heart sinks a little. 

“You okay?” He steps forward as nonthreateningly as he can; he’s a big guy with, “the air of a mountain man” to him, according to Indrid, and that can freak people out if they’re surprised by him. 

The man doesn’t seem to see him, keeps walking past, close enough that Barclay can see he’s in the remnants of a suit.

(Who the fuck wears a suit out here?)

“Hey man, do you need water? I’ve got plenty.” He touches the stranger’s shoulder. 

“Shit!” The man backs away in a hurry, not seeing the rock behind him until he trips over it and falls to the ground. 

“Hey, hey it’s okay.” Barclay holds his hands up, “I’m not gonna hurt you. I didn’t mean to freak you out you just…you weren’t responding.”

“I didn’t think you were real. I’ve seen so many mirages lately I just gave up believing anything promising was really there.”

“Pretty sure mirages can’t talk. Or carry granola bars.” He holds one out, “I’m Barclay.”

The shiny green package is cautiously taken from his hand, “I’m Special Agent Joseph Stern.”

“That explains the suit.”

A bitter, cracked laugh, “I was supposed to be out here an hour looking over a site. Not a fucking month.” He slumps down in the shade with the offered water bottle. Looks at Barclay’s boots, then slowly up the rest of him. Were a hot guy giving him a once over in any other context, Barclay would be into it, but this one seems to only be adding to the panic in those blue eyes. 

“It has been just a month, right?”

“Since?”

“Barclay? That you buddy?” 

“It’s me, Duck! I’m by the boulder that kinda looks like a bear eating a cactus.”

“The what now?”

“This one, my sweet.” Indrid, in denim shorts and a white tank top, rounds the rocks first, “it really does look like that.”

“If you say so.” Duck follows behind his boyfriend. He’s still in his park ranger uniform, and breaks into a smile when he sees Barclay. 

“I so fucking glad to see you guys.” Barclay lets Indrid wrap him in a hug, laughing when he kisses him, “can’t believe Duck let you come out with so little sun proofing. 

“I consider my outfit an indication of my faith that we would locate you quickly and that Duck will guide us home safely. Also, I am wearing an entire bottle of sunscreen.” He notices Joseph, “my apologies, I did not realize you had found someone else.”

“I…I’m Special Agent Joseph Stern. FBI.” He sounds almost distracted, eyes flicking between Indrid’s legs and Barclay’s face. 

“You sure about that? You look pretty rough, sun can really do a number on you” Duck taps his temple.

“Yes I’m sure! I’m lost, not insane. Look, here, I’ll prove it.” He hands Duck a battered ID badge. 

Duck whistles, “That’s the real deal, sorry for…not…aw fuck.” He turns the ID so Indrid and Barclay can see it as he says, “I hate to ask this, agent Stern but, uh, how long after gettin’ that did you come out here.”

“Three years.” Joseph’s face is hanging onto calm by a thread. 

“Hoo-kay.” Duck scratches the back of his neck, “so, uh, here’s the good news: you ain’t gonna be stuck out here any more. Bad news is you’re a long, long fuckin ways from 1972.”

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Given what must be going on in his brain right now, Joseph is holding it together pretty well. 

He’s also holding Barclay’s arm hard enough it’s starting to bruise. 

Duck can’t blame him; people go to pieces after being lost in the normal parts of this desert and without an existential crisis on top of that. 

Indrid and Barclay are doing their best to bring the agent up to date on the last fifty-odd years, ranging from the end of the Cold War (“oh, thank the lord”), to cell phones (“incredible”), to the fact the Cubs actually won the world series (this got a gasp of awe).

He’ll join in the conversation once they get to the parking lot. Right now, he has to focus. They’re on the Twin Canyons trail, the south end. He knows that route, knows what the path ahead of them should look like. The desert flickers a moment, the view now subtly different with no trail in sight. 

That ain’t it. I ain’t gonna even notice it. This is the south end of Twin Pines, nothin’ weird at all

The trail is back how it usually is. 

His friends have speculated on why the mountains have never been able to suck him in and turn him around; Aubrey thinks it might be magic, Ned worries it’s luck that’s bound to run out. Duck’s pretty sure he’s just too damn stubborn to let some weird-ass wormhole time and space bullshit tell him he’s not on the trail he thinks he is. 

All the same, when they step onto pavement, his shoulders relax a hair. 

“This is us.” He beeps the lock on the Jeep, Barclay taking shotgun (he gets motion sick) and Indrid climbing into the back with Joseph.

“Tell me, agent.” Indrid buckles in, “what led you into the mountains?”

“Assuming it’s not, like, classified. We’re trying to figure out if why you’re there makes a difference in getting lost in the anomaly.” Barclay adds.

“I was looking into missing person’s cases. There’d been three groups that had just disappeared, all in the span of a month, and that was on top of a history of disappearances in the area overall. Two of the three were looking for the Cold Treasure. Is that still a story around here?”

Indrid sighs, “Indeed. Now and then it fades from the greater public memory, only to be reignited by some television show or other. I was never even convinced there was something in those damned boxes. I think someone managed to trick us, but my father and brother were not sold on the idea. You likely heard Alistair Cold and his sons were never seen again, yes?”

“That’s how the story goes.”

Duck sees Indrid smile in the rearview mirror, “That is not entirely true. I am seen often, though I may not have been had a certain, intrepid civil servant not found me.”

“More like stepped on you, you were passed out on the red rock trail.”

“My point stands.” Indrid blows him a kiss. 

“You…you’re…” Joseph sounds like he’s about to have a revelation or a full-on breakdown.

“The outlaw Indrid Cold, in the flesh. I know, you are shocked by my youthful appearance.”

“You don’t look a day over a hundred.” There’s a weak laugh and Duck’s heart warms at corniness of the joke. 

Indrid had looked much closer to his grand total of 145 years of age when Duck found him, what with the being near death and all. He’d been in the desert, by his count, 50 days, having fled after his brother tried to murder him in his sleep to increase his cut of the loot. 

“All that is to say, Joseph, that should you want to talk with someone who has dealt with much the same leap forward as yourself, I am glad to.”

“Thank you.” There’s an audible gurgle from the backseat, “I, I hate to cause more trouble, but is there any chance we get something to eat?”

“Way ahead of you.” Duck pulls into the Burger King on the edge of town and waits patiently at the menu sign for Joseph to choose his first meal of the 21st century. 

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

“I can’t thank you enough.” Joseph finishes setting up the sofa-bed in Barclay’s small living room. 

“Seriously, Joseph, it’s not a big deal. I’d do the same for anyone we fished outta the anomaly.” 

Barclays face, that gorgeous, bearded face, parts in a smile that would make Joseph believe just about anything he said. Except, when they stopped at Amnesty Lodge, Barclay’s work and clearly the headquarters of the group of rescuers, the conversations he overheard suggested it wasn’t common for one of the members of the Pine Guard to offer their couch to a rescuee. 

Maybe Barclay thinks he’s special. Maybe he likes him. It feels like ages since anyone liked him for him, rather than what he could do. 

“Is Mr.Cold, um, I mean, is Indrid coming back tonight?” He has approximately six hundred questions he’d like to ask before he no longer has the chance to interview an time-traveling, 1880s outlaw. 

“Nah, he lives with Duck.”

“Oh.” He nods, smiles to show he’s hip, “free love?”

Barclay chokes on his tea, startling Sass from his dog bed, then quickly wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, “Sorry, sorry, uh, I mean kinda? We don’t really call it that anymore. But yeah, Indrid is both my and Duck’s boyfriend.”

“Boyfriend.” He repeats, sitting down on his temporary bed, “it’s…its funny. To hear another man say that word. Not bad!” he turns, hurriedly, “just…is it really allowed now?”

“Fuck of a lot more than it was when you got lost. There are still some really fucking bigoted people and places out there but, like, even in a small town like this, I can be out. Aubrey and Dani can be out as girlfriends. Stuff like that.”

Joseph closes his eyes and digs his nails into his palms, “I’m like that too.”

There’s no immediate reply, which terrifies him. Then a weight settles next to him on the bed and Barclay takes one of his hands.

“Kinda figured. From what your face did when you saw Indrid kiss me. And, like, that’s for sure gonna be different in 2024. But you don’t have to figure out everything in one night, or remake yourself in one. You’ve got time. You’ll be okay.”

Joseph looks down at their joined hands and believes, for the first time since he got lost, that things might just work out. 

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Mercifully, libraries are more or less the same as he remembers them. No more card catalogs or microfiche (“unless you need to look at the newspaper records, in which case I’m happy to get them for you” offered the woman at the reference desk). But he can still find books on every subject he needs, and leaves with a canvas bag stuffed full of them.

When he gets back to Barclay’s place, after patting Sass on the head he sets the bag next to a smaller one of clothes from Goodwill. He bought several he’s excited about, but steps back into the summer heat in a borrowed t-shirt and gym shorts; he’s not putting anything on until it’s washed, and Barclay said he was taking his laundry to the mat tonight anyway. 

The state park is the main tourist draw, and a corner of town dedicated to faux-western theming has sprung up in response. Joseph wanders through it, no goal but to take in the sights. He knows that soon, the lack of direction will tie him in knots, but there’s no harm in a day or two to recover.

As he passes a shooting gallery in the arcade, there’s a flash of silver hair. Indrid is at the counter, knocking down targets as kids with sticky lollipops and precarious ice cream cones dart around between the games and their exhausted parents. 

Joseph positions himself by the soda fountain for a better view. Indrid doesn’t miss a target; yesterday, he seemed to always be moving, like a moth in the night air. Here, he’s calm and measured, hands steady and arms…

Christ the man has a lot of tattoos. Joseph wonders how much of his body they cover, and how it would feel to trace the shapes of them with his fingers. 

“Care to play a round?” Indrid lowers the fake rifle, shooting him a smile. 

“Sure.” He takes up a spot to Indrid’s left as the former outlaw hands the bored teenager behind the counter some bills. When the little mechanical targets of coyotes and jackrabbits begin moving, he lets his training take over. 

Indrid knocks down all but one. Joseph knocks down all them, 

“Well done, agent.” Indrid inclines his head towards the soda fountain, “allow me to buy you a victory phosphate?”

Joseph accepts, and follows Indrid into the air-conditioned, echoey building. His phosphate–soda water, syrup, and ice cream–is coffee flavored, while Indrid opts for strawberry. 

They sit at a table out on the wooden porch, watching the families pass by. 

“How are you doing so far?”

“Okay. It’s overwhelming. In a lot of ways. So many things are different. It’s exciting half the time and completely fucking terrifying the rest.”

Indrid laughs, “Yes, that sums it up well. I swung wildly between wanting to indulge in every luxury of modern life and needing to lie very still in the dark and quiet of Duck’s guest room.”

He smiles, sheepish, “I mean, compared to you, what I’m dealing with is child's play.”

“I suppose, but there’s no need to compare woes. We have both gone through a very drastic change thanks to the anomaly; that is enough.” He sips his drink, fidgets with the gold rock on his necklace. There’d been the same kind on the bracelet Barclay put on this morning. And a pin of one on Duck’s hat-band.

“That’s fools gold, right?” 

“Yes. Apparently when Duck found me, I babbled to him all the way to the car about how it ‘was all fools gold.’ He brought me this from a rock shop a few months later. It was the first gift he gave me, the first time he told me that some mundane element of daily life reminded him of me. I’ve worn it ever since.”

Joseph smiles but looks away; the happiness of the moment seems too intimate, like he’s intruding on it. 

Indrid’s hand settles on his forearm, “Shall we finish these while we stroll? There’s a reptile house that claims to have the worlds largest Gila Monster. Duck insists it’s a painted Chuckwalla, but regardless it is fascinating. 

“I’d love to.” He stands, following Indrid down the stairs and repeating the words, “this is not a date” in his mind until they lose all meaning. 

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Barclay hates being sick for a lot of reasons, but one is that it’s so fucking boring. He can’t do anything, and nothing on T.V is good enough, or trashy enough, to hold his attention. 

The front door opens and Joseph hurries, shopping bags in both hands and sweat dripping down his chest. The agent has discovered he likes V-necks and tank-tops in the summer. Barclay has discovered the sight of Joseph Stern in tight, white shirt and navy shorts is masturbation fodder for a week. 

“Okay, I got everything I could think of to help with a cold. What would you like? There’s soup, saltines, ginger ale, gatorade, and if you want something more substantial I can make kimchi fried rice. Did you know they have kimchi just in regular grocery stores now? Dad had to make ours”

Rustling bags from the kitchen, the flick of a receipt being tucked into a folder; Joseph insists on keeping track of how much he buys with Barclay’s card, telling him he’ll pay him back once he has his job and his status of being legally dead sorted out.

“Just gatorade for now, babe.”

“What was that?” Joseph’s head pokes around the fridge.

“Bud. Some gatorade, bud?” Jesus, Joseph has only been in the house three weeks and Barclay is already tongue-tied. 

Joseph brings a bottle for each of them, gets on his knees to study the shelf of DVDs when Barclay suggests he pick something.

“They…they made Lord of the Rings into a movie!”

There goes his boredom problem. 

“Three movies.”

Joseph holds the DVD to his chest, delighted. 

“Let me go change into something less sweaty.”

Barclay would let him crawl under his blanket soaking wet if he asked. All the same, he smiles when Joseph comes down in sleep shorts and his “Bigfoot is my boyfriend” shirt Duck bought him as a joke after he admitted his fixation with the monster. The agent sits next to him on the couch. By the second disk, his feet are in Barclay’s lap. And by the time he hops back onto the couch after putting in The Two Towers, Joseph doesn’t bother keeping any space between them at all. 

—-------------------------------------------------------------

“Not sure how I feel about the music I listened to in college being on the ‘classic’ station.” Joseph steps from the Jeep into the grim heat of the Phoenix parking lot, slipping on his sunglasses. 

“You think you feel weird, they’re doin’ the same stuff with my high school favorites, and I ain’t even got the excuse of jumpin forward in time. I’m just old.”

“You’re just experienced.” Joseph smirks. It’s the line Duck uses whenever Indrid jokes about his own age, and Duck likes hearing his tired joke on Joe’s tongue. 

“My conference is done at 6. You want me to come back for you then?” 

Joe shakes his head, “I have no idea how long this will take. Aubrey showed me how to use an Uber on my phone, I’ll get one and go to the hotel when I’m done.”

“Works for me. See you tonight, slick.” He winks as Joe shuts the door, enjoying the way he blushes in reply. 

Duck’s in Phoenix for a forestry conference, representing Lost Dutchman State Park, and as luck would have it, the week before Joe was finally able to get through to the right person at the FBI. Long story short, he agreed to a DNA and fingerprint test to confirm his identity. 

The conference goes well, and he kills an hour after shooting the shit with some folks he knew from his forestry program back in school. Gets to the Radisson, unwinds with some mindless HG-TV while he waits for Joe to text him. 

Joe doesn’t get to the room until 10, lays down on the opposite bed with muffled sounds of annoyance.  

“That don’t sound good.”

The agent turns his head, cheek to patterned comforter, “They believe me, but since I was legally dead my pension went to my parents, and they refuse to consider anything resembling back-pay. They’re willing to give me a lump sum of twenty grand and won’t lock me in an observation facility provided I agree to not go public with my experience.”

“You take ‘em up on it?”

“Didn’t feel like I had a choice. Besides, even if I can’t go public, I can still help the rest of you get people out. I can maybe even solve some missing person’s cases. Bring families closure, even. I just won’t be doing it as a federal agent.”

Duck watches him a moment, “somethin else happened.”

Joe rolls onto his back, staring at the stucco, “I found out how long they looked for me. I was their top agent. I was supposed to be invaluable, they always said that, always made that the reason I had to give up everything for my work. Two weeks. They gave up on me after two weeks. I know, I know that sounds like a lot but…I just thought I was worth more than that. You know?” 

Duck moves from one bed to the other, “Gonna be honest slick, if you went missing on my watch, I’d do anythin’ I could to get you back.”

“You do that anyway with the Pine Guard.”

“Suppose so. But, uh, let’s just say I’d put even more into it than I usually do. Wouldn’t be able to give up.”

Joe looks up at him, curious, “Why not?”

Duck leans down and kisses him. There’s mint on his tongue from the wintergreen lifesavers he’s always slipping into his mouth, and he makes a surprised noise that’s so charming Duck can’t help but kiss him just to hear it again. 

“Duck I, do you really-”

“Yeah, slick, I do. ‘Drid too, though I’m bettin you’re sharp enough to notice him eye-fuckin you every time you enter a room. And Barclay’s so goddamn into you he talks like you two been datin’ for four months instead of just livin together.”

“I guess we do act like a couple a lot of the time…”

“Point is, I’m part of a three man fan-club, and I don’t give a single flyin’ fuck what the FBI thinks your worth. Cause it’s more than gold to me.” He cups Joe’s cheek, “if you don’t feel the same, that’s fine by me. But it seemed to me now was a real good time to show you how fuckin glad I am that you found your way into my chunk of history.”

Joe’s eyes drag up his body, smile never dimming, “I think, Mr. Newton, the way I feel can be best expressed if you’d come all the way down here. Ideally with your shirt off.”

“Don’t gotta ask me twice. But, uh, gimme just a sec, gotta text ‘Drid and tell ‘im goodnight.”

—-----------------------------------------------------------------

Indrid smirks, setting his phone back on the nightstand as Barclay cuddles up to him. 

“Good news?”

“Wonderful.” He takes Barclay’s hand and kisses it, “the kind that means that tomorrow, you and I need to go get a shiny, new piece of fools gold.”

[rizatouchesthewalls]

Gotta Catch Em’ All!

trainer!hobie brown x gn!trainer!reader

text that is small is an optional detail!

pls give advice on hobies accent

fluff, headcanons + mini scenarios, pokémon-au

POKEDEX: HOBART BROWN

Name — Hobie Brown

ID No. — XXXXXX

Britain Pokedex — Earth-136

Money — Thief!

Battle Points — 947283

He’s a menace to say the least. Not in a quirky but in a way where he’s actually a national problem.

He likes Fairy and Ghost types. He feels like people aim for physical and elementally strong Pokémon because they’re known to be efficient; but who said that he couldn’t beat them? Snap out of it!

He found Mimikyu one day behind a brush in the woods

Love at first sight fr

He gave it a spiked collar and a spiked-mohawk-headband

He doesn’t use Pokéballs unless Mimikyu is seriously injured and there’s no where to rest at the moment

“It’s just controllin to keep em in there.”

No doubt about it he’s one of the greatest trainers you’ve ever seen

Him being pretty helps too ig

“A-and he just stole from my mansion—!” The exasperated man shouted at you. “Aren’t you trainers worth any good? Use your Pokémon to stop him!”

“Yeah yeah old man, I got you!” You lazily scanned the area and went around the back of the mansion.

Everything’s normal so far until you see a large picture on the porcelain white walls of the mansion.

There was a large “mural” in black, dark blue, and red. In huge letters it wrote: PUNK-MON WINS! Noticing that the thief was still finishing the painting you turned the corner and walked towards him. He had a mask on and held a spray can in his hand.

“Yo—!”

“Ki-ki-ki-kyu!!!” You felt something slash at your leg, causing you to crash to the ground.

“What on earth is that?! Your scary Pokémon just bit me or something!”

The tall boy picked it up. Speaking of which, what was that thing? It looked like a wannabe Pikachu with spikes attached on it’s head. “Good little Mimikyu, beatin’ up stalkers whereva you see ‘em.”

“Stalkers? Huh—hey you mean me! I’m not a stalker!”

He helped you up. “You betta not be a copper.”

You glared at him. How are you gonna trip someone and then accuse them of trying to arrest you? Who is this loser?

He removed his mask.

Suddenly you’re not mad anymore.

“Aha, um… I see we got off on the wrong foot.” You batted your eyes. “Emphasis on foot… what is that thing?”

“This TING!!! Is my baby. My punk bunny. Mimikyu say hi!” The little creature garbled and babbled away.

“Was that ‘hi’ or possessed screeches?”

“Ion even know m’self to be honest.” He looked a little disturbed by Mimikyu, but then smiled. “My name’s Obie Brown, and I’m the number one criminal of rich-heads like this around town.”

“Very cool Hobie Brown. Only problem is that rich-head thinks Pokémon are the cause of all this vandalism and he’s trying to take down all the gyms in this area.”

“Oh!”

“Oh.”

“Right then. WE’RE GOIN TA KILL A RICH GUY!”

“Ki-kyu-ki-ki-ki-kyu!” Mimikyu excitedly garbled.

“WE’RE GOING TO WHAT?! HEY WAIT I WANNA JOIN IN!”

You couldn’t believe you were robbing the house of guy you promised to help. At least it’s not like he needs said money anyway—he has a whole nother vault on a separate island. The goal was to strip the old man of everything he owned in this mansion.

You wedged the metal bar Hobie had lended you inti the crack of the safe’s opening. “Darn. [Poke!Name], a little help here?”

Your Pokémon croaked a little noise and threw an attack at the metal door, which surprisingly made a big enough dent to pull at.

The doors hinges dropped and inside revealed a tomb of gold and stacks of money. Including golden Pokéballs.

“Woah…”

Alright! No more marveling. Here was the hard part of the mission—getting all of the things into the cheap school bags you had stolen bought and throwing them out the window.

Needless to say, it was a rather taxing job. You were constantly on your toes watching out for a stray maid or butler to come in.

“Okay! [Poke!Name], we’re finished. And no thanks to you… You’re lucky I love you.” The moment you slightly pushed the vault door open an alarm blasted. You winced as the painful ringing echoed in your ears. “It must’ve not been triggered when we blasted through it, but opening it does.”

You managed to hurl some bags at the window. But your own escape was more difficult—and you could heart the rapid footsteps coming down the hall.

“Darn—!”

“DOWN HEYAH!”

That familiar British voice! You stuck your head at the window and saw Hobie with outstretched arms.

“JUMP DOWN! I’LL CATCH YA!”

“ARE YOU COOCOO FOR COCOPUFFS?”

“TRUST!”

You anxiously rubbed your arms as you heard the servants working on the entrance door. Who would win: your fear of heights or your fear of jail?

“Open up!”

Darn, darn, darn, darn—

Your Pokémon pushed you out the window. WHAT?

You were falling—you were falling—you were going to meet your death—

“Ya not fallin anymore you damsel in distress.”

You blushed out of embarrassment and got out of Hobie’s arms. “Ahem, thank you.”

He suddenly grabbed your hand tightly and started running away from the mansion. “So, what’s the name? I never caught it!”

You sighed. You really got yourself into some sort of mess. “[Name]. Your new partner in crime.”

“That’s the spirit!”

“I WAS BEING SARCASTIC.”

[mollierdr2]

Cherry Waves

hey guys here is my fic

Summary: Long play off of Harvest Moon (and another bit I should probably write at some point) that takes place during Chapter Six. F!reader wants Arthur to leave the gang, but he feels a sense of obligation to his family, so he wants to stay.

Warnings: Majorly canon-compliant, could have been shorter, cussing????

Word Count: 13k

'He thinks we’re a lost cause, you thought. He thinks we’re not gonna get out in time.  Deciding not to press it, for fear of getting a response you didn’t want to hear, you nestled your head into Arthur’s chest.  “Goodnight.”

Arthur kissed your head, saying, “Mmm, goodnight.”

He knew you knew.'

In the swamp, you found that a shift had occurred in yours and Arthur’s relationship.  He was more distant, spending more time away from camp.  He’d come back exhausted and bloodied, often crawling straight into bed without a word.  When you asked why, he’d give you the same answer: ”well, somebody’s gotta do the work”.  You’d noticed a new weakness in his muscles, a hollowing of his face.  He’d acquired a cough, too, and sometimes you’d wake up to him hacking in his sleep.  He blamed it on the weather, saying that he was just getting used to being back in America. 

It was no surprise when, after a day out with Sadie, he came and told you that he was sick.  “What is it?” you asked, looking up at him from your shared cot.  He stood, hands on his hips, in the corner of your rickety room.

“Tuberculosis,” he said, wiping his face with his hand.  “I ain’t got much longer.”

“Okay,” you said after a while, staring at his worn boots and swallowing hard.  “What are you gonna do?”

“I dunno,” he admitted, looking past you.  “I can’t just die though.”

“No,” you agreed.  “We could head West and get you some good air, maybe?  Colorado?”

“They know us there; we won’t be able to hide out.”

“Not if we stay in the mountains.  Hell, you could stay in a sanatorium and I could-”

“I ain’t goin’ to a sanatorium.”  Arthur put his hat on the small table next to your cot and took a seat.  He shook his head.  “That won’t work.”

“So what will?  We can’t stay in the swamp.”

“Dutch wants me and Charles to go find us a new camp anyway–somewhere North of here–so it’ll be better.”  Arthur took a deep breath, wheezing.  

“I suppose,” you said, taking his hand.  “It’ll be okay.”

“Sure,” he said, grim.  

*****

The new camp was bleak.  Everyone was on edge with each other, and poor Molly had been killed–bless her soul–for none other than loving Dutch.  She’d never taken to the rest of the group, becoming a bit of scapegoat, but you had tried a couple of times to know her.  You figured her death was more of a reason to get away from the gang you had loved so much; you weren’t sure how much longer you guys would have together.  In your almost 6 years with everyone, you’d never seen someone from the gang killed in camp until now.  You felt bad.  

The whole deal felt bad.  Seeing Micah and his new “friends” filled you with an anger you couldn’t describe.  Seeing Dutch pull away from the rest of you, abandoning the gang that he had created was infuriating.  Watching your husband the workhorse go and do everyone’s bidding while he was dying made you feel the worst, though.  His plan, you had learned, was to change nothing.  He’d just keep chugging along, doing the same as before, despite the obvious restrictions his body was trying to put on him.  He’d thinned considerably, attempting to hide this with vests and jackets, but you noticed how his shirts hung from his shoulders.  You noticed the circles around his gray eyes, which used to glow green and blue and gold.  

You nagged at him constantly–about eating, getting away from the gang, resting when he needed to–but he never listened to you, always dismissing it with yes, dears and we’ll sees.  You hated it.  You hated that the two of you were stuck in this mess.  Arthur needed to get away from this!  He was dying.  You guys had a limited time together, now more so than before, and you didn’t want to give any of it up, but he was just throwing it all away.  To keep your mind off of this, you spent your time split between Abigail’s tent and your own, either talking to her or reading (you found reading to be the perfect escape).  In doing this, in keeping to yourself and avoiding the war that tore down the only home you’d ever known, you found yourself resenting it all.  You resented your husband for staying here and getting himself sick.  You resented Dutch for leading all of you into this mess.  You resented Miss Grimshaw for continuing to put you girls to work, despite her obvious knowledge that it was all going to shit.  Most of all, though, you resented yourself for letting this happen to you.  Yes, Arthur had dragged you to camp all those years ago, but you had chosen to stay.  You chose to marry him, to love him in sickness and/or in health, and now you were face-to-face with the reality of that statement.  To run away on him–to get the hell away from this disaster and go somewhere proper–would be a betrayal, and that was something you weren’t willing to do.  

Arthur was away with Sadie–shooting some O’Driscolls, or so you’d heard–and you occupied your mind with a poetry book.  Back against a big tree, you lazily gazed upon the words on the papers, hardly comprehending any of them.  You couldn’t help but wonder if he’d even come back.  If he’d get himself killed this time.  You could picture it perfectly: Sadie would come riding back into camp, calling for you or Dutch or John or maybe all three of you.  She’d tell you guys that something’s wrong–something with Arthur–and that he fell and couldn’t get back up and she wasn’t strong enough to get him herself.  Dutch would send out battalions to fetch him (or at least the Old Dutch would, but that seemed to be an entirely different man, as of recent) and you’d sit and wait like you always did, just hoping to God that Arthur would come back home to you and cup your face and kiss your forehead like he always had.  And he wouldn’t.  John would tell you that Arthur was dead and you wouldn’t even cry.  That was the worst part of these visions–you wouldn’t cry in any of them.  You couldn’t bring yourself to shed a single tear, not even in your imagination.  No tears for a man who did it to himself.

The truth is that you felt, in the deepest part of your psyche, that things would be easier if Arthur would just die.  If he died, you could breathe again, even if only for a little while.  You knew your husband; you knew he’d never leave.  And you would never leave him because he’d been there for you for everything.  He was there when your mother wrote, asking for help.  He was there when you pretended to hate him and instead of being angry at you for it, he told you he loved you–the first person to say that–and danced with you all night long.  He was there when you learned you were pregnant and he was there when the baby was born blue.  He was there for everything, so you had to be there for him.  

When Arthur did come back, you hadn’t even flipped the page.  You were so lost in thought that you didn’t notice him striding toward you, quietly coughing into his fist.  “Y/N,” he said, catching your attention.  “Hey.”

“Hey, Arthur,” you said back, not looking at him.  You felt bad for what you’d been thinking about–thinking about how it would be if he was dead–but you couldn’t help but ponder these things.  It was a very real possibility that he would leave and never come back.  You used to go with him on these things, that way you never had to sit and worry–besides, you knew your way around a weapon–but since you learned you were going to be a mother, you hadn’t picked up your rifle.  It didn’t matter that your son hadn’t lived; you were trying to be a new woman.  Less angry, less impulsive.  Less like Arthur, you supposed.  You weren’t the one flirting with death.  You were caught up in their torrid love affair, waiting on your darling lover to come back home and realize he wanted you.  The waiting killed you.  The realization that it would be easier if you didn’t have to wait any longer on him–if it would just end then–killed you a little less.  

“Whatchu readin’?” he asked, sinking down next to you.  “Something far beyond my level, no doubt.”

“No, it’s just Dickinson,” you replied softly, resting your head on his shoulder.  

“Read to me.”

Taking a shaky breath, you sat up and recited the poem on the page, saying, “‘There is a pain—so utter— / It swallows substance up— / Then covers the abyss with Trance— / So Memory can step / Around—across—upon it— / As one within a Swoon— / Goes safely—where an open eye— / Would drop Him—Bone by Bone.’”

“I don’t even know what that means,” Arthur said, chuckling a little.  “But it sounds pretty, don’t it?”

“Yeah,” you whispered.  You put your head back on Arthur’s shoulder, inhaling sharply.  “I’m glad you didn’t get yourself killed.”

“Did you think I would?”

“Maybe.  You know I’d prefer that you… minimize your excursions.”  You folded the book shut and held it in your lap.  “I don’t want whoever you’re out with to bring me back a damn corpse for a husband.”

“I ain’t gonna get killed-”

“You’re killing yourself right now, Arthur.  Don’t be a fool,” you interrupted, sitting up.  “This is killing you, and you know it as well as I.”

“Don’t talk about that here,” Arthur said, hushed.  “We can discuss it later, okay?”

“Okay,” you said after a while.  “Okay.”

“Let’s just sit here for a while, though,” Arthur said, grabbing your hand.  “It’s rest, like you’ve been askin’ for.”

Electing not to argue, you leaned back into Arthur’s side.  You had fought and fought for the past month, and it was nice to pretend for a soft, sweet moment that everything would be alright.  That he wasn’t going to die.  That you probably wouldn’t go with him, whether you wanted to or not.  The dread had weighed on your chest since you’d heard his diagnosis–like a heavy man was sitting atop your ribcage–but you could ignore it when it was just the two of you like this.  And then Arthur would cough or wheeze and the weight would be back.

*****

Days later, Arthur was supposed to blow up a bridge with John.  Sitting in your tent with the canvas drawn, you said, “What’s the point of this anyway, Arthur?  What’s this gonna do?”

“I dunno,” he admitted, standing next to his wardrobe, grabbing a black shirt.  “But Dutch is convinced that the ‘noise’ that will come with it is gonna help us; I can’t see how.”

“You’re a fool if you do what he says for much longer.  He’s not worth it anymore.” You grabbed your book–a new one, called Her Ladyship’s Elephant–and lay back on the cot.  Arthur tucked his shirt into his pants, wheezing a little.  Your stomach flipped.

“I know he ain’t, but…”

“But you’re too loyal to do anything about it; I know.” You opened the book to the page you were on, adding, “I’d just like to get to spend more time with you, you know.  Away from all of this-”

“Y/N…”

“But you won’t leave; I know.”

Arthur put his hands on his hips, breathing shallowly and looking at his feet.  “Now, I-”

“Don’t try pretendin’ otherwise.  You know it.  I just want to spend my last days with you someplace nice; not in this shithole.”  You stood, walking over to your husband and linked your arms through his, wrapping yourself around his weakened torso.  “I love you too much for that, okay?”

Arthur returned your embrace, saying, “Okay, darlin’... okay.”

You dug your chin into his chest, taking him in with all you could muster.  He was dancing a dangerous line, teetering closer and closer to death every day.  You wanted to remember every detail, every single sensation you felt as he held you in his arms which, even in their weakened state, were strong around your body.  “For me?”

“For you,” Arthur agreed, pulling back and holding you at an elbow’s length.  You pretended not to notice his hesitation in answering.  “I’ll try my best to get us outta here.”

“That’s all I ask.”  

He cupped your face, kissed your forehead, and said, “I gotta go now, okay?  I’ll be back in an hour or so; no longer.  Just gotta blow up this damn bridge and I’ll be back to you and we can work on findin’ a way out.”

“Okay.”

“I love you, darlin’.”

“I love you too.  More than anything,” you answered, smiling softly.  “I’ll see you soon, cowboy.”  Arthur jokingly tipped his hat and exited the tent, leaving you with your book.  You climbed back onto the cot, opened the book, and started reading, enveloping yourself in a world you could never escape to.  

When Arthur got back, the two of you laid on the cot together.  You read him passages from the book that you found interesting, and he listened, despite having no interest in a woman who had randomly acquired an elephant.  At this stage, the two of you spent every possible moment together, clinging to the other’s company like it was the only thing preserving your sanity.  Maybe it was.  You never could tell when Arthur would meet his maker, so you felt every inclination to stay as close as you could to him; to hold on and never let go.  When it got dark, you put up the book and turned to Arthur, asking, “Did you talk to John?”

“About what?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, Arthur; about leaving?” 

Arthur glanced down at you, brow furrowed.  “I told him that he needs to get the hell out of here before it’s too late, if that’s what you mean.”

“And what about us?”

“I’m not leaving until John is safe, Y/N.  He’s got… more, if that makes sense.  It’s not just him and Abigail; they got Jack, and the boy deserves a better life than this.”

You nodded, your stomach flipping again.  He thinks we’re a lost cause, you thought. He thinks we’re not gonna get out in time.  Deciding not to press it, for fear of getting a response you didn’t want to hear, you nestled your head into Arthur’s chest.  “Goodnight.”

Arthur kissed your head, saying, “Mmm, goodnight.”

He knew you knew.

*****

The day had started like any other–Arthur would wake from his restless slumber and scramble out of bed, pulling his pants and boots on, kissing your forehead, and leaving without waking you–but you were unable to shake the uneasiness that hung over Camp like a wall cloud before a tornado.  Dutch had disappeared into the cave and you could hear fragments of his conversation, though you couldn’t tell who he was speaking with.  Perhaps it was himself, or it was another one of his “visions”, where he claimed that he could see Hosea.  It wasn’t worth trying to figure out, at this point.  Dutch was more than a loose cannon; he was a lit fuse.  Everyone in Camp waited, air thick with anticipation, for Dutch’s inevitable explosion.  You couldn’t blame Arthur for leaving so early.  

“Hey, Y/N, would you mind talkin’ to Dutch for me?”  Abigail said, startling you.  You looked up from your journal, which you hadn’t written in for weeks, and snapped it shut.  “I think I’m onto something, but I need you to, uh…”

“Get him out?”

“Yes, if you would.”  Abigail smiled sheepishly.  “You don’t have to–I don’t blame you if you don’t want to–but I think I found somethin’ good.”  Leaning in, Abigail whispered, “I think he’s hidin’ our money in there.”

You raised your eyebrows.  “I can try, Abigail, but you know he’s not doin’ well.  He knows as good as you how I feel about this place…”

“I won’t be long; promise.”

“I guess you have yourself a deal, then,” You said, standing.  

“Maybe, if you’re lucky, he’ll kick you out of Camp.  That’d force Arthur to listen to you,” Abigail said, stepping off toward the cave.  

“Or I’d end up like Molly…” You responded, too quiet to hear.  

You glanced around Camp as you made your way to the cave, taking note of Javier and Bill’s strange alliance.  It had always been your impression that they hated each other–it seemed that Bill hated Javier for being Mexican and Javier hated Bill for hating Mexicans–but now the two of them found middle ground in their fiercely blind loyalty to Dutch.  Arthur was loyal like a dog, but even a dog learns to stay away from the owner that abuses them for so long.  It puzzled you, their loyalty.  You wondered how bad things had to have been for them to think that this–the constant badgering about faith and money and scores while running faster and further than you’ve ever had to run before–was better than what they would have faced.  Did they really still believe that this was freedom?  If you could still bring yourself to write, you figured, you’d write about that.  

As you approached the cave’s entrance, Abigail split off to the right, waiting in the corner behind Dutch’s tent, safely tucked out of sight.  “Dutch?” you asked, voice echoing on the cave’s moist walls.  “Are you in here?”

“Mrs. Morgan!” Dutch boomed, appearing from one of the many tunnels.  “How are you?”

“Well, I’m… I’m not well, Dutch.  Do you have a moment to talk about Arthur?”  You asked, craning your neck and frowning slightly.  “He’s in a bad way.”

“Of course!” Dutch put his hand on the small of your back, guiding you to his tent.  “We can always talk about Arthur and his issues with Old Dutch.”

“Oh, he doesn’t have issues with you,” you lied, “but I’m sure you’ve noticed that he’s not doin’ too well.”  The two of you stepped into the tent, with Dutch motioning for you to take a seat in the wooden chair across from his cot.  He settled into a chair of his own.  Abigail scurried into the cave without catching anyone’s attention but your own.

“This is about that?  My dear, Arthur is fine.  Hosea was sick for years and that wasn’t what took him out.  It’ll pass–all things do.  This, this will pass.  I know things are hard for you right now, it’s hard for everyone, but I promise you that I will get us out.  We’ve got a train job planned and that will be it, Mrs. Morgan.  Just one more score and you don’t have anything to worry about.  We will hop on a riverboat and head to Chicago or New York and then head off for the tropics.  I have a plan.  You just need to have some faith.”

“Dutch, he has tuberculosis.” You said bluntly.  “He doesn’t have much time left.  I’m not asking for a grandiose speech to inspire me, I’m just asking that you help him out a little.  He’s sick.  I know that you love him–I love him–and I’m afraid that you’re working him to death.”  

“I’m doing no such thing!” Dutch said, raising his voice slightly.  “It’s all apart of the plan.”

“And what is that plan?”

“I told you: Tahiti.  One last score, and we can get there.”

“You’ve been saying that for as long as I’ve known you; how do I know that this is the real one?”

“Have some goddamn faith in me.” Dutch fired back, a scowl painting itself on his face.

“Why should I?” You challenged, leaning forward.  “Where did faith get Sean and Lenny?  Hosea?”

“Don’t talk about Hosea-”

“Hosea would be so disappointed in you.”  

“Don’t talk about Hosea!” Dutch repeated, glowering.   

“Why?  You don’t want to think about what he’d say?  I’ll tell you what he’d say; he’d-”

Before you could finish, Dutch was in your face screaming, “I have a plan!  You do not get to tell me anything.  I am sick of your incessant complaining!  You know nothing of Hosea, and you know nothing of this situation!”

You raised an eyebrow, holding your mouth agape.  The tension between the two of you was palpable; the hatred radiating off of his body was overwhelming, but you held his stare.  For a moment, you didn’t know what to say.  Arguing had always come easy enough for you–sometimes your timing was a little off or you didn’t emphasize the right words–but you rarely found yourself at a loss of words.  When you did find the right words, though, you knew they’d hit.  “I see straight through you, Dutch van der Linde.  It’s a shame that no one else does.”  Carefully, reeling from the encounter, you stood and excused yourself back to your tent, hoping that Abigail had made her exit from the cave in enough time.  

Upon exiting Dutch’s tent, you found that everyone was watching you, aside from Karen, who was passed out by a tree, and Jack, who was playing quietly in the dirt.  Javier gave you a nasty look and muttered something to Bill, who smiled.  “Gentlemen,” you quietly uttered, scurrying past them.

“You know, Arthur can’t protect you forever,” Javier called after you.  You kept your head down, closing the flaps of your tent.  You hadn’t intended to cause a scene, but you were having an increased difficulty in holding your tongue in times like these.  Maybe you were just tired of always doing what you were told.  You couldn’t tell.

It was no secret that you were unhappy.  You had your moments, sure, but you hadn’t been content since you lost your baby.  Samuel, your son, was supposed to make things better.  He would’ve given you a life away from all this.  Sometimes you’d lay awake at night and see his tiny, wrinkled face.  His face that never crunched up and cried.  And just like every image you’d conjured of Arthur’s death, you could not cry at the death of your son.  You could not cry at anything.  You could only observe, watching and silently simmering at the injustice that had been committed against you.  Your life, you felt, was an injustice.  You could’ve been good, somehow, and you never were.  It was easy to blame the circumstances–it was easy to say that this was Dutch’s or Arthur’s or Samuel’s or society’s fault–but you knew it was no one’s but your own.  You were bitter and devoid of anything positive.  You’d fought against living your whole life and now here you were, a shell of a person with nothing to come from an empty existence.  When you died, there would be no one left to remember you by.  

You climbed onto your cot and grabbed the journal from your nightstand, opening to an empty page.  You had nothing to write.  You wanted to write something, you wanted this desperately, but you couldn’t find the words to adequately express your emotions.  You were stuck.  You began scribbling the word stuck over and over and over again, handwriting growing larger as you went on.  You were stuck.  You could not leave but you could not stay.  You could not go to sleep but you could not stay awake.  You could not fully love Arthur but you could not hate him.  Stuck.

You were interrupted by the front curtain flap opening.  Quickly, you slammed your journal shut as Arthur strode into your tent.  “I been thinkin’”, he said.

“Does it pay well?” you responded, too quiet, in a daze.

“Funny,” Arthur fired back.  “Anyway, I was thinkin’ and you know how we need to get John and Abigail and Jack outta here, right?  All of the girls, too?”

“Yeah…” 

“I got a plan for it; I have to run it by John, but we’ll… what’s wrong?” Your husband took a seat at the edge of the cot, looking at you with a furrowed brow.  

“I talked with Dutch.”

“Why’d you do that?” Arthur leaned back, taking your hand.  “It wasn’t good, no?”

You chuckled slightly.  “Of course it wasn’t.  I was tryin’ to help out Abigail but instead made it all about myself; she must think I’m terribly selfish.”

“You live with criminals of the highest offense and you’re worried about bein’ selfish?” Arthur teased.  “She seemed fine; don’t worry about it.”

“Wait, you saw her?” you leaned forward, turning toward Arthur.

“Well, yeah.  She was gettin’ onto Jack about runnin’ away or somethin’.  It was pretty loud; I’m surprised you didn’t hear it.” He said it like it was obvious.  You sighed.

“That’s good.”  You leaned into Arthur’s side, resting your head on his chest.  “I missed you today.”

“I missed you too, darlin’,” he said back, but you were sure that he didn’t miss you the way you’d missed him.  He put his arm over your torso, holding you comfortably.  

“You’re so warm.”  A soft smile crept across your face and you wiggled closer to your husband.  “What’d you do today?”

“Well, I went fishin’ with a Civil War veteran named Hamish and taught a young widow how to shoot.  Then I went into Annesburg for a drink and ran into Archie Downes–Mr. Downes’s son–and learned that him and his Mama never left like I told them to, so I went an’ fetched his mother and gave ‘em more money.  It’s the least I can do.”

You nodded.  “I got screamed at by Dutch and maybe threatened by Javier.”

Arthur chuckled.  “A day in the life.”

Smiling, you responded, “No doubt.” 

*****

In the week that followed, you watched and waited as Arthur followed Dutch around, doing whatever he asked.  You quietly simmered, doing your chores and reading without a word to anyone.  How could Arthur go and obey Dutch’s every word, execute his every whim, and not try to get you guys out?  Did he not value you?  The relationship the two of you had carefully fostered for the past 5 years?  Maintaining a relationship with Arthur was like trying to fight the government; you were always losing.  You’d fought the government for the greater portion of two decades, and you never won.  The same was true with Arthur–you never won.  At the end of the day, you might be in his bed, but his mind was occupied by Dutch Van Der Linde and his fancy words.  You knew when you fell in love 5 years ago that you’d never be the sole occupant of Arthur’s heart, but it was worse now, knowing that Dutch didn’t care for Arthur anymore, or at least not in the way he had.  For him now, Arthur was a weapon, and it simultaneously broke your heart and filled it with rage.  

Was Arthur this oblivious or had he just allowed it to happen?

You figured it was the latter.  You were tired of it.  When Arthur returned from the oil fields–Dutch’s latest escapade, with the intent of sticking it to the Army–it was late and you were looking for a fight.  You’d quietly stepped aside all week, but you were done.  You were sick of this, of giving Arthur everything and getting nothing in return.  

“You’re late,” you said, standing with your hands on your hips.

“It was a goddamn mess; I need to sleep.” Arthur sat at the edge of the cot, yanking his boots off of his feet.

You scoffed, eyebrows raised.  “That’s it?”

“Yes.  I don’t want to talk about it right now, Y/N, please.  It was awful.”  He stood and removed his gun belt and pants, tucking them neatly into his wardrobe.  

“It’s almost like I told you it would be bad–that all of this would be bad.  How long have I been trying to get you to leave this life?  A year?  I thought that getting sick would give you some sort of clarity–that you’d decide that this is what matters–and you’d finally choose me, but you’ve done the opposite!  You’re leaving more, and you come back looking worse and worse every time… When are you gonna come back in a casket, Arthur Morgan?”  You spat, voice hushed.  You were surprised that Arthur hadn’t interjected to defend himself.

“Not now.”

“Now,” you said, remaining firm.  “I waited for you.  Everyone got back here way before you did; why?”

“Because I got a goddamn boy killed, okay?!” Arthur fired back, looking up at you.  “I… I don’t know exactly how it happened, but we was leaving the building and I slipped and he saved me, but… not before it was too late.  He was shot in the belly for savin’ me.”

You were quiet at that.  “Oh,” you said, softening.  

“Dutch… he left me.  He could’ve turned around and helped me, but he didn’t and got that poor boy–Eagle Flies–killed for it.” He paused before quietly adding, “Charles and I brought him back to his pa before he died; that’s what took me so long.”

“I’m sorry,” you said, trying to meet his eyes.

“I know you are,” Arthur answered, staring straight ahead.  Then, almost out of nowhere, he began coughing, his body quaking.  He stooped over, hands on his knees, hacking up blood, desperately gasping for air in between each croup.  You were at his side immediately, softly rubbing circles on his shoulder.  The pit in your stomach seemed to reach your feet.  You couldn’t help but feel selfish for all of this–for throwing a fit when a boy got killed–and now Arthur was hurting again and you couldn’t do anything to help him.  

As he continued to choke on his own air, you guided his shoulders down, laying him flat on the cot.  “Shh, it’s okay,” you whispered.  “I’m sorry, Arthur.”

Tears brimmed your eyes as you watched your husband slip into unconsciousness.  You couldn’t fall asleep for a while–not until the sun was beginning to rise–and when you did, it was filled with the same bad dream, playing over and over in your mind.  You were stranded in a county jail when Arthur–young, healthy Arthur–came bursting in to bust you out.  Guns brandished, he told them that he wouldn’t hesitate to shoot first and think second, something he used to threaten people with often.  Every time, the deputies elected to shoot him.  You watched Arthur die again and again and again, shot down by some scrawny teenagers with guns who shot for the sake of shooting, and there was nothing you could do.  He crumpled to the ground, crawling toward you, saying your name–a plea of sorts, begging you to help him.  Just as he’d get to you, finally gripping the cuff of your worn-out jeans, you’d wake up.  You’d wake up in his arms, letting the sound of his slow, steady breath ease you back into your fitful slumber.   

You slipped out of bed before he’d begun to stir, grabbing some coffee for the both of you.  When you came back, Arthur was sitting on the cot, legs hanging over the edge.  “Just the two of us today,” he said, taking the cup from you.  “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” You took a seat next to him.  “You takin’ me somewhere?”

“I was thinkin’ we’d go to Valentine or Strawberry–get you a book or something and rent a Hotel room.”  He took a sip of the coffee.  

“Careful, it’s-”

“Damn, that’s hot!” he said, yanking the cup away from his mouth.  The two of you shared a sideways glance and burst out laughing. 

“I tried to warn you!”  You said, setting your drink on the nightstand.  “I just poured it!”

A smile spread its way across Arthur’s face, but it faded as his laughs were replaced with coughs.  Right, you reminded yourself.  We can’t laugh anymore.  You took a sip of your coffee, cheeks flushed.  It was embarrassing to watch him like this.  You felt bad–the constant stomachache you had was a way of always remembering–but you felt embarrassed for seeing Arthur, a man used to being strong, in such a pitiful state.  It felt like you were looking down on him somehow.  

“I’m okay,” he mustered, still coughing.  “It’s… it’s okay.”

“Mhm,” you hummed, staring at the ground before you.  “I think we should camp out in Big Valley.  It’s so beautiful over there.”  

The coughing ceased and Arthur nodded, wiping blood from the corners of his mouth.  “Sure.”

“We could go fishing and then stay the night in Strawberry–I think a bed will help you, you know–and maybe we could get a portrait done… Well, I don’t know, there’s no portrait places around, but I think it would be nice,” you rambled, turning back to your husband.  

“Yeah, that would be-”

“Arthur!” Dutch called, side-stepping into your tent.  He shot you a dirty look.  He hadn’t been very welcoming since your encounter in his tent.  “I thought I heard you.  At least you ain’t run off like the rest of them.”  

“Whatchu mean?” Arthur asked, leaning forward.  

“Pearson, Old Uncle–the traitors–both gone at dawn.  They said to young Tilly they were runnin’ to save themselves.  I think Mary-Beth left as well.”

“So it goes,” Arthur muttered, shaking his head.  So it did.  If it were up to you, you and Arthur would have been gone with them.  Of course, it wasn’t, so here you sat, next to your husband and the man he loved more than anything.  You slipped your arm around his, a subtle and unconscious showing of possession.  

“They are goddamn cowards, Arthur.  Cowards.  Of all the time we spent, to run off…”

Standing, Arthur interrupted, saying, “Well I guess they don’t wanna die, Dutch.”  Your arm fell to your side.  

“Ain’t nobody gonna…” Dutch grabbed Arthur by the shoulder and led him out of the tent, leaving you to yourself.  You made it your business not to listen, out of respect for Arthur’s privacy, more than anything, and perhaps as a sort of guilt for the way you’d carried on the night before.  

You could hear bits of the conversation.  You heard Arthur loudly exclaim something about there always being a train, before coughing.  You heard Dutch saying something about insisting–and from his tone he was not happy–before Arthur came barging back into the tent, saying, “Get ready.  We gotta go rob this damn train and we need all the guns we can get.”

“Arthur, I ain’t been on a job since-”

“I know, Y/N, but I’d feel better if you were with me than if you were waitin’ back here.  Miss Grimshaw, Tilly, and Abigail can handle the packing just fine without you; I need you with me, okay?”

You nodded.  “Okay.”  You quietly stood and made your way to the weapon cabinet, digging your engraved Bolt Action out from the bottom.  Arthur stepped out, quietly talking with John about the train job.  You then dressed yourself in a purple checkered shirt and navy jeans, topping off the outfit with a black hat.  You clipped your gun belt into place, carefully tucking your volcanic pistol into its holster.  Arthur had his own matching set, engraved with his initials.  You hadn’t carried your weapons in almost a year in an attempt to get straight, but if Arthur said now was the time to dig them back out, you believed him.  And, admittedly, you had missed the rush you felt behind a powerful weapon.  

When you stepped out of the tent, Arthur smiled a little.  “Hey,” he said.

“Let’s get this over with,” you responded, walking past him.  Dutch stood at the center of the camp, rallying the troops in some way or another.  “Let’s ride out, gentleman,” Dutch shouted, arms raised.  Everyone muttered their agreements, climbing onto their mounts, as Dutch repeated himself, saying, “Let’s go!”

The group of you took off, heading South for what would either be your ticket out of hell or your ticket straight to it.  You stayed close to Arthur’s side, for fear of harassment by Micah or his lackeys, and did your best to keep the growing uneasiness in your stomach at bay.  Arthur had respected your wishes to stay out of the fight for almost a year–since Micah had joined the gang–and now he was asking you throw yourself back into it.  You wondered if it meant Arthur was worried–if he thought that it was going to be so bad that he needed you to be there.  You swallowed hard, paying attention to the road in front of you.  

“Okay, let’s pick up the pace,” Dutch called, “The train is due in Saint Denis in an hour.”

“We’re robbin’ a train in the middle of a city?” Arthur asked.  

“No,” Dutch clarified. “It’s going to stop there, take on mail and water, let off some boys headin’ home on leave, and then it heads out.”

“They know the bridge is gone, Black Lung,” Micah taunted, inching closer to the two of you.  “There’ll be a patrol past Annesburg, waitin’ down by the river to collect the money.”

“Shut up, Micah,” you whispered.

Simultaneously, Dutch said, “We sneak on quietly and then we get a short time to stop the train–before it reaches the patrol.”  The bunch of you continued forward before Dutch said, “John, you go get that dynamite.  We’ll meet back up outside of Saint Denis.”

“Y/N and I will go with him,” Arthur added, motioning at you with his hand.  

“As you wish,” Dutch said back.

The three of you broke off from the group, heading westward to wherever John had planted the leftover dynamite he and Arthur had used to blow up the bridge.  “It’s this way,” John instructed, leading the pack.  “It’s nice to see you back with the gang, Y/N,” he added.

“I asked her to come with,” said Arthur.  “It might be a shitshow–trains always are–and I wanted some extra insurance.”

“Yeah, I’m not sure how all this will play out.”  

“This is one big goddamn group to be riding back into Saint Denis,” Arthur admitted, getting side-by-side with John.

“Yeah, and I heard the Pinkertons have pretty much taken over Van Horn,” John responded.  You nodded, as if either of them could see you.  “They moved a whole heap of men in there.  Things are closin’ in fast.”

“Shit,” Arthur softly exclaimed.  

John led you and Arthur the rest of the way to the wagon, and despite yours and John’s protests, Arthur insisted upon getting the dynamite himself.  You rolled your eyes.  He didn’t need to be carrying a 30-pound crate anymore.

“You know we can get that, Arthur,” you reminded him, leaning forward on Waldo, your horse.  A red chestnut Arabian, Waldo had been your horse for nearly as long as you’d been with the gang–you and Arthur found him shortly after you’d fallen in with them.  

“I’m fine,” he called back, a hint of aggression in his voice.

“As you like.”  You patted Waldo and gave him a sugar cube.  “You’re a good horse, boy.”

Arthur tucked the dynamite into his satchel and mounted back up.  “So listen,” John said, “Abigail just told me… the money… it’s hidden in the caves at Beaver Hollow.”

“What the hell is it doin’ that close to camp?” You exclaimed, falling into step next to John and Arthur.  

“I know!  Dutch is gettin’ even sloppier than we thought!” John said back.

“Are Abigail and Jack ready to leave?” Arthur asked.

“I think so,” John responded, an uneasiness in his voice.  

“Okay… Whatever happens with this job today…” Arthur began coughing, still saying, “wherever Dutch and them go next, we’re getting you the hell outta here.  We’re gonna get you the money you need.  Knowin’ the three of you got out, well… Maybe all this’ll still mean somethin’... Tilly and Susan too.  I’ll do whatever it takes.”

You hoped that included you.

He wouldn’t say it then, whatever plan he had for getting you guys out of there, and you knew that–it was a conversation for you two to have in private–and despite knowing the end was coming, you hadn’t anticipated its arrival to be this soon.  But part of you wished that he would have mentioned you–his wife, the woman who had stood by his side for nigh on 6 years now–because it would have meant that he believed that you were something he was fighting for.  

You’d talk about it later, if you could, and you’d apologize for making an ass of yourself the night before.  These weren’t things to be discussing with John around; he didn’t need to be aware of your guys’s relationship issues, especially when he was having his own.  “You’ve always had my back, Arthur,” John said.

“Well, perhaps not always,” Arthur corrected, and you smiled, remembering how angry he’d been when John left.  

“Anyway, here we go… One last train, guys.” John pushed forward.

“One last train…” Arthur repeated.  Your stomach flipped.  One last train.

*****

The three of you caught up to the rest of the gang soon after, and you couldn’t help but remember the last time all of you had ridden into Saint Denis–when Hosea died.  You slipped away with Abigail, but you still saw it all happen.  You shook off the memory, trying your best to seem nonchalant.  To the people of Saint Denis, you were just a woman with her husband and his friends.  Sure, the whole lot of you were heavily armed, but many people in Saint Denis were.  Besides, this was a city–people would have needed to worry about other people to care about what you were doing.  You took a deep breath, reminding yourself that you would be okay.

“You good?” Arthur asked, having noticed your anxiety.

You nodded.  “Just nervous, is all.  Haven’t been on a job in ages.”

“One last time, gentlemen,” Dutch started.  “I got us a river boat.  We’ll head up to New York or Chicago, and get a real boat from there to the tropics.”

“Chicago ain’t on the Coast,” you whispered, rolling your eyes.  He didn’t have a damn plan, and you knew it.  These other people, they might not have caught on, but you could see his bullshit from miles away.  

“So long as it isn’t Guarma,” Javier said from behind you.  

“Oh, it’ll be paradise, son!” Dutch reassured, as if he knew what paradise even was.  You were certain that he’d do the same thing he always had–the whole ordeal reeked of his and Micah’s ferry job in Blackwater, and all that had come from that ‘one last score’ was more ‘one last scores’.  

“It’s all coming together, Dutch, just like we planned,” Micah chimed in.  

“That okay with you John?  Arthur?” Dutch mocked, “Or do you ‘insist’ on something different?”  You wanted to say something, but Arthur put his hand out, as if to say ‘do not’.

“Sounds about as good now as every time I heard it before,” John fired back, saying exactly what you were thinking.  

“Oh, Abigail must be real excited, all packed up like she is,” Micah taunted.  “I could just see her in a little grass skirt-”

“Don’t talk to me, you son-of-a-bitch,” John interrupted.  

“Boys, boys, okay now, let’s keep it down,” Dutch said, attempting to slip back into the role of the level-headed peacemaker that he’d refused to play for so long.  “We don’t wanna draw attention to ourselves goin’ through here.  Nice and easy through town, fellers.”

Continuing to push, Micah said, “Ah, Saint Denis… good to be back.  Happy memories, huh, John?”

“Will you shut up, Micah?” you fired.  “He ain’t  botherin’ you.”

“That’s enough!” Dutch declared.  “Quiet, all of you.”

Dutch led the lot of you the rest of the way to the train station, occasionally nodding or saying hello to people on the sidewalks.  When you arrived, all of you dismounted, Dutch giving everyone their instructions, saying, “Cleet, Sadie, and Y/N, you board halfway along.  John, you and Arthur are gonna board at the back.  Rest of you, follow Micah and I, and join once they stop the train.”

As if on cue, the train came barrelling into the station.  Bill, in his infinite wisdom, said, “Here she comes,” as if it was not already abundantly clear that the train was on its way.  What also happened to be obvious was the fact that the train was not slowing down.

Arthur glanced at Dutch as the train passed you by, saying, “Should I just… sneak on now?”

“Goddamnit,” Dutch said, looking back at Micah.  It was odd how he’d gone from looking at Hosea to Micah, of all people.  “Well,” he decided, “everyone mount up.”

“We’re still going through with this?” Arthur asked, brows furrowed in disbelief. 

“Of course we are!” Dutch fired back, and the lot of you climbed back onto your mounts in hot pursuit of the runaway train.  John yelled at Arthur–something about catching up–but you ignored it, focusing on your own task: getting onboard the train and getting to the money.  You pushed Waldo forward, guiding him into a sprint.  You jumped onboard in the back carriage, which was flat.  Pistol drawn, you took out two of the guards that emerged from the car in front of you with a familiar ease.  You followed Sadie and Cleet through the train, taking out guards whenever you could.  The three of you made it through without much kickback, and it wasn’t until you heard yelling from behind you that you realized something had gone wrong: one of the train cars caught on fire, and John and Arthur were stuck on the other side of the fire.  

“Let’s get over there and see what we can do to help,” you said, motioning for the other two.  Without checking to see if they had followed, you made your way to the flat car in front of the one on fire.  Just as you got there, Arthur and John jumped onto the car from The Count and Brown Jack.  

“Uncouple that carriage, before it blows us all up!” Arthur shouted, pointing at the burning carriage.  

“I’m on it!” John called, running to the back of the car.  

In front of Arthur, there was a gatling gun, presumably left out open by whatever soldiers you’d shot down minutes before.  He looked around, taking note of the lookout on the hill–meaning you guys hadn’t stopped the train in time–and glanced back down at the gun.

“Man the gun, Arthur!” John shouted.

“Sure,” Arthur said back, grabbing the head from its wooden crate and latching it onto the post.  John uncoupled the carriage with ease, too, releasing the train from the fire that had threatened your pursuit.  John called for all of the riders to get on the train, and, as Bill jumped onboard, John was clipped by a bullet in the shoulder, sending him flying backwards off of the train.  

“John!” Arthur shouted, flinching from the shots.  Quickly, he whipped back around, shooting the soldier who had knocked John down in the head.  Dutch promised to get John, so long as the rest of you got the money.  

You nodded at your husband to reassure him, saying, “Man the gun.  We got you covered.”

“I’ll go stop the train,” Bill said, grabbing his rifle.  

“Do not stop the train!” You responded, shooting a soldier trailing you guys.  “You can secure up ahead, but do not stop this damn train or we’re dead, you hear me?”

“Got it!” Bill shouted back, heading to the front with Javier and Cleet.  

“Shit, we got a lot of riders on our tail, Arthur,” Sadie said, guns drawn.  

“I see ‘em.” Arthur was already shooting at the three or so men headed towards you.  As the soldiers approached from all sides, Arthur began swinging the gun around, killing men and horses alike–it’s hard to aim with a gatling gun, after all–and you and Sadie tried your best to assist him.  

“It’s nice to see you in action, Y/N,” Sadie shouted.  “I heard you was good with a gun!”

“I’m better with poetry books, but sure, I can handle myself in a gunfight,” you said back, shooting the hat off of a soldier in pursuit.  “There’s a horde of ‘em to the left, Arthur.”  Arthur nodded and swung the gun to the left as you shot at the soldier again, this time shooting him out of the saddle.  You and Sadie continued to shout your warnings at him.  After passing through a bridge, there appeared to be no one else on your tail, so you said, “Get off the gun; we gotta get to the money.”

The three of you pushed forward, only going a couple of cars further than where you’d been.  Arthur quickly dug the dynamite out of his satchel and placed it on the doors.  “Alright, I guess I better blow this thing,” he muttered. 

Stepping back, he shot the dynamite, and the doors came open.  He ran inside, with you and Sadie posting on either side of the door.  “We got something,” he said, looking around.  “We got something!” 

Throwing a money bag to you, he instructed you to catch.  “There’s more!” he said, tossing a bag the size of your torso at you.  And another.  And another.  You were so overwhelmed with the amount of money that you didn’t notice Bill barrelling toward you, jumping from the top of the carriage.  

“Morgan!” he said, “The driver’s dead!  This thing ain’t stoppin’, we gotta get off.”

“Okay then,” Sadie said, dumping a bag of money into Bill’s arms. “Let’s go!”  The four of you grabbed your bags and dove off of the train, barely making it off before it went flying from the bridge Arthur and John had blown up.  

You looked down at the wreckage, saying, “Jesus.”

“We’re alive,” Bill chimed in.

“Yeah, just about,” Arthur said back, looking at the rest of you and coughing.  

“Let’s get the hell outta here; regroup with the others,” you said, stepping away from the cliff, which you preferred not to be particularly close to in the first place.  The rest of them followed you back.  You were met on the tracks by Dutch, Micah and Joe.  “Where’s everyone else?” You asked, heaving your money sack onto the ground.

“Where’s John?” Arthur added, staring at Dutch expectantly.  The rest of the men–Javier and Cleet–fell in.

“I tried,” Dutch said, looking down at all of you.  You slipped your arm around Arthur’s–a reminder not to fly off the handle at whatever response he got.  “I tried.”

“He didn’t make it,” Micah said, peering at you guys from behind Dutch.  You felt sick.  With John gone–dead, apparently–Arthur was left with a choice you knew he’d never make.  He could stay with Dutch, link himself to the carnage, latching even tighter to Dutch’s dry, empty teat, or he could take you and leave, ending all of this once and for all.  “That patrol killed him.  We had to run.”

“Come on,”  Dutch said abruptly, before any questions could be asked.  “Let’s go.  Before another patrol turns up.”  The men took off, leaving you and Arthur on the tracks.  You watched him, trying to catch his gaze for just a moment, but he wouldn’t look at you.  He stared straight down, wheezing.  

“Let’s go, Arthur.  We don’t have time to fret, okay?  We can worry about this later, but right now, Dutch is right; we gotta go.”  You tugged at Arthur’s arm, dragging toward your horses.  He moved without protest, still quietly pondering the events that had just unfolded.  You had a feeling that whatever happened after this would not be good.  

You and Arthur saddled up, taking off after the gang.  The ride back to camp was… solemn, with no one saying much.  As tense as things had gotten between everyone, John was a part of the family, and that took its toll.  At least it did on most of you.  Dutch and Micah seemed to be just fine about the ordeal, quietly chattering at the front of the pack.  You were sure Arthur had noticed this too, but didn’t say anything about it–he wouldn’t be in the mood to talk much, not after what you’d learned.  

Right before the turn to enter camp, everyone in front of you slowed up.  You eased Waldo to a halt, looking around.  “What’s goin’ on?” you asked Arthur, brow furrowed.  

“Don’t know, but I don’t like it,” he whispered back.  

And then you heard it.  Young Tilly, scared out of her mind, saying that the Pinkertons took Abigail.  Arthur sent you a sideways glance, an odd expression painted across his face, and you realized that he’d chosen to fight for John, even though he was out of the picture.  The family he never had, or something like that.  Maybe if your son had lived, he’d fight like this for you, you thought.  Micah insisted to let Abigail go–to let her die–because John was already gone, and despite Arthur’s pleas, Dutch could not be swayed in the opposite direction.  

Arthur threw himself out of the saddle, positioning himself beneath Dutch–in front of The Count–like he was begging him to go rescue Abigail.  Tears swelled in your eyes at the sight of it–seeing your husband begging Dutch to save a woman he’d refused to let go hours earlier–and you knew that, despite your own protests to the whole affair, you’d go with him.  You’d help, not because you thought it was the best way (you couldn’t help but side somewhere in the middle with this; you found yourself wishing for a third option where you waited a while before sneaking in and getting her out), but because you knew that it was the only way Arthur would go, and you were afraid he’d get himself killed while you weren’t with him.  

They ignored him and rode past, leaving you and Sadie and Arthur and Tilly and Jack to yourselves.  Arthur coughed, putting his hands on his knees and spitting blood.  “Well, I guess that’s that, then.”  He stood.  “All them goddamn years.”  Without pausing to think, he grabbed his horn to mount up.  “I’m goin’ to get her.”

“Not without us, Arthur,” Sadie said, pushing forward.  You nodded, adding, “We’ll cover you.”  

Arthur frowned, saying, “No, Y/N, you need to stay.  Me and Sadie’s all we need.  Get everything together and we’re runnin’ after this.  We’ll go down to Big Valley and get that portrait.”  

You frowned.  “I don’t want to leave-”

“I know, but it’ll be faster.  Once Abigail is safe, we’re out of here, no questions asked.  Stay with Tilly and Jack.  We’ll meet up at Copperhead Landing and go from there, okay?”

“Okay,” you said breathlessly.  Climbing out of your saddle and making your way to him, you said, “Oh, Arthur, I-”  You leaned into his chest, holding back tears.

“I know.”  He cupped your face, kissing you softly on the forehead.  “I love you, darlin’.”  He reached into his satchel, pulling out stacks of cash and other valuables.  “Take this back and pack it up.  And the money, too.  It’ll get us out of here.”

“Okay.  Stay alive for me.”

“I will, darlin’.  I will.”  He kissed you again, this time with more urgency.  He mounted up, saying, “I’ll be back.”

“You’d better.”  You climbed back onto Waldo and watched as Arthur and Sadie disappeared into the distance.  Turning to Tilly, you said, “Take the money bags and Jack straight to Copperhead Landing and I’ll meet you there once I’ve got our stuff.  We’ll regroup there and get you someplace safe.”

She nodded, squeezing Jack as if to tell him that things would be okay.

“I don’t think it’s safe for you to go back into Camp.”  You added, and Tilly agreed, so you set off in opposite directions–Tilly towards safety and you towards a battlezone.  

When you got there, everything had been stripped.  Miss Grimshaw was ordering people around while Dutch and Micah conversed by Dutch’s tent, which hadn’t been touched.  You quickly dismounted and made your way to yours and Arthur’s tent, trying your best to be discreet, but it still caught the attention of Javier, who’d been sitting by the fire next to Bill.

“Running from something?” Javier asked.  

“I’m packing, just like the rest of you.”  You bowed your head and continued forward, stepping into your tent.  

“Where’s Arthur, then?” He followed after you.  

“Doing what you folk were too cowardly to do,” you fired back, closing the curtain to your tent in his face.  

As quickly as you could manage, you dug through everything, putting the essentials into a leather suitcase with your initials engraved on the handle.  You packed shirts, skirts, pants, books, and all of your valuables.  Arthur’s pictures, his mother’s flower, his shaving equipment.  Your wedding rings.  Newspaper clippings, your respective journals.  Little knick knacks Arthur had gifted you after his many journeys.  It scarcely fit in the suitcase, but you managed.  You layered your clothes to take more.  You couldn’t leave it all behind, not with the little money you two had.  You gripped your suitcase and hurried out.

“Leaving so soon?” Micah called after you.

“They’re traitors,” Javier taunted.

“I oughta show them what we do to traitors,” Bill said in response.  

You kept your head down and continued towards Waldo, strapping your suitcase onto his back.  The men continued to hurl insults towards you, about how you were abandoning them and that they knew Arthur was crooked.  You wanted to turn and scream at them, to call them fools for staying and bastards for refusing to help Arthur, but you kept your mouth shut, determined to let everything work out.  You’d get out.  You’d head somewhere new, somewhere he could breathe again, and it would be okay.  You’d get your portrait done and live on a homestead like normal couples did.  Maybe you’d try to have a kid again.  

“Going somewhere?” A familiar voice said from behind you.

“I do not wish to speak to you, Dutch,” you said, trying to sound cordial.  

“Ever since you came along, Arthur has been doubtin’ me, you know?”  He stepped next to you, putting his hand on Waldo.  “You’ve been whisperin’ in his ear for six years now.”

“Arthur’s not doing anything.  This is on my own accord,” you lied.  “I can’t stay here any longer–it’s too much for me.”  You mounted up, looking down at Dutch.  “I wish Arthur would agree with me, but he’ll be back, no doubt.  He’s too damn loyal.”

Dutch laughed, watching as you pulled away, riding out of Camp for what would be the last time.  You didn’t know if he believed you or not, but you hoped he wouldn’t follow you.  Everything would be fine if he didn’t follow you out.  You couldn’t imagine that what you did mattered, seeing as how you had hardly contributed to any of Dutch’s causes (except to say that they’re dangerous), but it was hard to tell with Dutch anymore. 

You waited at Copperhead Landing with Tillly for hours.  There was no trace of Dutch or Micah or any of the other guys from Camp, but there was also no trace of Arthur or Sadie.  Eventually, you grew restless, and left your things with Tilly so you could sneak into Van Horn yourself.  You hadn’t been on the radar of the law in years–they wouldn’t expect to see you barrelling into town, especially not dressed like a proper lady.  

You managed to walk through the town completely unscathed, strolling right up to the front of the building the Pinkertons had posted up in before you were questioned.  A fat man with a bald head asked you where you were going and you hastily held a knife against his throat, telling him you’d kill him if he didn’t lead you into the building.  The best part was–being that it was almost dark–that no one could see you.  He walked you straight in, hands up, telling them not to shoot you.  

In the room, you found Sadie hogtied and gagged on the ground and Abigail strapped to a chair.  Arthur was nowhere to be found.  “Put your guns down or I’ll slice his throat,” you instructed the two guards.  They did, raising their hands to the sky.  You stepped forward and kicked their weapons away.  “Untie them.”  You motioned towards Abigail and Sadie with your free hand, grabbing your pistol right afterwards.  

“No can do, Mrs. Morgan,” a voice said from a dark corner of the room.  

“Who the hell are you?”  you asked, looking towards the location of the voice.  

“Agent Milton, Pinkerton Detective Agency.  We thought you were dead until we heard of another woman running with the Van Der Linde gang on that train stunt you pulled earlier.  I never thought I’d see you in the flesh.”  He stepped forward.  

“I’ll slice this fucker’s throat-”

“I don’t doubt that you will.  But we have your husband back here, and it’d be a shame if we did the same to him.”  He grabbed a lantern from a table next to him, holding it towards the dark corner of the room.  Sure enough, there was Arthur, bloodied, barely conscious, and tied to the wall.  “Have you ever heard of lex talionis, Mrs. Morgan?” Milton asked.

“Of course I have,” you spat.  “An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth; what do you want in return?”

“Give me Dutch Van Der Linde or they’re dead.”  Milton smiled.

“I can’t,” you responded.  The man you were holding wrapped his arm around yours.  “He’s packing up to leave right now; I don’t know where he’s going.”

“Tell me the truth.”

“That is the truth,” Arthur said weakly, coughing, from behind Milton.  “They’re leavin’ with the money.”  Blood dripped out of his mouth.  Milton turned towards him, setting down the lantern. 

“Calm down, Mr. Morgan,” he said.  “That’s quite a cough he’s got there.”

“Sure,” you responded.  “Tuberculosis.  He’ll be dead soon anyway… and you with him.”  You tightened your grip on your pistol, getting ready to aim, when the man you were holding flipped you over his body, slamming you into the hardwood floor, winding you.  In doing this, though, he’d managed to slit his own throat.  Suddenly, Milton was staring down at you, gun drawn.  The other men were trying to locate their own weapons.  

“Don’t move an inch!”  Milton shouted.  You still had the knife in your left hand, soaked with the man’s blood, and your pistol in the right.  “Let go of your weapons or we’ll shoot!”

You were effectively stuck.  A gun aimed straight at your face and only a knife to defend yourself with.  One of the men picked up his revolver.  You weighed your options.  You could try and get the knife to Arthur, but there was no guarantee that he’d be strong enough to do anything.  Or the gun, but you weren’t sure he’d be able to see well enough to shoot.  You could try to get it to Abigail, but she wasn’t untied.  Still, her bonds looked loose.  She started wiggling, nodding at you.  You flung the weapons towards her.  

“Arthur will be dead, sure, but I’ll be just fine.  We offered him a deal, Mrs. Morgan.  It’s a pity he refused to take it.”  He sneered at you.  

“He’s a fool.  I’ve been tellin’ him that for 6 years.”  The other two men appeared around you, pointing their revolvers at your head.  Abigail was wiggling her arm loose out of the corner of your eye. 

“Not all you folk have quite so many scruples.  Old Micah Bell…” Milton stepped back, leaning against the table that he’d set the lantern on.  

“Micah?” Arthur asked.

“You mean Molly?” You chimed in, sitting up a little.  One of Milton’s men shoved his revolver in your face, forcing you back down.  

“Molly O’Shea?  We sweated her a couple of times, never talked a word, had to let her go.  Micah Bell… we picked him up when you boys came back from the Caribbean and he’s been a good boy ever since.”

Abigail gave you a slight nod, free, and quickly got to untying Sadie. 

“Micah?”  You asked again, stalling.  “But he’s been so-”

“He told us about everything; the job today, your involvement with the Indians and the Army.”  Milton crossed his arms with a confident swagger.

“Then why’d you ask about Dutch?”  You asked, frowning.  “If you knew where we were the whole time, why would you ask?”

“Wanted to see if you’d tell the truth about the whole thing.  We’ve heard that Mr. Morgan was undecided.”  You glanced back to Abigail and Sadie, then back to Milton.  Arthur coughed, his head limp, and blood dripped from his mouth to the floor.  He looked pathetic.  You wished you could rush to his side and help him somehow, but you were a little occupied.  

You figured the best thing you could do from there was come up with a little sob story until Abigail had freed Sadie and gotten their weapons, so you said, “You know, I’ve waited on Arthur to get away from this for ages.  All I ever wanted was for him to cut loose and run away from that Gang.  I knew it would be our downfall.”

“That it was, Mrs. Morgan,” Milton said, but then a gun was fired and he crumpled to the ground.  Two more shots rang and Milton’s men followed suit, falling onto the hardwood floor.  

“Horrible men,” Abigail muttered, turning away.  

“You okay, Y/N?” Sadie asked, offering you a hand.  You took it and stood, nodding, and then made your way to Arthur.   

His arms were in shackles that were chained to the wall.  “Oh, Arthur,” you whispered.  “Search their bodies for keys to these things.”  

Sadie found them in Milton’s pocket, so you unlocked Arthur’s shackles and he came tumbling down onto you, unable to support himself.  “What did they do to him?” you asked, looking at the girls.

“They nearly beat him to death,” Abigail said, frowning.  “They caught him trying to untie me and attacked him.”

“Let’s get him up,” you said, motioning for Abigail and Sadie to get on either side of him.  The three of you stood in unison, supporting Arthur’s weight.  “They’ll have heard the commotion we made, so more of them will be coming, no doubt.  We need to get out of here.”

The three of you led Arthur to your mounts, helped him on, and hurried out of Van Horn, magically escaping a gunfight.  When you got to Copperhead Landing, Jack was asleep in Tilly’s arms.  The only light in the area was from the moon and stars.  You tapped Arthur’s thigh, saying, “I gotta get down.”  

Arthur nodded glumly and slipped off the side of Ralph, his horse (Abigail was on Waldo), and held on to his back for stability.  He couldn’t hold his head up all the way.  You wanted to take him away somewhere, to bring him to a place where he’d be able to rest, but you guys had a long way to go.  

“Where’s John?” Abigail asked, frowning at the sight of Jack and Tilly, but no John.  “He didn’t run, did he?”

“He’s… he’s dead,” you managed.  “He didn’t run on you guys–he wouldn’t do that again.  I’m so sorry, Abigail, but he… he fell and Dutch-”  Abigail burst into tears, pulling you into a tight hug.  “I’m so sorry.”

“We’ll go back for him,” Arthur mumbled, stepping away from Ralph and towards the two of you.  “We’ll go find him and give him a proper burial like you wanted, but I gotta have a little chat first.”

“Arthur-” You tried to interrupt, but he continued.  You broke from Abigail’s embrace.

“Abigail and Sadie, you go with Tilly and you find someplace nice to stay, please.  You got any money?”

“No, not-” 

“Here.”  Arthur reached into your suitcase and pulled out the stack of money he’d handed you earlier.  “Take it and get the hell away from here.”  You watched frantically as Arthur gave away your last bit of hope that the two of you would make it.  

“Oh, Arthur,” Abigail said, but Arthur put his hand up, telling her not to say anything and just go.  The whole lot of them did, leaving you and your husband with your horses.  

“What the hell was that?” you asked, brow furrowed.  “You’re giving them our money?”

“They need it more.”

“I thought we were running away.”  Your voice broke at this, tears filling your eyes.  “How are we gonna run away if you gave them all of our money?”

Your husband grabbed your shoulders, forcing you to look at him.  He looked defeated, in a way, as if he’d fought against himself about this and finally lost.  “I’m sorry.  I have to go back and warn them.  Micah, he’s… he’s leading all of them to their deaths.”

“They want to kill you, Arthur!  They think you’ve betrayed them!”  You pleaded, trying to catch Arthur’s gaze, which he refused to meet.  “Arthur, please.”

“It’s been 20 goddamn years; I can’t just let them die.”

“What about your wife?”  You begged.  “What about what you said earlier?  What about Big Valley?”

“I can’t… it’s… they need to know, Y/N, I’m sorry.  I need to tell them and then we can meet up again.”  He pulled you close and kissed your head, but you pulled away from him.

“I’ll never forgive you for this,” you spat.  “I’ll never forgive you for picking them over me after they left you!”

“They didn’t-”

“They did!  You told me last night, Arthur.  They left you!  There’s nothing for you there anymore.  Abigail, Tilly, Sadie, and Jack are all gone.  Charles is gone.  John’s dead.  What more could you possibly get there?  I have all of our stuff!”  Tears spilled from your eyes, and as much as you tried to blink them away, they stayed steady.  

“I have to tell them about Micah.  I can’t leave them like that, not after 20 years, not knowin’ it’s him.  I don’t need you to forgive that, but I need to do it.”  He climbed onto Ralph, his amber champagne coated Missouri Fox Trotter, and looked down at you.  “I’m sorry, okay?”

“You’ll die.”

“Maybe not.  Go up to the Wapiti Indian Reservation and find Charles.  He’ll know what to do, darlin’-”

“-Don’t call me that-”

“-okay?”  Arthur offered a weak smile.  “I will meet you there as soon as I’m done, I promise you.”

“And then what, Arthur?  Then we help the gang get on a boat to New York because it’s been 20 years and you’re obligated to do that, too?  When will it end?”  You wanted to hit him, to curse him for lying to you, for almost dying, for leaving you alone.  You hated this so much.  He was going to his death.  You knew it.  You knew he would never come back to you, even if he said he would.  There was no way they wouldn’t kill him for accusing Micah–they were too blindly loyal–and you’d sit and wait.  The vision would come true.  He wouldn’t let you anywhere near Camp and, frankly, you didn’t care to be.  You didn’t want to fight in that battle because it wasn’t yours.  But you wished he’d see it your way, because his way had an awful ending that you were both all too aware of.  

“Y/N…” he said, his voice quiet.  “I love you.”

“I love you too, but I hate you.”  You wiped your tears.  “You’re killin’ yourself.”

“I know.”  He gave you a solemn nod. 

“Why can’t we just go be happy, Arthur?  Is that so hard?”

“This is all I’ve ever known.” He looked forward, grabbing his hat from his saddle bag and putting it on his head, which was bruised from the beatings he’d already taken.  He was hardly able to sit upright on Ralph, much less able to fight.  

“You’ve known me…”  He started heading towards Camp, unable to hear you.  “Arthur, you’ve known me!” you shrieked, sobbing.  “Oh, God!”  You fell to your knees, your entire body shaking with sobs.  He’d left you.  He didn’t wait to hear you out anymore–you knew he wouldn’t–and now you were on your own.  Nothing to live for, no one to remember you by.  He’d be dead before morning–you were certain of this.  Eventually, you managed to climb into your saddle and start towards Wapiti, but it was only out of fear that the Pinkertons would find you and have you shot or hanged for your entanglement with Milton.  

*****

In the weeks that followed, you fell into a terrible, hollowing depression.  You wouldn’t eat or drink anything that wasn’t forced down your throat, you wouldn’t talk.  Charles was there, of course, but he’d never be your husband and he’d never be able to bring him back.  Eventually, he went and found Arthur’s body, which was apparently at the base of a tree on a ridge that faced the East.  He let you choose a burial spot, which faced the West like Arthur had always wanted.  You didn’t know what to do anymore.  You’d always had some sort of hope for the future–you’d imagine what everything would be like when you guys finally managed to get away–but now that he was gone, there was nothing to imagine.  You quit reading and you definitely didn’t write.  You just sat.  It was a shallow existence, sure, but you did not know how to live without Arthur anymore.  He’d saved you all those years ago, and now he was just gone. 

You wanted to hate him.  The way he left you was shitty and you knew it, but you could not hate him for it because you’d always known that it would be like that.  You knew it would end up like that before he was even sick.  Still, you felt betrayed.  You were supposed to stick together in everything–he was supposed to choose you–and he hadn’t.  You were used to being the second choice, of course, but that decision cost him his life and you both knew it would.  He chose death over what could’ve been happiness with you.  You’d never forgive him for that, even with all of the love you had for him.  

“Did you eat today?” Charles asked, appearing at your side.

“No.”  

“Have some soup; it’ll hydrate you too.”  He handed you a bowl.

“I’m not hungry,” you said, trying to pass it back to him.

“I’m not asking.  Eat it.”  He pushed it back towards you.  “You have to eat something at least once a day.  You’ll starve yourself.”

“Maybe I want to die,” you fired back. 

“You don’t want to die of starvation.  That’s a painful death.”  Charles grabbed a soup bowl of his own and drank from it.  

“Maybe I want a painful death.”

“Eat.  It’s not a request.”  He forced your bowl towards your lips, despite your protests. 

“Fine!  I’ll get it myself!”  You slurped the soup loudly, just to annoy him.  “Better?”

“Yes,”  Charles said, then he stood and left.  He was never one for conversation, but you knew that he was there for you more than anyone else.  Probably more than Arthur had been, thanks to his loyalty to Dutch.  He checked in on you every day, forced you to eat, forced you to get dressed, and told you how horrible every way you’d tried to die would be.  Burns, for example, were far too painful to deal with.  It’d hurt to breathe.  You’d sit in the pain until your heart finally stopped because it was trying too hard to fight the burn.  Gunshots would be slow and agonizing, but also messy.  You’d bleed everywhere as the gunpowder spread around inside your body.  Knives were the same–far too messy and unreliable for convenience.  What would you do if you lived, after all?

You wanted to hate Charles for this, too, but you couldn’t because, like Arthur, he took care of you.  He was one of the only people in your godforsaken life who had shown that you mattered, so even if you were mad that he forced you to live, you were thankful that he cared enough to want to make it happen.  And he understood your pain.  He missed Arthur too.  They were best friends, the pair of them, so it was hard on him, too.  He wouldn’t show it, but when you couldn’t sleep at night, you could hear him moving restlessly, too.  You were in the same boat, in a way, except Charles had never been abandoned by him.  

*****

Years and years later, on your own homestead in Canada, you and Charles lived out a quiet life together.  He’d married a fine young woman from the Reservation and moved up North to get away from the carnage you’d both left behind.  You lived in a house separate from theirs, one small enough for you and another–room for Arthur, if he was still alive–and you were mostly content.  You’d go South a couple of times a year to visit Arthur’s grave–to keep it maintained and such–but you spent most of your time on the homestead.  You learned to work honestly.  You kept to yourself.  You wrote.  

One time, on a visit to Arthur, there was a man with dark hair facing the cross.  He was wearing Arthur’s hat.  You immediately burst into tears at the sight of his hat, which caught his attention, and facing you was none other than John Marston.  “Y/N?”  He asked, stepping towards you.  “Oh, my God!”

He wrapped his arms around you as your knees buckled, keeping you solidly upright.  “John,” you managed, hardly able to speak through sobs.  “How did… how did you…”

“They left me, Y/N, Dutch and them.  I got back to Camp when Arthur did and he… he helped me get out of there.  He was beaten pretty badly, by then, but he didn’t tell me nothin’.  How are you?”

“He helped you get out?”

John nodded.  “Said somethin’ about how he knew it wasn’t over and that he had to finish the job.”

“Did he mention me at all?  Was he going to come back for me?”  You sat on a rock facing the grave and John took a seat next to you.  You sniffled, wiping your face.  John was alive.  He was alive because of Arthur.  

“He kept talking about Wapiti, but he was spent before we got to the top of that mountain.  Gave me his hat, but I think you should have it.”  He took off his hat and offered it to you.  “It’s more yours than mine, anyway.  You knew him better.”

“Thank you,” you mumbled, taking the hat from him.  “Did you see him die?”

“No,” he admitted.  “But I always assumed he did.  I learned from Charles a couple of years back.  I think he’s up North now-”

“He is.  We live on a homestead together.”

“Really?”  John raised his eyebrows, smiling a little.  “Good for you guys.”

“No, not like that.  He has a wife.  They just let me live there.  It’s good, honest work.”  You looked down at the hat in your hands, inhaling deeply.  “No, Arthur is my only love, I fear.”

John sat for a second, staring at the ground.  “He was a good man.  The last thing he said to me was to check in on you, but I never did.  I went to my family and we ran, but… I wish I had gone to find you.  Maybe I could’ve brought you back to him or somethin’... I don’t know.”  He took a deep breath.  “He loved you, though.  I know that.”

You nodded.  “Not enough to run away with me.”

“No, he was going to.  We’d talked about it the whole time we stayed in Beaver Hollow.  He mentioned it to Sadie, too.  I bet Charles knew he’d planned to.” 

“Why wouldn’t he tell me?”

“Would it have made a difference?”  

You thought on that for a moment.  “I guess not.”  You smiled softly.  “I get the feeling that Charles has kept a lot from me.”

“He’s not very sociable,” John responded with a slight smile.  “I’m glad you’re okay, Y/N.”

“You too, John.  Last I knew of you, you were dead.  Where are you staying now?”

“Little ranch called Beecher’s Hope down in West Elizabeth.  You should come down sometime and visit.  It’s nice.”

“I’m okay,” you said, staring at Arthur’s grave.  “This is the furthest South I come anymore.  I don’t want to see anything else–no more reminders of Arthur, you know?”

“I suppose.”  John took your hand, shaking it, solemnly meeting your gaze.  “I have to get back to my family.”

“I have a couple of people to check in on, so that’s okay.  I keep tabs on some of the people who knew him.”  

John smiled.  “He’d like that.”

“I know.  He’d love the homestead I’m living on.  It’s so open and free…” You sighed.  “I miss him.  I see him everywhere.”

“Me too,” John said.  “Me too.”

*****

Years and years after the death of John Marston and Charles Smith, you found yourself ill with pneumonia.  You’d watched as the world grew up around you–becoming something you couldn’t recognize–and though you’d remained set in your ways, you felt that you lived in an entirely different place.  Your homestead had stayed the same, though, and it was here that you were determined to die.  

Janet, the great-granddaughter of Charles Smith, liked to listen to the stories you told.  She sat at your side and listened as you recounted the time you and Arthur danced under the stars after he’d told you he loved you.  You could see him then, sitting sweetly in the chair opposite Janet’s, and you could smell his musk.  People smelled better in 1966 than they had in 1899.  His hand was by your arm–you could practically feel the warmth coming from it.  His breathing was no longer ragged and weary like it had been in his final month, instead rhythmic and soft.  You smiled.  “He’s here now,” you told Janet.  

 She smiled back, thinking you were crazy, and squeezed your hand as Arthur eased you into a quiet, peaceful death.  You were together again, at last. 

[adastra121]

“The Other Side” (Touchstarved OC Rewrite)

So I made a parody of "The Other Side" from The Greatest Showman with my Touchstarved Hound OC, Alon. Here, she's trying to partner up with Mhin to — as thieves are wont to do — pull off a Senobium caper, but it takes a bit of back and forth with someone who's so used to being on their own.

Alon: Right here, right now, I put the offer out. I don't wanna chase you down but I know you see it. We form a team and we will find the key To all the answers we both know we’re seekin'. So trade that tragical for somethin' magical (Mhin: Tragical’s not a word.) And if it's crazy, live a little crazy! You can try the same old schtick and hope that something finally clicks. Or change the game and schtick with me…

Alon: Don't you wanna get away From this Lowtown part you gotta play? Then I got what you need, so come with me, we’ll pull a heist! It’ll take you to the other side! 'Cause you can do like you do or you can run with me. Stay in the dark or you finally take a leap. Oh, damn! Suddenly you're free to fly! We’ll get us to the other side!

Mhin: Okay, my friend, you want to count me in. Well, I hate to tell you but it just won't happen. So thanks, but no. I think I'm good to go. ‘Cause I quite like the dark you say I'm trapped in. I’ll say it’s bold of you, this crazy plot you brewed. That nerve is something, really, it's something. But I work best alone, and your plan sounds like a joke at most — We can’t afford to play the fools.

Mhin: Don't you know that I'm okay With this Lowtown part I have to play? 'Cause I take what I need and I don't need a ride-or-die. I will take myself to the other side. So go and do as you do. Run off and leave me be. No need for change, you can go on and keep your key. Oh, damn, can't you see I'm doing fine? I don’t need your help to save my life.

Alon: Now is this really how you plan to get past those gates? ‘Nother vine, ‘nother try to carry all of the weight? Mhin: If I join up with you, Someone is bound to get hurt. We could die, be confined, try choosing which one is worse!

Alon: Or we could finally win a little, finally breathe a little. We could take back our freedom to dream And it’ll clear a path to cure our achin'. Take our curses, start 'em breakin'. Now that's a change that seems worth embracin’! But I guess I'll leave that up to you…?

Mhin: …Fine, you’ve intrigued me, but my services are costly. So how much actual coin would you be offering? Alon: Fair enough, you want insurance for the action. Seven gold, come on, let’s shake and make it happen! Mhin: I wasn't born this morning, eighteen would be just fine. Alon: Ack! Why not just ditch the heist and try to bribe your way inside? Mhin: Fifteen. Alon: I'd do eight! Mhin: Twelve. Alon: Maybe nine. Mhin: Ten.

Both: Don't you wanna get away To a whole new part you're gonna play? Then I got what you need, so come with me, we’ll take the ride To the other side! So you can do like you do or you can run with me. Forget the gates 'cause we’re going to take the leap! Oh, damn, suddenly we're free to fly. We're going to the other side!

Mhin: So if you do like I do (Alon: To the other side) So if you do like me (Alon: We're goin' to the other side) Both: 'Cause if we do, we're going to the other side. We're going to the other side!

[spacedoutman]

【𝕻𝖞𝖌𝖒𝖆𝖑𝖎𝖔𝖓 | 𝕬 𝖐𝖎𝖘𝖘 𝖆𝖚】

(𝕻𝖆𝖗𝖙/𝖘 20)

Description: Kiss was the perfect name for the infamous bank robbers who kissed everything goodbye to go out in a blaze of glory. Wreaking havoc on 1930s America, what happens when the chase ends?

♥ Paul Stanley x Reader

Note: It's really easy to just wanna drop a fanfic and stop continuing it. I just gotta remember how much fun it actually is to write this and keep going. Things aren't so easy right now but I'm sure it'll start getting better. One day, I'll have this to look back on and laugh.

Warnings:

𝖆𝖔3

“Fuck!!”

A pebble skidded across the narrow road. Paul’s fists clenched so tightly his nails dug into his palm. His knees threatened to buckle. A trail of fire slowly crawled up his veins. The pebble tumbled into the ditch. Paul’s eyes widened. He bared his teeth. Crickets chirped in his ears like nails on a chalkboard. He glared at the road. He swore it laughed at him.

He stumbled back. Thick brush jabbed his back. He sunk into it. Everything from briers to sticks like briers hit him. He grit his teeth, pushing through pitch black.

A couple stars twinkled through the dense treetops. You curled up on Paul’s jacket, closing your eyes tightly. Your head hung dry as the Sahara. You sighed. Raw air scratched your throat. Gene leaned over his bent knee. Leaves crumpled under him as he stoked the fire. Ace’s weeping drowned out the sounds of the forest. Bobby held him tightly, his own eyes unfocused.

Crunch! Crunch! Crunch! You shot up. Your eyes glittered. Paul, covered in enough burs to have new pants, pushed into the little clearing. He knelt down, putting his hands to the fire. You smiled. He glanced, grinning warmly. You scooted over, wrapping your arm around his. His tension melted. The cold faded.

“Did you see anyone..?” Gene raised his brows, sharp with skepticism.

“-No.” Paul shook his head quickly. “I..” He looked down. His chin clung to his chest. “There wasn’t a soul out there.”

They spoke in hushed voices.

“We’re gonna have to eat the whole damn forest if shit keeps goin’ like this.” Bobby groaned.

He ran a hand through his hair.

“Damn right. It’s been.. how many days now?”

You leaned back. Paul pulled you onto his leg. You pulled your knees against your chest. Your heart slowed. Your head went quiet in a good way. You melted into him like butter. He rubbed your shoulder.

“If there’s nobody here, can’t we just drive out?” Ace’s squeaky voice cracked worse than an abandoned road.

The birds whistled.

“We can at least get a little further than here.” He added softly.

“Are we outta’ petrol?” Bobby doubted.

Gene scoffed. “We can’t be.” He waved his hand dismissively. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Your gaze flitted at the dead leaves before hitting Bobby. Your words broke through a cloud of ‘don’t’ and a little fright—as well as your overly tense throat.

“Have you ever robbed a car?”

“Plenty of times.” Bobby shrugged casually. “This is definitely the best thing we can do.” He laid back, crossing one leg over the other and his elbows behind his head. “But I think we ought to get some shut-eye. If it don’t work out tonight, we—hopefully--got tomorrow.”

Paul nodded. He gently pulled his coat off your shoulders, laying it behind you. He planted a kiss on your cheek. You couldn’t help but to grin. Your heart fluttered like a newlywed. His smile glowed. You two laid down together, stuck like glue. He pulled you into his chest. You closed your eyes.

“Paul..?”

A book sat in your delicately gloved hands. European fairy tales shimmered in bold gold across the deep blue cover like the sun reflecting off the sea. Golden light stained the bedroom with haze. You leaned back, smiling as you laid the book beside you. The mattress crunched. Warmth overwhelmed your senses as Paul hugged you, kissing your temple.

“So this is our happily ever after?” He asked playfully, gazing at the book.

The distant smell of the woods flooded your nose. His pressed white shirt hugged his body. The fabric was soft on your skin. It was tucked into deep brown trousers held by a leather belt. His curls were pressed a bit flat where that old champagne pork pie hat sat.

“I sure hope so!” You said playfully, pulling him close by the tie.

Electric sparked as you locked gazes. His deep brown eyes pulled you in like a magnet. You fell through them like an angel from heaven. Your eyes fell half shut as a woozy smile landed on your face. He grinned the same way. He pulled you close. His soft lips touched your neck. You shivered. If your heart fluttered any more, you’d faint!

Who’d think things could go downhill so fast?

Your heart stopped. You shot awake. Gene shook Ace awake as Paul barreled through the brush. You scrambled up, snatching Paul’s coat from under you as your head spun. A couple leaves drifted off it. Gene jogged over, his eyes wide as he stomped out the fire. The tension was so thick you could cut it with a knife. Your adrenaline pumped.

He took your arm. Ace staggered behind with Paul. Gene scratched at the brambles like a cat as Bobby’s voice broke through the singing birds. Sweat raced down your temple. Your heart quickened as you tried to force something.. anything, out of your mouth. You stumbled into the clearing. Gene took a deep breath. A white ford classic sat clean in the middle of the road.

“We got lucky.” Bobby leaned against it, fiddling with his rifle.

You wiped your brow. It all crashed like a wildfire being rained on. Your legs gave out. Gene and Paul caught you.

“Jesus Christ!” You exclaimed, tossing your hands out. “Next time, give me a warning!”

[butterfly-buck]

HEY SO???

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Laisse tomber les filles 8

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape; size kink; age gap; manipulation; sexual acts and dubcon

This is a dark!fic and Lee Bodecker x (short) reader and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Synopsis: You find yourself ostracized on campus by your shyness, but your reticence won’t deter an unwanted suitor.

Note: More Lee for y’all. Yesterday was chaotic and I’m exhausted.

Thanks to everyone for reading and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 As usual, I’d appreciate if you let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

You only owned two dresses; the royal blue tea length sheath you wore to your graduation and the silvery gray A-line with the fuller skirt. You chose the former, the straighter cut more like your usual style, and slid your feet into your mary janes. You pulled on a crochet sweater and paced the small space of your room.

You didn’t want to keep the sheriff waiting, couldn’t, but you were again, ridiculously early. When you thought about your meeting after class, you shook and had to slow your breathing before it got out of control. The look in his eyes, the vice of his hand on your arm, and the timbre in his voice clung to you.

He was the first boy, well man, to ever take interest in you. Maybe that was why it felt so strange. You told yourself that’s what it was as you wrung your hands and checked the small clock next to your bed. Fifteen minutes.

You made yourself sit as you were overwhelmed by the questions brewing in your head. What if he wanted to touch you again? What if you felt that same tickle deep inside? Was it wrong? Could it be if it felt so nice? He said you knew what the two of you were, but you had no idea.

You took your pocketbook and turned out the light. You heard Ellie and Gina in the kitchen but quickly snuck out the main door. You nearly tumbled down the first flight of stairs, taking the last few with your hand on the railing. You got to the door and let yourself out slowly.

The cruiser was already there, waiting for you. You checked your slender watch, five to six. You squeezed the strap of your bag and played with the bottom of your sweater. Lee emerged from his car and opened the passenger door, waiting patiently as he wished you a good evening. His tone as if your last meeting had been just as cordial.

You stopped and stared at him as you approached. He smiled and tilted his head as he leaned on the door.

“What’sa matter, honey pie?” he asked.

You searched his expression, the shadow of his hat casting sinister lines under his eyes. 

“I thought you were mad--”

“Oh, honey, that was just a little tiff,” he purred, “I can’t stay mad at a pretty little thing like you.”

You nodded and bit down on your reticence. You sat in the car and sidled open as he shut the door. He went around and got in the other side. He took his hat off and smoothed his hair. He put the hat between you and turned the keys.

“Now don’t go blabbering telling everyone I let you sit in the front on duty,” he chided as he steered away from the curb, “else I’ll have to keep you in the back like a bad girl.”

You frowned and uttered a vow that you wouldn’t. You watched campus pass outside and Lee came to a stop as a group of students crossed ahead of him. He peered over at you and reached over to touch the sleeve of your sweater.

“You look nice,” he remarked, “very nice… I could eat you up but I was saving room for shakes.”

“I’m not very hungry,” you said quietly, “thank you.”

“Whatcha bein’ so sad for, girl?” he asked tersely as he pressed down on the gas.

You shook your head and kept your eyes out the window. It was so confusing how he could act like nothing happened. How one moment he was demanding and decisive and the next coaxing and coddling. Well, your mother always said that men were impossible to understand.

“Don’t you be shy with me, you know me, honey,” he coaxed, “I only been nice to you, haven’t I? I take you out, I make you dinner, buy you pretty clothes.”

“I know, I said, er, I said thank you and I can’t…” you shrugged and let out a breath, “sure, I’ll have vanilla.”

He was quiet as he drove past the welcome to campus sign and turned out onto the main way.

“You can always tell me what’s wrong, honey,” he said softly, “if there’s anything you need. I wanna take care of you.”

“I…” you sniffed and looked away from the window, “I’m not your daughter, I got a father.”

“Oh no,” he scoffed, “you ever do what we done with your father?”

“You don’t need to take care of me. I’m supposed to be… grown up,” you insisted.

“Look, we ain’t gotta talk about this now, I was gonna wait til the shakes,” he replied as his hand gripped the wheel so tightly you heard the leather groan, “I got a surprise and you’re gonna spoil it.”

“Alright,” you mumbled, “I won’t ruin it then.”

He pulled in the shake shop and you played with the clasp of your purse, pushing it open then snapping it shut nervously. He ordered and you waited in pendulous silence, swinging between dread and pure anxiety. What did he mean a surprise? Everything he did surprised you.

He handed you your cup and you sipped through the straw to distract yourself. The sugary drink cooled your stomach as it washed over your tongue. Lee played with the radio and slurped noisily. 

‘Kiss me my darling, Be mine tonight Tomorrow will be too late, It's now or never My love won't wait.’

Elvis Presley’s deep tone rose from the radio and the lyrics made you squirm. You never really listened to the words before. You liked the beat but you were unsettled by the urgency of the lyrics and melody together.

The song ended and another began to play, followed by the radio host chatting about new sounds and new bands. You couldn’t follow his over pronounced words as your leg jiggled nervously. The silence, the anticipation of whatever it was Lee had planned, was worse than anything.

He plunked his empty cup down on the other side of him and hummed in approval, “wasn’t that good, honey?”

He slid over the seat until he was almost against you. You bit the end of the straw and nodded. You had only a mouthful or two left but you couldn’t get it down. He cleared his throat and shoved his hand under his jacket and hesitated.

“So, uh, I wanted to… show you how much I like you, honey, since we’re goin’ steady now,” he said as your brow crinkled in confusion. Steady? Is that what this was? “I got you this.”

He took out a box and opened it carefully. It was a slender rosy gold ring with a single small stone of aquamarine nestled in the middle of silver rose. You gaped at it as your face played at your curiosity and concern.

“It’s a promise ring,” he took the ring, “don’t you like it? Pretty little flower like you, honey pie.”

You put your cup in the corner where the seat met the side of the car. He took your left hand before you could react and slipped the ring on gently. He tilted your hand to admire it in the dimming light and kissed your knuckle.

“You like it, don’t you, honey?” he asked as he let you go.

You held your hand up and stared at the ring. You own only a few pieces of jewelry, all fake and all hand-me-downs. You could tell this was real but that wasn’t as daunting as the meaning.

“Don’t worry, it’s just a place keeper,” he continued as he slipped his arm over your shoulders and you tensed, “I’ll buy you something even nicer for when I pop the question.”

“What?”

“Mmm, honey, you know I’m gonna marry you, don’t ya?” he purred as he reached to your right hand and pushed his fingers between yours, “I wouldn’t ever mistreat you like that.”

“I…” your breath went out of you. Marriage? You were still in college, you weren’t even twenty, and Lee, he was divorced and older than your father.

“It’s okay, that’s not just yet, I just…” he hesitated, but he never struggled for words. It felt ingenuine, “I also wanted to apologise for earlier. I don’t like to be angry with ya, honey pie.”

You were silent as he clung to your hand and your other strained as you felt the band with your thumb. You couldn’t think straight, your head was spinning and your vision blurred oddly. It all felt too fast. The world needed to slow down.

“I’m sorry, honey, do you forgive me?” he asked as his thumb caressed the back of your hand.

You peeked up at him and nodded, quickly dropping your chin again to stare at the dashboard. He leaned over and kissed the top of your head.

“Good,” he hummed, “‘cause I think I’m falling for ya.”

[livtries]

loverboy - jb.r

hello loves! i think i am back to posting on this account - i’ve been active the past few weeks, just not with my own posts! reblogging here and there, but thats it. i’ve currently working on some masterlists to make it easier to navigate my content, so keep a look out for that! 

have a suggestion or request? submit it here.

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pairing || john b routledge x fem!reader

word count || 595

summary || you had been head over heels for john b ever since you met him, and little did you know, he felt the same.

warnings || underage drinking.

a/n: i’ve been rewatching outerbanks, so expect more john b/pope/kie/jj content ;)

no use of y/n!!

(this is not edited, so expect some spelling/grammar mistakes)

you didn’t expect to find yourself in the middle of a figure eight party tonight, and you definitely didn’t expect to be this anxious. you had lost sight of your friends, and started to become uneasy. 

while you inched closer to the lions den, in search of one of your friends, you catch sight of one. your anxieties immediately faded away when you saw john b and jj running towards you, pushing through the crowd of people in the middle of the dance floor. 

“c’mon! we gotta go,” john b grabbed your arm, pulling you along.

“what? why?” you asked, running along with them.

“we found it,” you heard john b say, a huge smile appearing on his face. he’d finally found the gold that he was worked so hard for. he finally did it. 

“shut up! what??” you said, a smile growing on your face as well, “john b, thats amazing.”

kie and pope were already at the chateau, waiting for us to arrive. we sat together, talking about what we’re going to do with our share of the gold.

“what’re you doin’ with your 80 mil, pope?” kie asked him, and he tried to think.

“pay for college in advance. and textbooks. they’re expensive,” he said, completely serious. he all chuckled a little bit, before jj chimed in, telling us what he was going to do with his share. 

“i’m gonna buy a house on figure eight. get this huge statue of myself…” he paused before raising his beer bottle in the air, “gonna go full kook.”

“what about you, JB?” jj asked him.

“to goin’ full kook,” he said, raising his beer in the air, cheering with us all before turning back around to look out at the water.

kie and pope had gone home, and jj was in bed. 

i joined john b out on the deck.

“hey,” i said, climbing up next to him, third beer of the night still in my hand.

“hey,” he turned towards me, before sipping on his beer.

i was so unbelievably happy for him, for finding the gold, and finally having some closure about his dad… although, i wanted so badly to pull him in and kiss him, and tell him how i felt towards him.

“come here,” i said, pulling him into me, “i’m happy for you.”

he turned his head towards me, his eyes darting from my eyes to my lips. i examined his face, trying to figure out what he was thinking.

“can i tell you something?” he asked, keeping eye contact.

all i did was nod my head. it was all i could do. the words wouldn’t come out, even if i tried.

“look, this probably isn’t the best time, but i really like you, alot.”

the look on my face said it all. did he really just say that??

“what?!” i looked at him, swearing that i didn’t hear that right.

“i like you…” he repeated himself. i had heard him correctly… never in my life had i thought i’d ever hear him say that to me. i’d had a crush on him since forever, and i just never saw anything happening between us except being friends.

“i- like you too, john b…” i was hesitant, but decided against keeping the secret from him.

“that’s… that’s great,” he smiled at me, and we sat together in silence for a while longer.

“can i- can i kiss you?” he turned towards me, after a little time had passed. 

“i thought you’d never ask,” i smiled, before he kissed me softly.

[amor-immortalem]

Friends (With Benefits)

Minors DNI

A/N: Fair warning this is a mammonxoc smut-not a very good one but its a smut nonetheless- because its just that kinda day... It’s not the first one I’ve written but it’s the first one I’ve ever posted that hasn’t been part of a role play so... yeah. Do with that info what you will...

I'm not participating in kinktober but since its that time of year I figured eh why the hell not. Now, if you excuse me. I need some water.

Also I’m doing that 48hr post+ protest so any comments questions or concerns will be heard on the 4th.

Warning(s)?: unprotected sex, oral sex (Female receiving) size kink (if you squint)

Gods she needed to get off. She’d been down here on the exchange programme for about six months at this point and yeah, Asmodeus made it a point to make sure she had plenty of quality toys at her disposal for the year, but it just wasn’t as satisfying as the real thing. Not to mention, she never had a moment’s peace in this god-forsaken house to begin with. It was common place for Arella to come home to Mammon or one of his brothers making themselves at home here in her room or just barging in whenever they felt like it- no better way to kill the mood than getting walked in on by one of her housemates.

In fact, that’s the case today. Arella had come home a little earlier than the others due to them being stuck for a student council meeting for the express purpose of having some privacy and time to relieve her frustrations without risking the chance that one of those pesky demons would interrupt her. Of course, that wasn’t the case for her as waiting on her bed was the Avatar of Greed himself scrolling through his phone like it was no big deal- dressed in only a pair of grey sweat pants because of course he would be.

It was a nice view though. Despite Mammon’s frustrating hot-’n-cold attitude sometimes, he always is pleasing to look at and now in her desire-addled mind, Arella finds herself scanning over his form as her eyes drift lower and lower until...

“Ya gonna just stand there or...?” Mammon calls, not looking away from the screen of his phone.

Her face flushes at the notion that he’s caught her eyeing him up like a piece a meat. “Why’re you in here, Mammon? Surely, you have better things to do since you’re always so busy.”

“Well yeah, naturally, I’ve always got shit ta do but I said we were gonna do movie night after school today so...”

“Can you give me a few hours, please? I... have to take care of something.” Arella sighs when the demon makes no effort to leave but rather shifts a little to the point that the material of his pants leaves astoundingly little to the imagination.

She audibly swallows, trying so hard not to stare. Arella has to look away, her face an impossibly bright shade of red as her mind starts to wander into the gutter. She could always order him away with the pact but she always did hate using it unnecessarily. It’s not until she sees the smirk on his face that she knows he’s fucking with her.

“What’s so important that I can’t be here, huh?” Mammon drops his phone on the bed beside him.

“That smirk on your face tells me you know exactly why.” The human glares at him.

“Yeah ‘n that’s why ‘m not goin’,” The Avatar of Greed laughs, “Yer jus’ gonna have to suffer, Princess.”

“You are absolutely horrible, you know that?” Arella sighs in frustration. “C’mon, Mammon, just go, please. Unlike you, who has the luxury of going out to find a partner when you need to get laid, I can’t for risk that they’ll eat me afterwards so I have to take care of myself when it comes to that.”

“You could always just ask me to help ya...” The demon suggests. “Ever heard of the term ‘friends with benefits’?”

“Huh- Wha- I – Of course, I’ve heard of the term!” She crosses her arms as she huffs. “But friends with benefits only works when both parties don’t run the risk of catching feelings. And you strike me as the type who does.”

“What? No. Couldn’t be me.” The demon rolls his eyes as he looks away, “’sides you’d be doin’ me a favor too and ya can’t tell me that yer not even a little curious about what I’m like in bed. I heard ya this morning. Moanin’ my name and beggin’ me for more.” A smug smirk paints itself on his face as he gets up, approaching her, walking her back until she’s trapped between him and the wall. “Well? Ya got your chance with The Great Mammon now... ya gonna take it or blow it?”

Arella bites her lip as she mulls it over. It wasn’t like he was wrong. She did fantasize about him more than she should for someone who she considers a friend. “Fuck it,” she murmurs as she surges forward to capture his lips in a heated kiss as she pushes him back towards her bed.

If the need wasn’t so urgent, she’d take her time with Mammon, but honestly, going for six months without any chance for release when she was used to being able to have it whenever only made her more desperate to find it now. Her hands traveled all along the demon’s body as she straddled his hips. She let out a soft moan as he shoved his tongue in her mouth and he rolled them over, grinding his hips against hers. He broke their kiss only to trail them down to her neck where he nibbled and sucked little love bites into the delicate skin on her neck.

Arella’s fingers carded through his snowy hair as she panted, head tilting to the side as he moved, his hands coming up work on unbuttoning her unform shirt, tossing it to the side once it was off. He wasn’t so gentle with her bra, choosing to rip it off and toss it away as if the article of clothing had offended him somehow.

“Mammon!” she gasped as she watched it go.

“What? Ya got a hundred more where that came from. If it’s that big a deal I’ll by ya a new one.” the greedy demon growls as he trails his lips down her chest, taking one of her nipples into his mouth and sucking as his fingers pinched and rolled the other one. Every once and a while he would lightly nip at her before circling it with his tongue. Arella would only tug at his hair impatiently signaling him to get on with it as he chuckled. “Here, get these wet for me.”

He prods her lips with his fingers and she takes them in her mouth, sucking and swirling her tongue around them as he pushed them in further to the point that she was nearly gagging on them as he works on ridding her of her skirt and panties. As they slid down her legs, he pressed open-mouthed kisses to her inner thighs, withdrawing his fingers from her mouth and tracing them down her stomach. He let his warm breath tease for a bit as she tried to rock her hips to spur him to action.

“Impatient, ain’t ya, Baby?” He chuckled, “Just hold still, you’ll get what ya want.”

“If you’d stop teasing, maybe I would,” she pouts, just wanting to feel him where she needed it most.

“As you wish, Princess.” The demon smirks as he spreads her open and licks a stripe from her opening to her clit and she could almost cry at how good it feels when he starts to gently suckle on the sensitive nub.

“Fuuuck, yes, right there,” She gasps at the feeling of his mouth on her and the prodding of one of his long fingers at her opening followed soon by a second. “Don’t stop...”

Her head tips back as she lets a pleasured sigh fall from her mouth, her hand coming down to knot itself in Mammon’s fleecy white hair to push him closer, drawing a moan from the demon. He has her dangerously close to the edge of oblivion without having even done much of anything.

“I’m so close, Baby, keep going.” she rocks her hips to match pace of his fingers before he pulls them away only to replace them with his tongue and she lets out a frantic cry as she feels the wet muscle work its way against her walls while his thumb rubbed tight circles around her clit.

“Don’t hold back. Let me have it.” He growls out as he returns to his ministrations and she absolutely loses it, body going tense as she lets out a strangled moan and she clenches around his tongue as she cries out his name.

The demon cleans her up as he helps her ride out her high before pulling away, making a show of licking his lips as he crawls his way back up her body. He leans down for another kiss and Arella moans at how she can taste herself on his lips and tongue. She used her knee to brush against his crotch listening to the beautiful groan he lets out at the sensation.

“Get those off,” The human says in reference to his sweat pants that now have a large stain of pre covering the front. “You need more or are you good to go right away?”

“Nah, I’m good.” He pushes himself up on his knees and slowly rids himself of his sweat pants allowing his cock to spring up, slapping against his belly.

Her jaw drops at the sight of him. She knew he was big- but damn. He absolutely would tear her apart if they we’re careful- and are those piercings? She can feel her mouth start to water as she looks up at him to see the predatory look in his eyes that were now a shining gold.

“That shut ya up real fast, didn’t it?” He chuckled as he lined himself up. “You ready or do you need a minute?”

“No, I’m fine.” A determined look crossed her eyes. “I’m more than ready.”

“Got a safe word?”

“Just use the traffic light system.” She hooks a leg over his hips to bring him closer. “I want this.”

The stretch she feels as Mammon enters her is as delicious as it is painful even with him taking breaks to let her adjust. Once he’s fully seated, he keeps still as she takes a moment to savor it. With a nod from her, he begins to rock his hips gently, upping his pace as he draws more moans and gasps and the occasional whine from his human. Soon he’s pounding into her as he slips into his demon form.

Her hands are at his back, digging into the skin near the base of his wings and scratching angry red lines down his back. She’s so tight around him that it’s intoxicating to the demon as he lets out a growl. He can feel her next climax is imminent by the way her walls are clenching and gripping him and the breathy pitchy cries of his name- by the way her eyes are nearly rolled back into her head as he pulls her legs up over his hips to hit deeper. The pleasure is overwhelming as his piercings drag along her walls and she cums for the second time that afternoon.

He slows his pace in consideration of the human but he never stops all together. As she starts to squirm from the overstimulation, Mammon holds her still.

“What’s your color, Baby?”

“Green,” Arella looks up at him and pulls him back down by the horns for a tongue filled kiss as he picks his pace back up.

She ran her fingers against the curls of his horns as the demon goes back to biting and sucking on her neck as the only sounds that could be heard were the sounds of their moans, growls, and gasps and the sound of skin slapping against skin. “More! I need more, Mammon. Please.” She has tears slipping down her cheeks from the overstimulation. “It's so good... you’re so big...”

He growls as he hoists her legs up over his shoulders, nearly folding her in half as he thrust into her at a near animalistic pace hitting the deepest part of her as she cried for him. He was getting close to his release as he grasped her hand in his.

“Almost there... so close... Just keep squeezin’ me like that.”

“Me too!” Arella threw her head back, “Fuck, I’m so close. Cum inside.”

“Yer playin’ with fire, Princess. Ya really want that from me?”

“Yes! Yes!” Her grip on his hand tightened as she threw her head back. “Fill me up.”

He groaned as he felt her walls tighten once more as she hit her last release. “Shit... haah... fuck. I’m cumming!” Mammon buries his face in her neck as his thrusts falter. His cock twitches as he fills her with his seed until she’s overflowing with a mixture of their fluids.

They ride out their highs together, letting out soft groans and gasps as the demon pulls her legs down from his shoulders. They stare at each other as they try to catch their breath, wide-eyed, sweaty messes before bursting into a fit a laughter.

“I can’t believe we did that,” He sighs as he leans his forehead against hers.

“That was... amazing...” She sighs, “Best sex I’ve had ever had... I don’t know about you but I need a nap after we shower and change the sheets.”

“Yeah, I second that...” Mammon groans as he pulls out and rolls out of bed. “I’ll start the water; you just pull the sheets off.”

Arella only gave him a thumbs up as she sat up, feeling considerably better than she had before she’d gotten home from school.

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Find more on my masterlist

[fandom-imagines-stories]

Lost Boy

Sodapop Curtis x Reader

Words: 4305

Summary: 16 years of never belonging and you’ve finally had enough. You move in with your outcast sister in Tulsa and meet a group of boys who finally make you feel like you’re where you’re supposed to be. Inspired by the song Lost Boy by Ruth B.

Notes: Peter Pan is one of my all time favorite stories and I love this song. I thought it could bring a whimsical, yet still angsty feel to a Sodapop imagine so I hope you guys enjoy! 

Warnings: Mentions of abuse

Sodapop and more: HERE

-

There was a time, when I was alone

Nowhere to go and no place to call home

You always wanted to know what it was like to fly. To soar above the clouds, too far away to hear your parent’s screaming. Watching the world zoom by through the car window was the closest you’d ever felt to flying. You were free.

Pulling up to the little shack of a house, your sister, Beth, gave you a small smile.

“It's not much. You’ll be sleeping on the couch until we can clean out the attic.” She rambled. Beth rambled when she was nervous. “We were going to have you stay in the boys’ room, but Michael has a fever so he’s had to stay in bed-”

“Beth,” You gave her the biggest smile you could. You hadn’t smiled like that in a long time. “It’s perfect.” There was a loud racket coming from the house at the end of the block and three rowdy boys came bounding down the street. 

“Hey Mrs. Austin.” One greeted as you both got out of the car. Your sister waved and he grinned. You never knew a boy could have a smile as nice as he had. 

“Steve, my engine is making that sound again.” Beth said to one of the other boys. 

“I’ll look at it as soon as we get back.” He said and the three took off down the street again. The one with the nice smile looked back at you and for a second you thought he might have winked. 

“Who was that?” You asked, turning your attention back to your sister as she helped you unpack. You didn’t have much. Just some clothes and a couple books. 

“The one I was talking to is Steve Randal. He’s been helping me keep this piece of junk rolling.” Beth patted the hood of the car. “The others are two of the Curtis boys. They live with their big brother Darryl down the block.” She pointed to the house the boys had come out of. “Nice kids.”  

You watched them walk for a moment longer before taking your things inside. Your brother in law greeted you with a suffocating hug and one of your nephews wrapped around your leg. 

“John.” Beth laughed, prying him off of you. John was six-years-old and Michael was four. They were two of the sweetest and silliest boys you’d ever met. 

“Look at how big you’ve gotten,” You said, feeling a twinge of guilt. You hadn’t seen the boys since Michaels first birthday. You were lucky if your parents let you write Beth letters. 

Beth was your age when she got pregnant with John. Your parents kicked her out of the house and told her never to come back. Her and Jack got married and moved here, to Tulsa. Two years later, she had Michael. They were happy, which was more than you could say for your parents. But you’d never have to worry about them again. 

After you settled in a little, you decided to find a quiet place in the neighborhood to read. You’d lost count how many times you had read Peter Pan, but you never got tired of it. The idea of a place like Neverland got you through every fight, every tear filled night, and every cigar burn. 

You walked around for a while before you found a nice spot in the big empty lot. There were a couple of logs to lean on and a spot where a fire had been. With winter break coming to its end, the January air made you shiver. You didn’t mind. You were too happy to even notice. 

Just as you opened to the first page, you saw a figure approaching. He was hunched over with his hands shoved in his pockets. He didn’t even notice you until he reached where you were sitting. This must be his usual spot. 

“Hey, who are you?” He spat, though it was hard to be intimidated by his quivering voice. 

“My name is Y/N,” You said calmly, setting your book aside. “I just moved here.”

“Yeah, well you better beat it.” He ducked his head like he was trying to hide his face from you. “There are some real creeps around here at night and you don’t look like no greaser girl.” 

“I’m usually pretty good at handling myself.” You stood, not to scare him, but to show that you weren’t scared. “What’s your name?” 

“What’s it to you?”

“Well, if we’re going to be friends, I’d like to know your name.”

“Who said I wanted to be friends?” 

You sighed and tucked your book under your arm.

“Suit yourself.” You walked past him, bumping his shoulder as you went. 

“Wait.” He squeaked. You turned around. “What… what are you reading?” A little surprised, you lifted up the cover so he could see it.

“It’s my favorite. I’ve read it so many times, but I never get tired of it.” You beamed as he read of the gold lettering on the cover, worn from years of being very well loved. You could see his face now and you held back a gasp. His cheek was red and swollen and his lip was split. He caught you staring and quickly turned away. 

“Like I said, you better get out of here.” He huffed. Without thinking, you put a hand on his shoulder. 

“My dad hit me too.” You didn’t know how you knew, but you did. At first, he seemed angry and jerked his shoulder away. But his face softened and he looked at the ground. 

“My name’s Johnny.”

“Now was that so hard?” You playfully nudged his arm to try and ease the tension. He even smiled a little. 

“Johnny!” Another figure appeared across the lot, barreling towards you like a steam engine. You were worried that it might be his dad, but as he got closer, you saw how young he was. He looked Beth’s age, maybe younger. 

“Hey Darry.” Johnny greeted, his voice still quiet. 

“I thought that was you I saw slinkin 'over here.” the man crossed his arms disapprovingly. “The hell are you doin out here? You’re gonna freeze to death.” Darry saw the signs of violence on the boy’s face and sighed. “Come on home with me and I'll fix you something to eat.”

“Thanks Darry.” Johnny muttered. Darry’s stare landed on you. 

“Haven’t seen you before.”

“I just moved here today.” You meant to sound tougher, but your voice came out as a squeak. Man, he was scary. After giving you a once over and figuring you weren’t trouble, his hard stared turned a little more welcoming. 

“You must be Beth Austin’s kid sister.”

“Yes, sir.” 

“No need for that, now.” He chuckled. “You can call me Darry, same as everybody else. Your sister told me to watch out for you.”

“She did?” You knew Beth was protective, but she didn’t have to alert the neighborhood.

“Probably wants you to stay away from us greasers.” Johnny said and Darry tousled his hair. 

“You can come over for dinner too, if you want.” He offered. You would have declined, but your stomach started growling something awful. Darry motioned for you to follow him. 

“That’s Darry for you.” Johnny whispered with a small smirk. “He’s got a habit of takin’ in strays.” 

-

He came to me with the sweetest smile

Told me he wanted to talk for a while

It was kinda funny how well you fit in at a table full of boys. Darry was still fixing dinner and Johnny was talking to the youngest Curtis, Ponyboy. It only took a little convincing from Johnny for Ponyboy to get comfortable with you being there. 

“Damnit, where is that boy?” Darry exclaimed, throwing down a dish towel. 

“He probably got caught up talking to all those girls that come to see him.” Ponyboy said, sounding a little jealous. 

“Yeah, well if he wants dinner, he better get his butt back here.”

“Who are we waiting or?” You asked Johnny in a low voice. 

“Oh, they’re just goin’ on about Sodapop. He’s the middle one.”

“His name is Sodapop?” You wondered. You didn’t laugh like other girls sometimes did. You were actually curious. 

“Sure is. Our dad liked unique names.” Ponyboy beamed. “And Soda’s as unique as they come.”

“That’s one word for it.” Darry laughed, shaking his head. As if he heard his name, the middle Curtis burst through the front door, an excited grin lighting up his face.

“You shoulda seen her, Darry.” He howled. “Prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.”

“You say that about every girl.” His older brother scoffed. 

“Well this time, I mean it. And she’s just down the street!” Sodapop leaned against the fridge with a dreamy expression. Darry cleared his throat, jerking his head towards the dinner table. Ponyboy and Johnny were ready to burst from laughter. As soon as Sodapop’s eyes landed on you, he nearly fell over, his face turning a very cute shade of pink.

“You must be Sodapop.” You tried your best to hide the nervousness in your voice, not to mention the furious blush lighting up your face. You had never been called pretty before. Maybe he wasn’t talking about you. After all, he only saw you for a second. 

“Yes ma’am.” He straightened himself out and smiled. Lord, that smile. “You-uh-you’re the girl I saw with Mrs. Austin.” 

“What’re you calling her ‘ma’am’ for?” Johnny exclaimed. Ponyboy elbowed him in the side. “Ow! What? She’s just one of us!” You laughed at the two, but kept your eyes on Soda.

“That’s me alright. Beth’s my big sister. I’m gonna live with her now.” You said proudly. 

“Where are your folks?” The youngest boy wondered. 

“Ponyboy,” Darry scolded sharply. He knew that the story probably wasn’t a nice one. In this neighborhood, they never were. You didn’t seem upset by the younger boy’s question. 

“They’re still in Chicago. Be glad you’ll never have to meet them.” You shrugged, your gaze returning to Sodapop. His blue eyes were bright with curiosity. He sat down across from you and Darry put down a plate of sandwiches. 

It was the liveliest dinner you’d ever had. Darry and Ponyboy squabbled back and forth while Johnny scarfed down his sandwich. 

“Whatcha reading?” Sodapop asked, eyeing the book you had set on the table. 

“Oh, um, you’ll probably think it’s silly.” You quickly pulled the book into your lap. His lips fell into a pout. 

“I promise I won’t.” His voice was so sweet that you knew he wasn’t going to make fun of you. You slid the worn down and well loved book across to him. “Peter Pan?” He read. “I remember that Disney movie when we were kids. Never thought about reading the book.”

“That’s cause you don’t read.” Ponyboy snickered. There was a thud and Ponyboy cried out, rubbing his now sore shin. 

“Is it any good?” Soda asked. 

“Oh it’s my favorite.” You beamed. “I guess the idea of flying away to a place where you never have to grow up was a nice thought when I was with my parents and all their yelling.”

You felt the tone of the table change. Ponyboy and Johnny looked at each other, Darry clasped his hands together on the table and Soda gave you a sympathetic smile. The grim shift made you think of home. 

“Alright, enough with the long faces.” You exclaimed, leaning across to playfully shove Ponyboy’s shoulder. “That’s all over now.” You looked at each boy with the brightest smile they’d ever seen. Your gaze landed on Sodapop and his lips returned your grin. “This is Neverland.”

Smiles returned to the boys’ faces and Darry even chuckled. You and Soda just kept looking at each other. 

“You clearly haven’t been in Tulsa long enough.” A new voice sneered. Everybody looked at the boy standing in the doorway. He had a hard stare and a mean look about him, but you didn’t let that scare you. You’d seen meaner. 

“Anywhere is better than where I was before.” You replied calmly. The boy narrowed his eyes and looked you over. 

“Is there something you need, Dally?” Darry asked sternly. 

“Little bird told me there was a new girl in the neighborhood. Didn’t think she’d be slumming with us greasers already.” Dally kept his mean glare on you until Sodapop stood up. 

“Come on, Y/N. Why don’t I walk you home?”

“Soda must think you need protecting.” He smirked. “I think you look like you can handle a guy like me.”

“Cut it out, Dallas.” Darry’s voice was a warning now.

“It’s alright. I should be getting back anyway to help Beth get the boys in bed.” You pushed away from the table, thanking Darry for dinner and saying goodnight to everyone. Lastly, you turned to Dally as you and Soda passed him. “It was nice meeting you, Dallas.”

You could feel his stare burning into the back of your head as you stepped out into the cool night air. 

“Sorry about him.” Sodapop said, shoving his hands in the back pockets of his jeans as he walked. “Dally’s really not so bad. He’s just acting like that cause he don’t know you yet.”

“Don’t worry about it.” You shrugged. “I knew plenty of boys like that back in Chicago, only I didn’t have a tough guy like Darry or a sweet one like you to stand up to them, so Dallas is right.”

“About what?”

“I can handle guys like him.” You bumped his shoulder with yours and laughed. “I appreciate you walking with me, though. Beth would kill me if she thought I was out here by myself at night.”

“Has she always been protective like that?”

“I guess.” You thought for a moment. “When we were kids, she was always sticking up for me to our old man. She never let him lay a hand on me as long as she was around.” You found a pebble on the sidewalk and nudged it with your toe. “When she got pregnant, she didn't have a choice but leave. I think she just still sees me as that scrawny 10-year-old.” 

You walked together in silence for a moment. You stopped suddenly, looking up at the sky. Stars stared back down at you with their bright faces. You liked to think they were smiling. Soda was a few steps away before he noticed that you had stopped. 

“What’re you looking at?” He asked, walking back to join you. He tilted his head upward, trying to find whatever had caught your attention. 

“The sky’s a lot prettier out here.” You mused. “In Chicago, it’s all lights and smog. But here, you can really see the stars.” That feeling of flying was back, taking you up into the air just like the book. 

“You’re a different kinda girl, you know that?” Sodapop laughed. You spun around with your arms extended. 

“You have to be different to survive, Sodapop Curtis.” When you looked at him, he could have sworn that your eyes twinkled like the stars. 

-

I am a Lost Boy, from Neverland

Usually hanging out with Peter Pan

“They were not nearly so elegant as Peter, they could not help kicking a little, but their heads were bobbing against the ceiling and there is almost nothing so delicious as that.” You read in a clear voice so that all the boys could hear you. It was strangely nice out and the afternoon had turned into a kind of gathering at the park. You were sitting underneath the jungle gym with Johnny and Ponyboy sprawled out across from you. Sodapop and Steve had their knees hooked on the bars to see who could hang upside down the longest. 

“Do you think this counts as flying?” Soda grinned down at you. Even upside down, it was the sweetest smile you’d ever seen. 

“Only until you hit the ground.” Steve swung out his arm to try and knock him down, but Soda was quicker than that and Steve was the one that ended up in the dirt. Everybody laughed and Steve was only angry for a minute. 

“Let her keep going.” Johnny whined. He seemed less skittish than he had last night. Ponyboy waited until Steve wasn’t looking to nod eagerly in agreement. 

“Pony, don’t you have studying to do?” Soda climbed down and gave his brother a pleading look. It didn’t take long for Ponyboy to catch on. He made a face and got up, nudging Johnny to join him. 

“Don’t be too late, Soda else Darry’ll take it out on me.” He grumbled, thanking you for the story before taking off back to the house. Steve also came up with an excuse to ditch, leaving just you and Sodapop, who tried to look surprised.

“Is this how you pick up all your girls? Cornering them in parks?” You scoffed, putting your book back in your bag. Man, his face turned red. 

“I don’t know what- um- I’m not… no.” He stammered, kicking the toe of his boot into the dirt. You laughed. 

“Relax, Soda, I’m just teasin’ you.” You shoved him playfully and slung your bag over your shoulder. The wind picked up a little and you shivered. 

“Don’t you have a coat or something?” Soda asked, watching the goosebumps appear on your arms. You’d picked one of your short sleeve shirts since it was so nice, but now the weather seemed to remember what month it was. “Here.”

Soda wrapped an arm around your shoulders, rubbing your skin to help warm you up. His hands were softer than you thought they’d be with him working at the gas station and all. Being so close brought a pleasant pink color to your cheeks. Before you knew it, you were inching closer and closer until he kissed you. 

His lips were gentle and soft and perfect. You both forgot to breathe for a while, but that didn’t bother you. When you did finally pull away, you both had the biggest grins on your faces. 

“Maybe I should walk you home.” Soda said breathlessly. You nodded and, with a rush of courage you laced your fingers together as you walked. 

By the time you got home, you felt like you were floating. It wasn’t the same as flying. This wasn’t rushed or heart-pounding. It was quieter and sweet. You couldn’t help but give him another kiss goodnight. When he was walking back to his house, he seemed to have a skip in his step. 

You swung the front door open with a wide smile, giggling to yourself like a little kid. But that happy feeling washed away when you saw who Beth was sitting with. 

“Daddy?”

-

Run, run Lost Boy, they say to me

Away from all of reality

You ran until your lungs felt like they’d burst. All you heard were three terrifying words and you got out of there as fast as you could “Takin’ you home.” You were home. That bastard wasn’t taking you anywhere. 

You took the back way to the Curtis house, ducking your way through other people’s back yards so that your father wouldn’t be able to follow you. You were too afraid to go around front, so you found a low window and knocked on the glass. 

“Darry!” You whisper-shouted. “Soda, Pony, is anybody in there? Sodapop?”

The curtains were pulled aside and an irritated looking Darry peaked out at you. He lifted up the window pane all the way so he could lean out and get a better look at you. 

“The hell are you doing here, Y/N?” He asked. “Soda said he just dropped you off at home a few minutes ago.”

“I couldn’t go around front, Darry, he might see me.” You sniffed, wiping your nose on your sleeve. You must have been crying cause your face was all wet. “Could you help me in?”

He nodded and pulled you up by the arms. As you climbed in the window, Ponyboy appeared behind Darry with big eyes. You must have looked worse than you thought from climbing all those fences and cutting through yards. 

“What happened to you?” 

“Pony, go get her a glass of water. And where’s that other kid brother of mine?” Darry shouted before turning back to you. “Jeez, kiddo, you’re shaking like a leaf.”

“Yeah, Darry?” Soda popped his head into the room. His eyes went as wide as Pony’s had when he saw you. “Hey, Y/N, what’s the matter?” Darry grabbed the front of his shirt and yanked him forward. 

“Sodapop Patrick Curtis, if you hurt his girl, I’m gonna-”

“It wasn’t Soda.” You blurted. You crossed your arms over your chest and stared down at the floor. “It’s my dad. He’s come to take me back to Chicago.” You jerked your chin up, trying to look tougher than you felt. “But I’m not gonna let him.” 

“I thought they let Beth bring you here.” Darry closed the window and grabbed you a blanket from the bed. It was then that you realized you must have climbed into Darry’s room. There was a pair of work boots on the floor and an old, beat-up football on the shelf. 

“They did.” You glowered. Soda gently wrapped the blanket around your shoulders. “Guess they missed having something to scream at besides each other.”

“Well you can just stay here til he goes away, right Darry?” Soda said, not losing his sunny optimism for a second. Before Darry could respond, a series of loud bangs came from the front door. 

“I know she’s in there you little punks!”

“Oh god, it’s him.” You hid yourself in Soda’s embrace and Darry went to answer the door. 

“Come out now you-” Your father’s shouting stopped abruptly. Darry, though half his age, towered over him. He didn’t look so confident anymore. “Where’s my girl.”

You held Soda tighter. Your old man must have really hurt you because Soda knew you were one tough girl. You stood up to Dallas. 

“You need to leave.” You could just see through to the living room since Darry’s bedroom door was slightly open. Darry was fully blocking your father’s view of the house.

“I’m not leaving without that little brat.” He snarled, his cockiness returning. “An’ if you don’t bring her out here, I’ll call the cops. That wouldn’t end too well for you, would it son?”

“I said leave.” Darry growled again, his muscles tensing. You knew what could happen if the cops came. So you broke away from Soda.  

“I’m right here, so you can leave these boys alone.” You snapped, stepping out before Darry or Soda could grab you. 

“Thought you could run around with these bums and I wouldn’t come for you?”

“How did you even know where to find me?”

“Those brats of Beth’s started hollarin’ as soon as I raised a hand at her.” He smiled cruelly. 

If you hadn’t been standing there, Darry would have slugged him. You just wanted to get this over with. 

“Are we going or not?” You frowned, defeated. 

“Y/N, you can’t go with him!” Soda cried, trying to reach for you, but you jerked away. Tears pricked at your eyes again. 

“I have to, Sodapop.” 

“I don’t think so.” A new, hard voice joined the scene. You looked over your dad’s shoulder and saw the rest of the boys circling the house; Two-Big, Steve, Johnny, Ponyboy, and Dallas. Dally was the one talking. “You know something, fellas? I don’t like old me. And I really don’t like old, stinkin’ drunk men hanging around my neighborhood. Especially one that yells in my buddy’s face.”

“I ain’t afraid of a bunch of rats from Oklahoma.” Your father spat, but you could tell he was a little shaken. Dally pulled out a blade. 

“How about a New York rat?” He hissed, getting real close to his face. Your dad’s eyes went wide, shifting from the blade to the circle of tough looking boys around him. Then he looked at you. 

“You ain’t worth the trouble.” He decided, carefully moving around Dally and walking into the night.

The whole group gathered around, hollering and cheering over their success. Soda pulled you into a tight hug and kissed you right there in front of everybody. One of them, probably Two-Bit, whistled. 

“Ponyboy, where the hell have you been?” Darry asked, ruffling his youngest brother’s hair. Pony just shrugged. 

“I saw that mean old guy standing out here, so I ran and got Johnny and then we got everybody else.”

You pulled away from Soda and glanced around at the other boys. 

“You all came here… for me?” You gasped, a different kind of tears now welling in your eyes. 

“As soon as I heard Soda’s girl was in trouble, I got the hell over here.” Two-Bit said and Steve nodded in agreement. You felt your heart swell. Soda’s girl. 

You looked at Dally. Without him, it might not have worked. He just shrugged coolly and lit a cigarette. 

“I had nothin’ better to do.” But you could tell that, underneath, it was more than that. Johnny gave you a small smile. 

“You’re one of us now.” 

“And we stick together.” Ponyboy added. And they were right. 

“Alright, I’d better call Beth and tell her everything is gonna be fine.” Darry announced. “You all get in here. I’m sure we’ve got more chocolate cake somewhere.” This was followed by more cheers and stampeding feet as the gang rushed inside. 

Sodapop gave you the biggest, bright smile yet, taking your hand and following the boys to the kitchen. 

Neverland is home, to Lost Boys like me

And Lost Boys like me are free.

-

General Tag: @rae-gar-targaryen; @takemepedropascal; @childhood-imagination;  @mylovegoesto; @yellowbadgergirl; @itmejado; @suckmyapplejacks

[boognish-worshipper]

Sunrise, Sunset

switching it up with a franklin and lamar centered fic (not exactly as a ship buuut more or less some one sided feelings?) jus a silly little idea i had that was originally gonna be a one shot sorta thing or whatever,, changed my mind tho n i’m jus gonna split it up, this is part one !!

i feel like lamar would be very oblivious about his feelings towards frank tbh LMFAOOO

//

Lamar and Franklin sometimes drove out to the highest point in Los Santos to watch the sunrise. Well, more Lamar than Franklin, seeing as Franklin preferred to sleep in. He often dragged him out of bed to go take Chop out and see the sun peak up from the horizon, lighting the city up with natural reds and yellows.

“C’mon you lazy fuck, we gon’ miss it!”

“Lamar, the sun rises every fuckin’ day! Trust me, it’ll be there tomorrow.”

“You jus’ a lazy bum who don’t wanna get his lazy bum ass outta bed. Man get up already!”

Chop barked, and Lamar nodded to him.

“Yeah, you right Chop. This muhfucker don’t wanna budge, huh? Don’t even wanna take his precious dog for a walk. You oughta be ashamed of yoself Frank.”

“Chop wasn’t even my dog to begin with!”

“Man fuck you, you became co-parent of him when you had to take him in!”

Franklin could only groan into his pillow, missing the blissful sleep he had been shaken awake from.

“Just go away Lamar! Damn!”

He felt the taller man looming over him, grabbing his shoulders to shake him further awake.

“We’re running outta time, fool. C’mon, I’ll let you ride shotgun this time.”

Chop barked in protest.

“Chop, it’s the only way we might get him out the house.”

Accepting that arguing would get him nowhere, Franklin sat up right, glaring at Lamar.

“For fucks sake man, fine. I’ll go. Jus’ lemme throw on some clothes that ain’t the shit I wore to bed.”

Lamar grinned widely at him.

“Fuck yeah! Chop, let’s go wait in the car.”

The small dog trotted not too far behind Lamar’s long legs. Franklin wondered what force he disturbed that landed him in this position. He sighed, knowing that he wasn’t exactly a saint, so there wasn’t much to wonder at all. If this was his punishment then so be it. The car ride wasn’t too long, especially not after Franklin moving out of Strawberry to Vinewood Hills, making it easier for them to get there. Minimal traffic because of how early it was helped too. Lamar never dropped his grin, just happy to do his favorite thing with his favorite person. Who wouldn’t love watching the sunrise with their best friend? Especially seeing the way the sun lit his face up, a delicate smile on his face seeing an excellent sunrise and- Woah. Where’d that come from? Lamar figured it was just his excitement to see a particularly gorgeous sunrise, using that as an excuse for the feeling that sat in his gut. As soon as they pulled up to the spot, he bounced out of his seat, keeping the door open for Chop.

“We here homie!”

“Mhm.. so where the fuck’s the sunrise?”

“Patience Frank, patience.”

“But you jus’ fuckin’ bitched at me for the last half hour about how we was gon’ miss it! Fuck you mean patience?!”

“It’s coming! Don’t ruin a moment that’s gon’ be special, F.”

He grunted in Lamar’s direction, turning around to go play with Chop for the time being. The sunrise crept up, a ray of sunlight hitting Lamar in the eye. He blocked the light with his hand, hitting Franklin with his free one.

“Ay Frank, look!”

The sunrise that crawled up from the depths of the horizon shone in glimmers of gold and pretty shades of orange. Lamar smiled again.

“Man.. look at that. It’s beautiful ain’t it-“ He turned to face Franklin, who was caught in a trance. The sun hit his face just right, and he looked incredible. Like some sort of focused statue or whatever. It was alright to admire your homies like that, right? Nothin’ wrong with admiring a dude. Franklin turned back to answer him.

“Yeah, it sure is.. you good man?”

Lamar coughed slightly, shifting his weight onto one of his feet.

“Uh.. yeah man, just thought I saw a bug crawling on yo face or sum’. But damn, I’m glad we caught this.”

“Me too. But I’m still pissed you dragged me outta bed so fuckin’ early.”

“Man what’d I say? Don’t bitch while we havin’ a moment!”

Franklin only laughed and Lamar felt something in him stir. It was good to hear him laugh.

“So now what?”

“Well, if we leave now by the time we get back into the city some of them diners should be open for breakfast.”

“This early in the day?”

“Believe it or not Frank but the rest of society does their shit earlier than you. So ya, people eat this early.”

They went back to the car, with Chop riding shotgun this time. Franklin wanted to rest his eyes until they got to whatever food place Lamar was taking them to, earning a snarky comment from him. Lamar wanted to pick a decent place to eat and eventually settled on an old diner they went to as kids. He poked Franklin, reanimating him back to life.

“Look where we at dog.”

“Ohh shit, this that diner we used to go to after school everyday! It’s still in business?”

“Guess so man. Let’s go!”

“Wait! What about Chop?”

Shit. Right. Chop looked at the two men, tilting his head sadly.

“You wanna jus’ bring the food back to yo crib?”

“Eh fuck it. Why not.”

They decided on some basic breakfast food and brought it back to Franklin’s place. The big windows in his kitchen would illuminate the room well enough, and Lamar could value the view from there.

“So tell me Lamar, why’s it you only wanna go see the sunrise? You never mention watchin’ the sunset dog.”

“Ion really know myself homie. One day I just started gettin’ up early wit’ Chop to go walkin’ n shit.”

“Can we watch the sunset sometime then? I am tired of gettin’ up at the asscrack of dawn.”

“That’s cuz you ain’t get yo 9 hours dog.”

“Man, shut the fuck up. Who the hell gets 9 hours at our age? Bozo.”

“I’m just sayin’ maybe if you got some normal sleep for fuckin’ once you wouldn’t be such a GD grouch.”

“Whatever you say bro.”

The two finished their food in comfortable silence, with Franklin scolding Lamar at least once or twice for feeding Chop table scraps.

“So whatchu wanna do now?”

“We could always go catch a movie or sum’, maybe go see that Meltdown movie ya boy Mike was talkin’ ‘bout.”

“Yeah, I never did get the chance to go see it, with all the chaotic bullshit goin’ on.”

They left Chop at home after a long goodbye from Lamar, telling him that as soon as they got back that he would get all the treats in the world and all that other mushy shit. Franklin mocked the high-pitched voice he used to speak to Chop, earning a smack in the arm from Lamar.

They arrived for a matinee showing at the the theater closest to Franklin’s house, getting a bunch of complimentary snacks and some drinks. The movie was awful, but in a way that it was enjoyable to watch. A movie so bad it was good. Franklin kept leaning in to whisper to Lamar how corny the whole thing was, saying that it was definitely right up Michael’s alley. He ignored the closeness between him and his friend as best as he could, but he still shuffled in his seat awkwardly.

“Hey uh, Frank. I’mma go to the bathroom real quick, stretch my legs n shit.”

“Aight, see you in a minute homie.”

His walk to the bathroom felt stagnant, and when he got there all he could do was look at himself in the mirror. What the fuck was his problem right now?

“Get it the fuck together LD. It’s just Frank, it’s nothing weird. Chill out.” He spoke aloud to himself.

He splashed water in his face and walked back to the room showing Meltdown. The movie was almost over and Franklin didn’t make anymore comments. Lamar sighed inwardly, just wanting to get out of there already, despite the whole going-to-see-a-movie thing being his idea to begin with. He didn’t know why he was feeling the way he did right now, and he didn’t know how to make it go away. Franklin leaned over to whisper in his ear once more, sending a chill down Lamar’s spine.

“Dog, this movie sucks and it’s almost over anyway, you wanna just get out of here?”

“Uh.. yeah, yeah. Chop’s prolly missin’ us right now anyway.”

Lamar drove them back this time, driving a lot faster than he should’ve been.

“Woah, homie slow down! What’s the fuckin’ rush for?!”

“I jus’.. Ion know I’m not feelin’ too hot right now and I really jus’ wanna get back to yo place. Maybe lie down or sum’..”

“That ain’t gon’ happen if we get in a fuckin’ car wreck though!”

He slowed it down a bit hearing Franklin’s concerned tone, frustrated by that feeling again. It was like an itch he couldn’t scratch. They pulled up into Frank’s driveway, Lamar nearly knocking over his recycling can, earning another disgruntled comment from Franklin.

“You been actin’ so weird bro, what’s goin’ on?”

“I honestly don’t know. Maybe the food we had jus’ not sittin’ right wit’ me.”

“Well, like you said go lie down or sum’. You wanna sleep in my bed for now? I’ll go take care of Chop or-“

“Uh sure, aight. I’mma go.. do that.”

Franklin looked at him like he had two heads, lifting a brow up in suspicion.

“Aight then, holla at me when you feel somewhat better.”

Lamar basically ran down the stairs to Franklin’s room, closing the door tight behind him. He slid down the door, looking straight ahead. Why did he feel so- so weird right now? He had a pleasant day overall with his best friend, what could possibly be bothering him?? He tossed his head back, making a small thud sound against the door. Groaning out loud, he did a walkthrough of today. He drove to Franklin’s, wanting to see the sunrise. Nothing unusual, this was a common thing they did. The sunrise was pretty, and lit everything up wonderfully. Again, nothing out of the ordinary. Franklin wasn’t entirely a buzzkill when they made it there, if anything he looked tranquil, the sun making his brown eyes glow. Then what? They got food, which tasted just like how he remembered from when Frank and him were just teens. Went to a movie which they basically talked the whole way through, Franklin continuously whispering in his ear. His voice so low and close made him feel hot all over, but it was just because whispering was like that no matter who was doing it. So what the hell was his problem right now? He must not have noticed how long he was in there, because he heard a light tap at the door.

“Lamar? You good homie?”

He rushed to stand up, pretending like he just woke from a short nap.

“Uh, yeah dog, doin’ just fine. Think layin’ down helped.”

“Good. You want me to take you home or do you wanna stay here?”

Part of Lamar wanted to stay just to be around Franklin a little while longer. The other part of him wanted to run right out the door. He thought it over, and figured he might need time to himself. He didn’t think he had it in him to be around Franklin after such a strange day. At least, a strange day for him. Franklin was thankful for the fact they had one normal day to hangout without shenanigans on Lamar’s part… besides the way he had been acting up to now.

“I think I’mma jus’ head back.”

“Aight then.”

The car ride back was silent. Lamar felt like the air was suffocating him, like any minute he’d pass out. He shifted in his seat to look out the window, familiar streets coming up. He didn’t want to look at Franklin for some reason, turning away from him.

“Hey, we here.”

He sat up, getting ready to get out of the car, until Franklin grabbed his wrist. Lamar felt like he was burning him with the contact.

“Ay man, what the fuck’s your problem today?”

“I already told you, it was the food or sum’, chill out dog.”

He loosened his grip, looking unsatisfied with his answer.

“Man fine, but if you hidin’ somethin’ from me I wanna fuckin’ know.”

“I’m not, I promise you.”

“You better not be, you mysterious bitch. Remember, you dragged me out of bed to hangout today.”

He winced, feeling guilty somehow.

“Yeah F, I know.”

Lamar looked back at his house, not wanting to get caught in Franklin’s death stare.

“I’ll see ya later or sum’ Frank.”

“See ya homie.”

He turned back, watching Franklin drive away. Torn between a relieved mood, and a pang of loneliness. As he walked inside his house, he slammed the door in frustration. Franklin and him were on the same page- he didn’t know why he was acting the way he was. Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he went to a last resort to get an idea of something. That stupid psychic shoutout website that was growing in popularity. At least it was free.

Hello. What brings you to Miss Marcy’s site?

fuck you think, lady. help me out here

What with?

some fuckin explanation for why i feel weird rn

Were you just with a friend?

uh yeah

kinda why i’m here to begin with

I see. How close are you to said friend?

well, he like a brother to me ig? idk

never thought 2 deeply abt it.

A family friend? Hmm… I’m seeing the letter F, or T.

damn, you kinda good. it’s f

Wait a minute, I’m getting another letter. L!

yeah! my name starts with l!

You wouldn’t happen to be… I see it now… Lamar?

woah, you really fuckin good lady.

Well, I know I’m a psychic, but I have a feeling I spoke to your friend already.

you did?

Since when did Franklin visit stupid sites like this? He felt a blush creeping onto his face, wondering if Franklin might’ve been in the same boat as him at some point.

Yes. I think I have the answer to your problem, Lamar

please.

anything’ll help

Are you absolutely sure you want to hear it?

When I spoke to your friend, he didn’t seem too pleased with what I had to say.

c’mon lady don’t be a cocktease rn i need help

Well… okay.

You love him.

uh duh

he’s my best friend

why wouldn’t i?

No, I mean

You’re… *in* love with him.

His jaw went slack. He stared blankly at the screen. What?

the fuck?

uh no

ain’t no way.

I’m seeing a long time friendship. Lots of pining.

you ain’t seeing shit lady

u got it wrong

I knew you would say this - you can be mad at me all you want, but think it over

seriously, just think it over.

SERVICE UNAVAILABLE. PLEASE TRY AGAIN LATER.

“Fuck.” He whispered to himself.

“Fuck!”

He tossed his phone across the room onto his worn down couch. That didn’t solve his problem. If anything, it just made it worse. Love? Franklin? Him? What the fuck was that bitch smoking? He threw his palms over his face, groaning. He didn’t wanna think about what the fuck she meant. Because there was no way in hell he was in love with Frank. He couldn’t be. That was his day one. His best friend. That would be wrong, right? He paced around his living room, mind racing too quick for his liking. That couldn’t be the explanation for today. No way. That’s just ridiculous. There’s no way… no way he-

Then he thought about it. Like, really thought about it. The gears in his head were running at full speed now.

“Oh shit.”

//end of pt 1!!!!! this is already long as is, and i think i’m gonna finish it in another part or so. apologies for any grammatical errors ofc 🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️

[cultgambles]

Is Your Boyfriend Jealous Yet?

Hawks likes putting on a show, can you blame him?

I was on GWA and this girl had a nice fun plot and audio and I was really feeling it in the moment hehe...so largely inspired by that!

Contains: nsfw, car sex, reader cheats, cunnilingus, exhibition, fandom hawks behavior

Also: wrap it before you tap it

Word Count: 2118

Masterlist | Requests? open

“So there I was, staring this villain down at the end of the street, and then he just appeared! My idol!”

“Endeavor? What did he do?”

“Of course he didn’t waste any time taking em down, it was cool and all to see it but he really took the spotlight, ya know?”

“Oh please, as if you need to be loved by the public anymore.”

“I do! That’s who I am!”

“Hey.”

“Hm?”

“Who’s that chick staring at you?”

Hawks turns, looking over his shoulder, “I dunno, a fan maybe? She’s coming over!”

“Act natural!”

“I am a natural. All nat-ur-ral.” He smooths down his silky burgundy button up shirt. 

“Hey! Hawks?” 

“The one and only!” Hawks gives a dazzling style, saluting towards you.

“I just wanted to say how cool you are, every time you employ your Quirk I’m amazed! And you’re not too bad to look at either!” you giggle.

“Thanks, kid,” he smiles, a real one. “People like you are the ones that make hero work worth it.”

“Yeah? Do you have time to chat? My name’s [Y/N], by the way. Are your wings okay? They look a little sparse.”

“‘Course I have time to chat. You wanna drink? Hey! One Lemon Drop for the lady, if you will!”

“Coming right up!”

“My most recent showdown against a villain. No biggie, they’ll grow back in a couple days.” Hawks turns a little so you can see the appendages where his feathers would usually be. There’s little small ones beginning to peek through. 

“Wow! I don’t think I saw that fight on the news or anything,” you murmur.

“I’m okay with doin’ it in silence, as long as it gets done, you know? 

It’s nice knowing people are safe and that there’s one less piece of shit on the street. But it’s also hard work” he continued. 

“The man who’s just a bit too fast, huh? You ever get tired?” you query. “Thanks for the drink, by the way.”

“No problem! And yeah, it’s hard to slow down, and I know I need to; but I always feel like I’m bein’ too lazy when I could be out there in the field.” 

Hawks is surprised, he’s never been this forward and vulnerable. Especially to a complete stranger. Maybe it was that gin and tonic he had earlier.

Your mouth opens, but before you can say anything, a booming voice cuts through the crowd.

“[Y/N] What the hell are you doing! Get over here!” Your face falls slightly, and Hawks notices with a curious, but watchful gaze. 

“I just saw Hawks here! I’ve never been this close to a pro hero before, and I wanted to say my thanks,” you mumble.

“Well I don’t like my girlfriend wandering off and talking to other guys, regardless if they’re a hero or not. Come on, we’re leaving!”

“But we just got here!” you protest.

“Now, [Y/N],” he growls, shoving you away from the pro hero, and towards the door.

“Hey, buddy,” Hawks clamps a hand on your boyfriend’s shoulder, holding him in place. “Don’t go pushing women around.” 

“This isn’t even your problem, man.”

“I’m going to make it my problem.” Hawks is deadly, intimidating. Even though you’re a little scared, you’re a bit turned on, to be honest. He’s got this air of danger around him, his eyes slit to pinpricks.

Before your boyfriend can get another word out, one of the club bouncers steps up, towering over the three of you. “Problem here? Or am I going to have to escort you out?”

“Nah, man, we’ll take it outside. Don’t worry about us,” Hawks shrugs. Your boyfriend tugs you along, seething behind Hawks.

“This isn’t over, Hawks. And you, don’t you EVER cause a scene like that, you hear?” 

You sniff. “I just wanted to say my thanks…”

“She was doin’ nothin’, that was all you man.” Hawks shakes his head. “I’d even say she was more into me than she has been in a while. I mean, the way you shouted at her was pretty scary,” he says, popping the ‘p.’

You look at Hawks under your lashes.

“No she wasn’t!” your boyfriend drops your arm, marching right up to the pro hero.

 Hawks leans around him and nods his head at you. “Why don’t we show him a thing or two?” You give him a puzzled look. “My car’s right there if you know what I mean.”

“Hold on, you have a car? How would you even fit your wings in.”

“Baby, you’re ruining the moment,” Hawks laughs, stepping in next to you. “I just take my car for a spin when I can’t fly. Not a walking type of guy, really.”

“So let me get this straight, you wanna fuck me? In your car? For why?”

“Give a little show to your asshole of a boyfriend. So he can see how to really treat a woman, hm?”

“Don’t you go with him, [Y/N]! I will literally kill you.”

“Is that really the smartest thing to say right next to a pro hero? Okay, Hawks, what that tongue do?” You purr.

“I’ll show you,” Hawks’ car’s doors unlock with a click. “Get in the back.”

Your boyfriend outside looks right mad, shouting and screaming at you. You swear a crowd has formed.

Hawks lays down and motions a finger for you. You shut the door behind you, and it’s just you two in this moment, boyfriend be damned. 

“Hold onto the headrests, okay, baby?” Hawks asks as you situate yourself above his mouth. 

“Lucky for me, you’re just wearing that cute little skirt and skimpy top. What, did you want every guy to turn heads for you?” Hawks grips your plush thighs, digging his nose to your panties. “All that from earlier really got you goin’, huh? Look how wet you are for me.” He kisses your clothed sex before pulling your underwear to the side. A long, languid lick all the way up to your clit has you shivering with pleasure, begging for more.

You’re grinding down on Hawks’ tongue, he’s just that fucking good. You briefly wonder how many other people have experienced this ecstasy. At least you have him for this moment. 

Breathy squeaks leave your mouth as his mouth catches on particular spots. 

“Let it out, I wanna hear you. I want him to hear what I’m doing to you.” Locking eyes with your boyfriend outside the car sends you over the edge, his face as bright as the heels on your feet. His eyes dim slightly just as yours slip closed, mouth agape. Hawks continues to pleasure you as you come down from your high. 

Carefully, he lifts you up to sit you on his lap. A little cramped, but worth it. Your wetness glistens along Hawks’ jawline, and you lean in to kiss him, tasting yourself and him. 

“That’s cute,” he whispers, bringing his hands up to knead at your breasts slightly. His gold eyes shimmer as you rub against his cock. 

“Gonna show me your cute dick next?” you ask.

“It’s cute, like, big, not cute as in small. Just so you know. How about you lay down, baby,” he turns towards you slightly, unbuckling his belt and unzipping his black trousers. His cock is nice. As nice as one can be. It’s a little thicker, curved to the left a bit. He’s trimmed. He strokes it a couple times, dragging his precum along the shaft. You flick your panties off and they land on his head.

“Impatient, are we?” he grins. 

“Just a bit,” you smile, reaching between your legs to spread yourself open a bit for him to see. 

“Pretty pussy for a pretty girl,” he leans over, hand guiding to your quivering sex. He pushes in slowly, letting out a deep moan be swallowed up by your kiss. “You’re so tight around me.”

He lets you adjust, and not long after, you’re clawing at him to start moving. “Feels so good, you fill me up so good, Hawks.”

“They’re all watching us now, hummingbird. I bet they’re jealous at how good I’m fucking you,” he says over his grunts.

You’re bleary-eyed and blissed out, barely registering his words. “Who...Who’re they?”

“Seems like your little boyfriend’s screaming match has attracted quite a crowd.”

“O-oh? How big?”

“Enough.”

“You wanna get out, don’t you.”

“Maybe.”

“Yeah okay, whatever you want, Hawks. Who am I to deny a pro hero what he wants? Just keep fucking me, please.”

Hawks’ eyes flash, hand scrambling for the door handle and pulling you out into the brisk air. “Really? Whatever I want? How about I just bend you over the trunk of my car and rail you so hard you can’t walk tomorrow?” 

“Then I guess you’re stuck with me for a lil while longer.” Hawks pushes your head down almost gently as he presses into you against the cool metal. You sigh as he slips back inside of you. Then he’s pulling your top down to your waist, your breasts squishing against the dirt and dust. A few people whoop. Somehow, you don’t care that everyone can see, or that camera flashes are blinding your vision. The way he drills into you makes you even forget how you even got into this situation to begin with. 

“What about the--” you moan “--press?” 

“Don’t give a fuck about them, none at all. My PR team could probably cover it up, I don’t know. Don’t wanna think about that. Y’all see this? Her nasty ass boyfriend was fuckin’ rippin’ on her, treating her like shit on a stick. No one should treat a woman like that, ya hear?” he’s loud, addressing the people around you. “Well, I guess ex boyfriend would be appropriate. What do you think, [Y/N]?”

“Y-yeah You’re right! Oh! OH! Hawks.”

“C’mon songbird, sing me that song,” he says right next to your ear, sucking a hickey into your neck.

“[Y/N], baby, how could you do this to me?” your boyfriend pleads. Ex-boyfriend, you mean.

“That’s what you get for being a shit. And you’re not even that mad, you’re enjoying yourself too,” you moan to him. “Hawks is technically police, you don’t want him to throw you in jail, now do you?”

“He wouldn’t, he can’t! I didn’t really do anything.”

“I can and I will,” Hawks growls.

“You’re just using your privilege!”

“Yeah,” Hawks agrees. “But then again, I’m sure I could find some dirt on you.”

“Haw--”

“Yes baby?” his attention snaps to you.

Your ex was never this attentive. It gave you butterflies. You swallowed them to let him know you were close. 

If he had his feathers, they would surely flush out. 

“Come on, birdie, cream on my cock, I know you can do it.” He reaches around your waist to swipe at your clit. 

“Nnnggft,” you moan, your cunt seizing up, the pressure building. It explodes, sending a chill down your spine. 

“Yes baby, keep up for me, I’m right behind ya...” Hawks thrusts impossibly faster, chasing his own climax, loving the way your sex flutters around him.  

“[Y/N] I’m--” Hawks’ voice dies out as he shoots thick ropes of cum in you, white seed painting your insides. 

The both of you struggle to catch your breaths. Hawks leans over you, massaging your hips. “Why don’t we take this back to your place and finish up?”

“Why not yours?” You laugh, running a hand over his sweat sheened forehead and into his unruly blonde hair.

“Security? At least take me on a date,” he laughs.

You sigh with contempt. “Okay, Hawks. Okay.” He nuzzles your neck slightly, pulling out of you. 

Hawks tucks himself back in his trousers and pulls up your top. “Let’s get outta here, then. Hey! I got it, don’t worry,” he says, pulling the passenger door open.

“Where’s my underwear?”

“Dunno.”

“I’m gonna leave a wet spot.”

“I don’t mind,” he says nonchalantly before hopping into the driver’s seat next to you. The ignition rolls over and Hawks backs out of the parking space. His hand rests on the inside of your thigh, rubbing in slow circles. 

You notice his nails are black, and curved a bit like talons. 

Pretty.

“Okay hummingbird, lead the way,” he says, giving you a soft smile.

[thejollywriter]

Lena Talbot thought she had a good thing going for her, running with Rance Barrron’s gang. But after a stagecoach robbery goes wrong and end with violence and abandonment, she’s left to die in the high Rockies. Unexpectedly saved by a trapper, Eliza, she recovers and is faced with a choice. Accept a new life with Eliza. Or hunt the bastards who shot her in the back. 

It’s a good life in the Rockies. It’s hard, honest work. But Lena’s a hard-ass. And there’s inequity in her ledger. And she just can’t let it go. 

This is a historical Western written by ME, AMELIA FISHER, UPDATING ON WATTPAD!

https://www.wattpad.com/1114347969-gallows-and-gold-chapter-one-paying-work

So here’s the whole first chapter! 

***

Chapter One: Paying Work

Rance had me keep a lookout on the top floor of the brothel because he figured I’d be the only one not distracted by the dames. Me, bein’ Lena Talbot, didn’t figure a woman could be distracted by another woman.

Hadn’t the heart to correct him. Not that I minded. Mary sat on the bed behind me, legs crossed primly. The piano player wailed on the ivory downstairs, the sound trickled up to me on the third floor. In the rooms around us, I heard giggling, laughing, fucking. The work of a brothel.

Footsteps up and down the hallway. Clients, the Madame keeping an eye on things, girls moving back and forth.

Mary sighed. “When you’d paid, I figured it’d be work related, but we might still have some fun.”

“Rance catches me slacking, he’ll have my ass,” I said. This was a corner room, windows faced the north and the east. Had a great view of the main street below. The others were elsewhere, in their positions.

My job was to set off a firecracker when the target appeared. The pop would draw eyes, and surprise would be ours.

And then, functionally, I was to get down. Because whatever eyes we drew would lead to gunfire, I should think.

No sign of them yet.

Mary stood up. She wore a black corset, her linen shirt was pulled down past her shoulders and her nipples were barely hidden by the light, airy fabric.

“I’m sad now,” she said, and traced her fingers along the back of my arm. I pushed my hat back. I was in a vest, black slacks, sturdy boots, and a red shirt. Sleeves were rolled up, though, and my gun belt was black leather, too.

“I’m workin’,” I said, but I didn’t say it mean. I was leaned up against the wall. Antsy, waiting.

“Yeah but you gotta ignore me, too?”

“As opposed to what?”

She stood close to me now. Locks of dark hair hung in front of her eyes, she brushed a strand aside, pouted at me. I reached out, cupped her cheek, brushed a thumb over her lips.

“I’m workin’, darling.”

She sighed, looked out the window, I laid my arm around her waist. She had a hand on my chest, traced a finger down my front, idly.

If I kept my eyes out the window, I could touch her. Hike up her skirts, slip my fingers between her soft thighs, and find her pleasure. It’d be easy.

Up the street, I saw the wagon turn into view. I stiffened. She noticed, glanced at me, then up the road.

“It’s time?”

“Go on,” I said. “Keep your head down.”

“Alright.” She kissed my cheek. “Good luck.”

I watched her go, the door clicked closed softly, and I tugged the bandana around my neck into place over my nose. Hair tied up, hidden under my hat, all that could be seen were my eyes. And that wasn’t real telling.

I opened the window, pushed the drapes to one side, and held the firecracker in my hand, picked up a candle from the dresser to the side. Waited.

Across the way, on the rooftop of the general store, I saw Buck with his long gun.

If we got the surprise, no call for shooting.

Time.

I held the candle to the fuse, it caught and started to spark, I lobbed it out the open window, it popped in the air, I blew out the candle, and ducked.

People yelped, some surprised, the horses below whinnied in protest, but I heard running feet, a rolling wagon, and yelling voices.

The coach drivers hollered, reined their horses in to stop them crashing into the wagon Jimmy and Andy rolled to block the coach.

I mantled through the window, snagged my long gun, and stood up at the railing, rifle pointed down.

“Gentleman!” Rance called out and stepped into view. “Good morning! Let’s keep those hands to heaven! We’ve no interest in bloodshed but by God’s fiery right hand, if your palms touch iron we will fill you full’a holes.” Rance stood on top of the untethered wagon.

I aimed at the driver. The fella riding shotgun had a double-barrel in his hands, but there were eight people in the street surrounding the wagon, and he wasn’t stupid.

Two of ours moved up to the wagon doors.

“Gentleman, what you’re carrying is no longer yours to keep. Your job was deliver it to Leadville, and while I’m sure y’all had a different destination in mind, consider this your stepping-off point.”

“That gold don’t belong to you.” The driver said.

“Don’t belong to you neither, fella,” Rance said. “And while I’m sure your employers would love you to die for their cargo, it’s a foolish thing to do.”

“We got a job needs be done.” The driver said. “Move the wagon, let us get to it.”

“A bold idea, an idea I have to reject.” Rance said. “Who y’all carrying? Many guards inside?”

Our men moved to the door, the driver stared me down, and I think he was wondering just how fast he could pull his pistol and get a shot off.

Except he had nowhere to go. And if he tried to ram his horses through the wagon, it was as likely to get them killed and tip the wagon as it was to lead to freedom.

“I see ideas growing in that head, mister,” Rance said. “Eyes front, if you don’t mind.”

The driver looked at him. “You’ve got no idea what’s coming if you take this gold.”

The curtains were down in the wagon, the closest to the door had a sawn-off in hand and was pointed at the windows. He reached for the handle.

“Oh sure I do,” Rance said. “We’re gonna spend it, keep it in Leadville, see to it as many bellies as possible are filled. Your job was to take it to men who’ll hoard it.”

“Last warning.” The driver said.

A shot rang out ahead of me, I saw the smoke from Buck’s gun, the fella at shotgun pitched forward–

Our man opened the door, pointed the gun inside, a second shot fired and a cloud of gunsmoke billowed out into the street, Denny caught it square in the chest and jaw and it threw him down, blood misted the air with the smoke.

The driver went for his pistol, looked up at me, I fired before he cleared leather, his hat flew off behind him, Rance fired into his chest, and Buck fired again.

I jumped over the railing, dropped to the street below while the others focused fire into the wagon itself. Splinters flew off, gunsmoke hung thick in the air, thick and choking, people screamed and sprinted away from the street.

“Eyes west!” Rance yelled. “Buck, what do you see?”

“Sheriff’s runnin’ this way!” Buck was still up on the second floor of the general store and had his rifle to his shoulder. He fired at the lawmen, far away. The shots went wide, but it slowed them down while they took cover, began to return fire.

They’d flank around the side streets, and run up at us.

“We gotta be gone,” I said. “They’re gonna circle around and pin us!”

“Get my goddamn gold!” Rance roared. “Clear that fucking coach!”

I whipped around, approached the coach. I couldn’t see much inside, the curtains were tattered now, the interior was dark, I saw a couple of slumped forms, but not much else besides. A heavy case on the floor with several bolted locks on the front, metal hinges on the wooden case.

Everyone inside was dead.

I slung my rifle across my back, grabbed for the case, but I couldn’t move it alone.

“Buck, keep ‘em pinned down, everybody else here!” Rance called out, Skinny Jimmy appeared on the other side, he jumped into the coach, grabbed the other side of the case, and heaved.

It broke loose, he shimmied over and I backed up, we staggered away from the coach.

Nearby, Jesse came around the corner with a one-horse cart. We got the crate into the cart–

“Skinny, go on with the box! You too,” Rance pointed at me, I jumped up on the buck board, took my Winchester in my hands.

Jesse whipped the horse, it dug in and pulled away fast. He steered us into an alley, got off the main street, cut through the narrow space between two buildings, emerged on the next street.

Jimmy sat in the back with his rifle, half-sprawled on the crate.

“That’s a damn good time,” Jesse said. “A damn good goddamn time.”

Jesse was older, had rough stubble on his chin constantly, fewer teeth than most, old eyes. But he was great with horses and he could always round up a cart or two when we needed one.

I looked around for someone who wanted to shoot back, but there was no one.

“Slow down,” I said, as Jesse took another corner. I tugged my bandana down, “Skinny, sit up.”

“We’re not clear yet though!”

“Look around, look at all the other traffic.”

There were carts all over. Folks pulling all kinds of loads up and down Leadville. “Who are we amongst all’a them?” I asked. “Cool off, keep your gun down. We ain’t runnin’, we’re just out for a ride, right?”

“Sure thing,” Jesse said. “Just goin’ on a nice morning spin.”

“Exactly.” I laid my rifle across my knees, lowered the hammer. “We’re fine.”

I kept my eyes up, however. Looked for someone ready to holler.

But there was nothing.

We got to the edge of town, where the houses were spaced further apart. The thick mud of more populous Leadville gave way to drier ground, and grass near the barn we pulled up to.

I jumped out, grabbed the barn door, opened up. Jesse got the cart and the horse inside, and I watched, waited for the others.

I didn’t see them behind me, immediately, so I closed up. “Skinny, you know where I post up in that shack up the road?”

“Sure, only got the one window.”

“Head on over there. Whistle if you see lawmen.”

“Got it.” He grabbed his rifle, headed up the road.

Jesse sat on the bench, and sighed. “How much you think we snagged?”

“Client said it weighed a hundred pounds,” I said. “If that’s true, I’m the goddamn mayor.”

“Oh you know those city folk,” he said. “Can’t reckon the real weight of nothin’.”

“Sure.”

“You want some coffee?”

“I’m good. Keep your eyes out, if you’re gonna whip something up though.”

“We’re not gonna get ambushed here.” He said. “Because that’d require someone knowing where we were.”

“We know,” I said. “And the client knows. And I got no idea who might’ve been told beyond that circle. Which is, in my estimation, entirely too many folks.”

“Relax, kid.” Jesse said. “Trust ain’t a bad idea. And this ain’t that kinda gang.”

“Is it not?”

He shrugged, but had no other answer.

I watched the road. And waited.

End of Chapter One

[ohhmyheart5678]

When in the streets of seoul (7)

*warning* this mentions death, murder, suicide, guns, and other gruesome and dark content if you are sensitive to these kinds of things do not read the it

Pairing: Chan x female reader

Word count: 1.8k

Previous/next

********

Chris and I talk at yongsan for hours. It was the most time I've ever spent with him, and I can honestly say that I began to see him in a new light.

Everything changed from that moment on. I don't know what it was about sitting four hours in your favorite park in the fall time which the orange leaves that had fallen around as time passed that opened us up, but whatever it did was magic.

Chris had told me about his childhood and how his father was also in a mafia so it was inevitable for him, but when it was time for him to take over he realized he wanted to start his own.

That's when he found Changbin and jisung two lost kids not having anywhere to go, he needed people to join and they were talented plus they had nowhere else to go and saying no to Chris pretty much is never a real option.

From there he just kept taking in boys that needed a home but that would benefit him in some way. In a way I found it sweet, did they have an option? Maybe not but at least he was giving them a home. I hated to say it but something in me agreed with it, and suddenly my heart felt like it jumped out of my chest.

Was it Stockholm syndrome? It had to be just more than that right?

He told me he had lost his mom in a war between his dad and another mafia. It was a hard time for him and that's when he realized hat whoever  he ended up with, he was gonna protect them with his life and that there was no way he was gonna let what happened to his mother happen to them.

"What about you? Anything interesting about your parents?" he says leaning on the bench for support. I could tell that he was fully engaged and paying attention. Chris always payed attention to details, to everything. That was one of his biggest strengths was reading people but to him,I was the hardest person to read.

" Besides my dad being a detective that's been on your case?" I giggled, I mean that had to be interesting enough right? "Besides that smarty pants!" He scrunched his nosed a little at me."Remember when I told you that I like coming to this park a lot?" Of course he remembers it's the whole reason he brought me here, but I needed a way to start the conversation. Chris hummed as a way of telling me to keep talking. "Well my mom and I used to come here every Sunday and eat ice cream ever since I was a kid" the Aussie just nodded his head and waited for me to continue.

"A few months ago actually a month before my dad was set on your case my mom committed suicide" this was something I really didn't talk to with anyone and the fact that I was sharing it with him took a lot but I needed to get it off my chest.

"She jumped off of Lottie world tower which was weird because she was always so happy, at least I thought she was" Chris's face changed and suddenly the atmosphere turned really dark. "Was you're mother's name Autumn Grey?" He leaned closer almost as if he needed to make sure he because didn't want to miss the answer. "Y-yah! how'd you know?" Did he know something about my mother's death I didn't know? I'm sure he saw that a million questions was running in my head because he was very quick to respond.

"Oh, it was all over the news. I felt sorry for her family" He couldn't stand my gaze, now it was my turn to read Chris but turning off his any signs of emotions was as easy as breathing for him. "Anyways maybe we should get outta here" Chris shoots up from his spot. He holds a hand out for me to grab and I grab on to it to stand myself up.

We're walking in Korea at 10pm at night, the air is freezing cold. Walking down the street with the gold and orange leaves crunching beneath our feet besides that, Silence was the only thing between us and neither of us cared enough to break it. Until Chris finally decides to speak up.

"Kinely there something I wanted to ask" He caused us to stop and stand in the middle of the sidewalk. "What do you think of when you think of me?" The question took me by surprise. It wasn't a question I was prepared to answer yet.

How could I tell him when think about him I think about not only power and smarts, wittyness and charm, I thought about love and passion, commitment. I thought about how fast my heart beats when I even just look at him.

"I-I don't know" I stutter, looking at the ground. I couldn't even look at him not now, not when he looks as amazing as he does right at this very moment. The truth is when it came to Chris I always avoided his eyes because when I looked into them I could feel myself sinking in.

"I wanna know what goes inside your head" Christopher grabs my chin to make me look at him. Now I had no choice but to look him in the eyes.

"I need to know what goes on inside your head because I need to know how you feel about me. I can read everyone like a book but when it comes you I can't tell a thing and it drives me insane. I feel something with you kinely, it's like I'm a whole other person when I'm with you and I don't know if it's a good or bad thing but I wanna figure it out with you. I need to know if you feel same way I do about you" With every word he spoke Chris would inch closer and closer to my face. Soon there wasn't any space left , his lips grazed against mine and a shiver went down my spine.

He looked into my eyes for approval and me nodding was the only thing he needed before he sealed the final space between us.

My whole body went numb, I almost couldn't feel anything anymore at this point. The only thing I felt was my heart jumping out of my chest and just how soft and delicate the kiss was. It was almost as if he felt that he needed to handle me with care.

When he pulled away it felt as if he had casted a love spell on me. Why was I feeling this way? "I- um.. let's go home shall we?" Suddenly the confident Chan , leader of stray kids was no longer with me. It was Christopher just a shy ordinary guy who was now amongst us. We continued to walk home both of us grinning from ear to ear.

As soon we got home Chris walked me to my room. "Thank you Chris today was... different, in a good way" we both awkwardly laugh as I tuck a strand of curly hair behind my ear. "Goodnight kinely. I hope we have more nights like this in the future" he crosses his arms behind his back. I only nod in response "Goodnight Chris" I give him a wave before closing the door.

I quickly washed my face and brushed my teeth. I put on my pajamas and head to bed. Tonight changed everything and little did I know that 'everything' was bigger than just my love life.

Waking up in the morning I sat there in bed to fully wake up. I look at the speaker and almost pushed the number on it when I realized I don't have wait for them anymore. I needed to figure out how to get to the kitchen even if it means getting lost but luckily on my way I ran into my favorite oranged haired boy.

"Well if it isn't my favorite Aussie in the world" I smiled at him and he happily returned it. "We both know Chan is your favorite Aussie " Felix playfully rolled his eyes at me. I assumed he had just woken up not too long ago as well due to the fact the his hair was all over the place and his voice was a little deeper and raspier than normal.

"Whatever! Hey can you point me in the direction where the food is?" I wiggle my eyebrows, Felix shook his head at me. "Just say the kitchen you weirdo" he walks down the hall and looks behind him once he realized that I wasn't following him.

"Are you coming? " Felix rubs his eyes with he back of his hands still trying to wake up all the way. "Right I totally was" he laughs at me knowing that I was lying but I then began to follow and he proceeded to lead me to the kitchen. Once we arrived there a few of the boys that were already there including Chris and Hyunjin.

Everyone was starring at me and Hyunjin looked slightly irritated about something. Changbin , Minho , and seugmin all had a weird grin on their face that I couldn't quite read. "Ow ya goin mate?" Chris greeted Felix bright and happy Felix just waved not really in the mood to talk at the moment. We both sit down at the table, me sitting next to Changbin and Felix next to seugmin. "Good morning babygirl" Chris greets and my eyes widen.

I wasn't used to him calling me that but I honestly didn't hate it. "Morning Chris" we both showed off our dimpled smile displaying it to eachother. "Morning guys" the boys greet me and Minho gives Chris a look. What is going on with everyone today? Felix noticed it too because he raised an eyebrow and looked between the both of us. "I wanna know the secret!! Did I miss something?" His curiosity got the best of him but all he got in return were smirks and shrugged shoulders. I just shook it off and decided to talk to my favorite brown haired boy. "Hey Hyunjin how'd you sleep?" I gave him a soft smile.

Hyunjin quickly stands up "excuse me, I'm not hungry. I'll just head to my room now." Was all he said before storming off. I looked at the other boys hoping they could answer my questions but they too looked just as confused as I was.

***

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