#While others stand just fine on their own | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

not-neverland06 · 19 hours ago

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𝚂𝚘𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚂𝚎𝚎𝚍𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝙳𝚘𝚞𝚋𝚝

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

Next Part - Hell Hath No Fury Series

Summary: Tensions rise as you continue to pull against Dutch's taut leash. You seem to be the only one who sees him for the trickster he is. Infuriatingly, that means you and Arthur butting heads about the man. But you don't expect your latest fight to end with him coming back to you nearly dead.

As much as you’d love to bask in the newness of whatever this is that you have with Arthur, the law has other plans. While the gang has grown comfortable, fat in their complacency, the Pinkertons have gotten closer. You are beginning to realize just how rare these moments of peace are in the life of an outlaw.

“I’m gonna sell her, I swear,” you tell Arthur angrily as you try and get a stubborn Lady to obey your commands. You finally feel comfortable enough to head back into Valentine, you know the woman he’d been with is gone, Arthur told you as much. You doubt he’d have any reason to lie about something as silly as that.

Arthur laughs and leans down, smoothing over Diablo’s mane. “No, you ain’t, you like her too damn much.”

“You’re right,” you acquiesce. “I’ll sell her to a glue factory, instead,” Lady lets out a stubborn noise, flicking her head back and forth. “Unless you start to listen, you insolent little bastard.” Arthur brings Diablo to a slow trot while you relentlessly tug on Lady’s reins to no effect.

He watches you struggle, laughing as he hitches up Diablo. When Lady comes to a sudden stop in the middle of the road, he lets out an amused sigh and comes forward to take her reins from you. You hand them over easily, nudging the horse with your spur in retaliation.

He hitches her next to Diablo and rounds her to stand at your side, holding his hand out for you. You take it in your own, relishing his touch as he helps you down from your saddle. Your movements are still clumsy but you’re starting to get a little bit better at riding her. Even if she still refuses to listen to you.

“If you stopped insultin’ her, I’m sure you’d get along better.” Arthur leads you towards the general store and you glare up at him.

“Whose side are you on, Mr. Morgan?” He chuckles and leans down, pressing a brief kiss to your cheek. It’s chaste and near prudish, but you still find yourself flushing.

“Not on anyone’s side, sweetheart. But if you want to start getting along with her, you’ll just have to learn to trust her.” You nod, not listening to anything he’s saying, too busy admiring how handsome he looks.

He seems to realize what you’re doing, rolling his eyes and pushing you forward. A man’s voice booms through the air, interrupting the both of you. “Well, isn’t this a pretty picture?” You pause, turning to face the man watching you from the porch of the hotel. Men with large guns move around the side of the store and come to stand in front of him.

Your brows furrow, eyes roving across the street, suddenly noticing the stark lack of people out and about. You’d been so distracted by Lady that you hadn’t realized just how dead Valentine was. Something glints in the sunlight on the roof beside the hotel. You narrow your eyes, peering through the glare and seeing a man with his rifle pointed at you and Arthur.

“I’m sorry,” the man calls out, sounding wholly unapologetic. Arthur’s hand tightens around yours and he drags you slightly behind himself. “I should introduce myself,” the man drawls.

You take note of his finely tailored clothes, and the way he’s not fully leaning against the wall because he doesn’t want to dirty his suit. The pocket watch attached to his vest is real gold, something you haven’t seen a whole lot of in Valentine. He’s too prim and proper for a low-down town like this. He could easily have been one of the men from the city you grew up in, upper-class and elite. He’s not from around here and he seems to, at least, vaguely recognize Arthur. You don’t see this going any way but bad.

“Leviticus Cornwall, I believe you’ve heard my name before.”

“God dammit,” Arthur curses under his breath, he nudges you further back in the direction of the horses. Your foot freezes in the air as you hear the familiar click of a rifle being loaded right by your ear. Swallowing hard, you risk the slightest glance back and see another black-suited man with the tip of his rifle pointed squarely between your eyes.

Arthur sees him in his peripheral, but he doesn’t take his eyes off Cornwall. “I know what you want,” Arthur calls out, one hand raised in surrender, the other still holding yours. “But leave her out of it, she’s got nothin’ to do with any of this.”

Leviticus laughs and tilts his head patronizingly. “If she’s with your ridiculous little gang, then she’s got something to do with what happened to my train.” Your eyes flutter shut, dread filling every crevice of your body as the realization finally sinks in. In your last days in the mountains, the men had gone off to rob a train.

They’d mentioned the same name a few times but you’d never cared to pay attention to it. It comes back to you now. Leviticus Cornwall. He was here to collect what they’d stolen.

“I know you are your master’s favorite little lapdog, so why don’t you go fetch Dutch for me and I won’t have my men splatter your lady’s brains against your boots.” Your nails dig into Arthur’s palms, body tensing with fear as you lean further into him.

Arthur gives your hand a reassuring squeeze, keeping you firmly tucked into him. “I’m afraid neither of those things is gonna happen, Mr. Cornwall,” Arthur calls out to him. He leans slightly towards you, voice lowered so even the man behind you can’t hear, “When I tell you, make a run for the horses.”

You so desperately want to look towards where you know Lady and Diablo are hitched by the saloon, but it would only give your plan away. Instead, you force yourself to focus on the man with the rifle pointed at you. You maintain eye contact with the barrel of his gun, refusing to look away.

You try and force your heart to be silent and still, hoping you’ll be able to hear Arthur’s order over the rushing force of your blood. Arthur keeps a tight grip on your hand as the men begin to close in.

“I’ll only say this once, Mr. Morgan. This will be your only chance to escape my wrath, alive.”

“Right,” Arthur moves you in front of him and you suck in a shuddering breath when you see just how many men surround you now. They’re everywhere, on the roofs of buildings, on horseback pacing the streets, and the worst of them have their guns trained right on you. “Well, I’ll say this,” he rips his hands out of yours and practically tosses you to the side. “Run!”

You don’t think, just blindly follow his orders and take off towards the horses. The shots start going off instantly, mud flying up around you as bullets narrowly miss you. You run in a wild pattern, trying not to be such an easy target.

“The times of outlaws is over, Mr. Morgan!” Leviticus calls from behind you, voice tainted with wrath as it penetrates the air. “There’s no place for you anymore!”

You’re running with the instinct of a prey trying to outwit a predator who's actively snapping their maw. It feels futile, though, when you’re so wholly surrounded. Arthur comes up behind you, hand snatching up the back of your shirt and dragging you faster behind him.

Your feet scramble to keep up with his pace as you make for the horses. The men seem to catch onto your plan faster than you’d hoped. One of them jumps in front of you but his body topples to the ground before he can say a word. When you turn, Arthur’s got his revolver out and the end of it is smoking.

You’d barely even had time to process the threat before Arthur had shot him. You’d never seen what a quick draw he was in person before. If you weren’t feeling the breeze of bullets whistling past you, you’d have time to be impressed.

You reach Lady and she’s already stomping and kicking her legs out, terrified by all the noise. You grab her reins, hands shaking as you try and keep yourself steady. You don’t have time to let Arthur help you up. You place your foot in the stirrup and jump, you’re barely seated before she goes flying.

You lean forward, holding on tight as she moves like fire’s licking at her heels. “Come on, Lady!” You shout, not once looking back to see how many of them are after you. The sounds are getting closer and you swallow bile down as you risk a look over your shoulder.

Arthur’s just behind you, turned in his saddle, and shooting at as many of them as he can. Lady lets out an odd squeal and your brows furrow, glancing back at her. You see a streak of red across her side and feel your blood rush to your head.

They’d shot her. They’d shot your damn horse. You don’t even like her all that much, but right now she’s the only thing between you and a bullet through your head. Forcing yourself up, you slip the revolver out of your holster and turn like you watched Arthur do. It’s disorienting, feeling your hips rocking forward while you try and keep a steady aim behind yourself.

There’s no way for you to know which of them actually managed to knick her. But if they can hit your horse, they’re not far off from hitting you. You don’t have time to take in deep breaths and settle yourself, you can only start wildly shooting and hope you hit one of them. You don’t care to spare your bullets, firing off without any real aim and spotting a few drop from their saddles. You don’t know if it's you or Arthur that claims the kills but they eventually start to slow down and the space between you all grows wider.

Arthur tucks his gun away and rides up closer. “We need to get back to camp,” he shouts. You nod your head and follow along the path behind him. Your gaze drifts towards the wound across Lady’s side and you run your fingers through her mane as she races back home.

You brush out Lady’s coat as you wait for Arthur to finish up with Dutch. Hosea had promised that Lady would be fine, horses were sturdy but she’d have to make it through a lot worse if she wanted to stay with the gang. You understood what he meant but you didn’t appreciate it.

It’s only as you finish up with her that you realize what happened on the way back. You’d seen and, possibly, contributed to more killing and you hadn’t felt a thing about it. Not only that, Arthur had seen you shooting at men with no remorse.

Your heart flips itself into a knot in your chest as you look over to where he’s speaking with Dutch. He was quiet on the ride back and you’d assumed it was because he was worried more people would show up. What if it was because you ruined your image for him? The only former lover of his you know about was a lady like you. But, now, he sees you as someone who’s perfectly fine riding around and shooting at men without question. What if he doesn’t want you now?

You swallow down the lump in your throat and try to get your fingers to still. You’d been shaking from the adrenaline for the last few minutes. Your blood is still rushing so fast you’re getting dizzy standing still. You try to convince yourself that it’s just the nerves of the day getting to you, but you’re not so sure.

Arthur finally turns away from Dutch and heads back towards you. You give him a shaky smile but he doesn’t return it. Instead, his brows are set with anger and he’s glowering at you.

You feel your stomach drop as you scramble for a way to explain why shooting at those men was so easy for you. “Arthur, I’m sorry-”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He demands. Your face falls flat and you feel like you might throw up. Has he somehow found out about your husband? “I didn’t realize they’d hit you,” he reaches forward and you frown with confusion. His thumb brushes against your upper arm and you hiss.

Off instinct, you swat his hand away, fingers stinging at the force. You glance down and notice blood soaking the sleeve of your shirt. One of the bullets had done a little bit more than graze you, leaving a deep gouge in your arm. “So you touch it?” You ask him, only now starting to feel the pain of the wound.

He stutters over a defense before rolling his eyes. “Come on,” he sighs and places a light hand over your back. He presses you forward, herding you towards his tent. “Let’s clean it up.” He sets you down on his cot and begins rummaging through the chest he keeps next to it with all his supplies. Glancing up at you, he asks “What were you apologisin’ for?”

“Oh, um,” you feel a bit silly now. You almost don’t want to say it but that doesn’t feel fair to lie straight to his face. “I feel sick that you saw me shoot at those men.”

His brows furrow and he pauses his rummaging. He glances around like he’s waiting for you to finish but you just shrug. “Oh,” realization dawns on his face and he looks a little stunned. “That’s it?”

“Well,” you stutter and stumble over your words as he walks over to you with a cloth and some alcohol. “Yes,” you finally land on.

He tips the bottle over, soaking the cloth in the liquor. “Darlin’, I’ve seen death more times than I can count to. I don’t care about a little shoot-out. I only care about you bein’ alive.”

He presses the cloth to your wound and you jerk back, hissing in pain. He mutters small reassurances to you, soothing you like a bucking horse. “You mean that?” You ask through gritted teeth.

He laughs a little, kneeling and smiling at you. “Kill as many men as you like, sweetheart, just don’t point that gun at me.” Despite the aching pain in your arm, you find yourself smiling back at him.

The new spot for camp isn’t awful. The town nearby isn’t much to write home about. Two families have been feuding here since before the war. They haven’t seemed to fully accept this new society you live in. And you’re sure that their crops thrive on Braithwaite and Gray blood rather than water.

You weren’t allowed to go into town with Arthur and the others. None of the ladies were. Dutch had said that the people here wouldn’t react well to so many unmarried women. Especially not women like Karen. She hadn’t appreciated the dig, but she hadn’t argued with him.

You found it difficult to follow along blindly to Dutch’s whims. Sometimes it feels like you just traded one master for another. Your father, then your husband, and now you can’t do anything without Arthur constantly running to Dutch to get his approval. As much as you’d like to pretend you have a newfound freedom, you know that Arthur will never leave the gang behind. Dutch has practically brainwashed him into a loyal soldier. So long as you love Arthur, you’re stuck under Dutch’s thumb- and he knows it.

“I said go and get another slab. How hard is that?” Pearson’s voice carries through camp, his tone tight and irritated. Your brows furrow and you turn in your seat to see what he’s fussing about now.

“It would be a lot easier if I wasn’t havin’ to fight with a goddamn fool the whole time!” Sadie picks up a slab of deer meat and hurls it at the man. He throws his hands up, just barely managing to catch it in time.

You stifle a laugh, figuring you should have known what was causing him so much grief. Sadie’s been having to follow his every order ever since Dutch changed her over from Mrs. Grimshaw to Pearson. You know it’s driving her mad, same as you, to do nothing but cook and clean all day.

Even when she was married she had gone out hunting and fishing with Jake. They’d always taken care of your land, they were never house servants. She only knows how to cook because she’d had a husband to take care of, not an entire camp.

You place your book down on the table before you and get to your feet. You figure you should step in before this gets nasty. Again. You’re worried Sadie might actually stab the man. You can see them both considering it as you approach. Neither of them are happy with the arrangement. Pearson thought he was getting a quiet assistant and Sadie just plain hates him.

“Mr. Pearson!” You call out before they can say anything else. You lift your hand in greeting and he grunts noncommittally. “If you wouldn’t mind, I need Sadie’s help with a task.”

Sadie’s lip curls up at him and he crosses his arms, leaning back like he has any power to hold over you. “Oh, yeah? What would that be?”

You glance away, eyes down like you’re flustered. Your hand hovers over your stomach and you grimace, “I’m afraid it may be more feminine in nature.” His face blanches and he turns back to the slab of meat before him.

“Get.” He waves Sadie away and refuses to look at either of you.

You grin at her, holding your arm out and nodding towards the trees around camp. She chuckles slightly, looping her arm through your own and following alongside you. With Dutch and most other men out of camp today, you can afford to explore a little further than you might normally be allowed.

“Has he been giving you much grief?”

Sadie rolls her eyes with a scoff and sets you with a deadpan look. “What the hell do you think?” She doesn’t actually give you a chance to answer and continues with an angered tone. “He seems to be of the belief that women are of better use quiet and obedient.”

“Well,” you tilt your head in consideration and nod. “Most men think that. We haven’t yet reached a point in society where women hold much power, Sadie. Do you expect a group of outlaws to be fighting for our rights?”

“I don’t want none of them fightin’ for me. I just want to be able to take a ride, go huntin’,” she throws her hands up and sighs, “somethin’.”

You realize you do have a slight bit more freedom than she does. Arthur often takes you into towns with him or, at the very least, on some rides for space away from everyone. She’s been holed up with all these strange people since they first rescued you. You purse your lips and give her a sympathetic look.

You lead her further towards the grove of trees and hope some new scenery will help her calm down.

Arthur’s white button-down shirt lay across your lap. Needle in hand, you check it over to make sure you didn't miss any holes or tears. Satisfied with your efforts, you get to your feet and walk towards Arthur’s tent.

You don’t sew or fix anything up for the others unless they’re willing to pay. You find yourself doing this naturally for Arthur, without telling him. You're not sure if it’s because your finishing school teacher had ingrained into you the good qualities of a wife, or it’s simply because you want to.

Part of you will always resent the fact that you can’t recognize your own actions versus your training. You try to keep those thoughts at bay most days, but sometimes, when you do something like this, it’s a little more difficult.

Orange light glares into your eyes and you lift a hand to block it. Peering through one eye, you watch as the sinking sun sets against the horizon. Orange, red, and pink swirl and dance around each other to create a scene so perfect it almost doesn’t feel real.

It makes you think of Arthur, of how he would draw it. He’s incredibly gifted with art, even if he won’t admit it. Even with a piece of charcoal, he manages to capture the life of the animals he sees or the people around him.

After working a few odd jobs in camp, writing a letter for someone or doing some tailoring, you have some meager savings. You’ve been considering buying Arthur a proper drawing kit. You’re sure it would be foolish to spend it all on him, but you’d think he’d like it.

The people in camp only think he’s good for shooting and providing muscle. As much as they care about him, they don’t see the value in some of his finer skills. And you know it affects him. Anytime you catch a glimpse of one of his drawings he immediately starts tearing his work apart, always calling it trash and a waste of time. You wish that he could see the beauty of his creativity like you do. But a skill like that isn’t rewarded around here and you know he’ll never truly understand just how much more he’s capable of than what he’s been told.

Your gaze moves from the setting sun to the table in his tent. His journal rests on the edge and you frown. He doesn’t normally leave it behind. Reaching forward, you snag it off the edge and tuck it under his pillow. There are a lot of nosy people in camp, you doubt he’d want anyone getting their hands on it. While you fuss with that, you notice the picture on his table. Or lack thereof.

It’s been a while since you’ve paid attention to the interior of his tent. Most of the time you’re here, you’re focused on him. But you can’t help and snoop, just a little. The picture of his mother is still there, along with a folded-up one of the gang. But the picture he used to keep of his former lover is gone.

Curious, you take the shirt and turn towards the chest at the end of his cot. You bend over slightly, undoing the buckles and propping the edge up.

You lay the shirt flat, straightening out any wrinkles, and your hand accidentally slips toward the turned-over picture frames beside his clothes. You lift the first one and find another one of his mother. Pursing your lips, you debate if you should dig any further. Glancing over your shoulder, you don’t notice anyone watching you or coming close. You bend over a little more and rifle through another frame.

There it is- the picture of the woman buried beneath the rest. You don’t blame him for keeping it. You know how much she meant to him. You’re just curious as to why he went so far as to bury it below the rest.

Someone clears their throat behind you and you let out a squeak, slamming the lid of the chest shut. You whip around and find Arthur leaning against the post of his tent. “Arthur,” you're breathless as you clutch at your chest, not having even expected him back in camp yet. “I didn’t hear you come up.”

“No,” he lets out an amused huff, “I don’t imagine you did.” He nods towards his chest and you flush with guilt. “What’re you doin’ in there?”

You tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear and shrug innocently. “Just putting away a shirt I fixed up for you.” He moves away from the post and takes a slow step towards you.

“And that’s all?” He looks completely serious, as though he’s about to start interrogating you, but you can hear the slight tease lingering at the end of his words.

“Yes,” you lie, “that’s all.”

“Alright,” he stops in front of you and chuckles a little. “I’ll pretend to believe that. How ‘bout next time you want somethin’, you just come to me?” You nod your head and he steps around you. He takes his hat off and places it on the table, running his hands through his hair.

“Actually,” you grin at him as he turns around, “there is somethin- wait, what is that?” You demand, pointing to the deputy’s badge on his shirt.

He glances down with a sigh and rolls his eyes. “Bill went and got us deputized. Don’t know how, but Dutch seems to think it’s best if we want to stay here.” You try not to sigh at the mention of Dutch. He’s been getting stricter ever since the incident in Valentine and Arthur’s obeying him like a leashed dog. It’s beyond frustrating.

“I can’t believe they gave you all badges,” you can’t help but laugh. The sheriff has got to be touched in the head to have looked at those men and thought they were anything but outlaws.

“Buncha fools,” Arthur grumbles. He sees the look on your face, the way you bite your lip to keep any more laughter from escaping, and sighs. “Quit laughin’ at me, woman. What was I supposed to do? Say no?” You shake your head mutely and he rolls his eyes. “What did you want?”

“Right,” you clear your throat and let out one last huff of laughter before straightening up. “I need you to do a favor for me. Sadie’s been itching to get away from camp, especially from that old bastard Pearson. Could you take her out for me, tomorrow, or sometime soon? I’m worried she’s going to drive a knife through his skull if we don’t deal with this.

Arthur doesn’t look convinced, eyes narrowed and head tilted in a way that makes you think he’s going to say no. You risk a step forward, taking his hand in your own and pulling him close. “Oh, please, Arthur. It would mean the world to me.”

His eyes meet yours, and you widen them, giving him your best pleading look. He holds out for a minute longer than you thought he would before letting out a rough sigh. “Alright, alright, fine. But she better not cause any damn trouble, she’s got a worse temper than Bill.”

You can’t promise she won’t, so you just lean up and press a kiss to his cheek in thanks. He rolls his eyes and takes your chin between his fingers. He tilts your face up towards his, narrowing his eyes at you, “Come on, give me a real kiss,” you smile slightly and wind your arms around his neck, pulling him down to meet you halfway. You suppose there are worse ways to have to pay him back.

Arthur and Sadie were both out on a supply run before you even woke up. By the time you’re properly dressed and cleaned, you can see the wagon cresting over the hill. Your eyes widen with alarm when you see Sadie with the reins, driving the horses even worse than you do.

You know she’s driven a wagon before. You think she might just be trying to give Arthur a heart attack. You can hear them shouting at each other from where you stand and you snicker. You wonder if those two were separated at birth or something, they get along about as bad as most siblings you know.

You go over to Arthur’s tent and rifle through his bullets until you find a few extra for the revolver in your holster. Eventually, you’ll have to start buying your own supplies. But he doesn’t seem to mind much. Either that or he hasn’t caught on yet.

You load the bandolier on your hip and walk out to meet them as they return. Sadie doesn’t quite park the wagon in time, nearly taking out Bill’s tent as she drives them back into camp. “Enough!” Arthur barks, ripping the reins out of her hands. “I am never lettin’ you drive again.”

“Didn’t know you were such a coward, Arthur,” she taunts, hopping out of the wagon. You find yourself grinning when you see the clothes she’s sporting. Pants, a new hat, and some fresh boots. You’re sure Dutch won’t appreciate her use of camp funds but you applaud her latest show of rebellion.

You round the horses to greet Arthur as he gives Sadie a bewildered look. She hauls a sack of flour out of the back and tosses it at Pearson’s feet. “Have fun?” You ask airily as you greet him.

He whirls around on you and points an accusing finger towards you. “I said no trouble.”

“She couldn’t have been that bad,” you admonish, swatting his hand away.

He purses his lips in irritation and crosses his arms. “She nearly killed me drivin’ back. Women can’t drive!” You gape at him as he hops out of the wagon and begins storming towards his tent. “They can’t!” He shouts and you gasp, face twisted in a bewildered smile.

“Arthur!” You admonish, chasing after him. He shakes his head, not looking at you.

He scoffs and shakes his head, looking for all the world like a madman. “Think I don’t remember how you drove when we came down from the mountains?”

“You broke the wheel,” you throw back at him. With his shoulders nearly up to his ears, he continues his stubborn march towards his tent. “Oh, Arthur, come on.” You catch up with him and dart in front of him so he can’t get around you.

“How about a ride to calm you down?” He looks to Sadie and then back at the wagon with a sickened look and you laugh. “On the horses,” you laugh and grab his arm, dragging him to Diablo and Lady. “Sadie ain’t the only one feeling cooped up,” you tell him.

His low sigh sounds a little apologetic but you hadn’t meant anything against him. It was Dutch keeping you under lock and key. “I know, and I’m sorry about that. But we can’t risk too many of us bein’ seen.”

“Dutch can’t risk it, you mean,” you grab onto the saddle’s horn and swing up, glancing down at him.

He frowns, mounting Diablo with more grace than you can manage. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

You bat your lashes and shrug, leading Lady towards the edge of camp. “Nothing really, just that it seems to be Dutch forcing us all to lay low.” You take the lead through the trees, ducking underneath a few low-hanging branches. “No one else seems to be as worried, or even know what’s going on out here.”

Arthur slows down and you’re forced to match his gait if you want to hear what he says. You turn back in your saddle and give him a questioning look. He’s looking at you in a way you’ve never seen before. It’s distant like he’s gazing at someone closer to a stranger than a lover.

“You’re doubtin’ Dutch?” His voice is low, tone giving nothing away to you.

“Well,” Lady shifts restlessly underneath you, seemingly sensing the change in your mood. “Not doubting per se. I just don’t think things are as dangerous as he makes them out to be. It just seems to be-”

“Do I need to remind you how you got that scar on your arm?” Arthur snaps, pointing towards the slight bullet wound left behind by Cornwall’s men. You blanch as he nudges Diablo forward, quickly surpassing you.

“No Arthur, I think I remember getting shot at pretty damn well.” You’re getting angry now too, you really hadn’t meant much by the comment. But he had to realize how out of proportion Dutch was making everything feel. The “threats” surrounding you, the grand plan of escape, it was all too magnificent.

“Look, you can’t be questionin’ Dutch like that. If we stop trustin’ each other or start turnin’ on each other, it’s all gonna fall apart faster than you can blink.” He slows slightly so you can catch up with him but it doesn’t seem as natural as it normally does.

“That’s not what I was trying to imply Arthur. I’ve been in camp for too long. The world outside seems so distant to me. It’s just hard to believe we’re in any real danger.” You try to downplay what you said. Pretend you hadn't been suggesting exactly what he’s accusing you of. Playing the ditzy little lady used to get you out of trouble in the past, but now, he sees right through you.

“Well, we are,” he snaps, “and you’d do your best to remember that. Just because you can’t see it, don’t mean it’s not real.” There’s a sense of finality to his words that tells you the conversation’s over. Whatever hope you’d had of a peaceful ride is gone.

It’s a difficult pill to swallow, knowing no matter how much you care for Arthur, he’ll always pick Dutch over you. And worse, he’ll pick Dutch over saving himself. He’ll never understand just how much he’s worth, or how much he means to everyone around him. He’s a martyr through and through. Always prepared to make a sacrifice, even when it’s not needed.

You tighten your grip around Lady’s reigns, eyes cast down as you follow along silently beside him. He leads you onto the path towards town and you wonder if you should just head back. You could lie, say you’re feeling sick, and be done with him for now.

You’re already upset by how the day’s turned, no point in prolonging either of your misery. “Arthur,” you call out. He hums, turning slightly, just barely facing you. “I’m going to go back to camp.”

He pulls on Diablo’s reins, turning him around so he can properly face you. “I thought you wanted to get out?” He asks, sounding on edge and a little snappy.

You shrug dismissively, not bothering with an excuse. “Changed my mind-”

“Told you it’d be worth a pretty penny,” your brows furrow as a strong Irish accent starts talking a little further up the path. It sounds startlingly familiar.

“Those wagons are always worth the trouble,” Arthur’s quick to ride up beside you. He doesn’t hesitate as he takes Lady’s reins out of your hand and leads you both off the path. You’re silent as you follow him off the safety of the trail. He tucks you both behind some trees. You have just enough coverage that they can’t see you but you can still see them.

There’s a sharp pain slicing up and down your back the closer the Irishmen get. You hiss through your teeth, shifting uncomfortably as they continue to talk. Arthur keeps his head low, hat tilted down and you follow suit. They pass by without much fuss and Arthur picks his head back up to watch them go.

“O’Driscolls,” he curses and the painful familiarity suddenly makes sense. “We need to tell Dutch,” he says, already making his way back to camp. You follow him without much argument, as eager to get back as he is.

Your heart sinks to your stomach, toiling in hurt the whole way. You know Dutch has instilled a paternal familiarity into Arthur but it hurts knowing the man you chose will always choose someone else.

Pearson’s ambling back into camp just as you and Arthur arrive. You’re tempted to just go back to your tent but you follow Arthur, knowing he’ll probably need someone else to back up what he saw. “Dutch!” He calls out, interrupting whatever scheming conversation he’d been having with Micah.

Dutch walks towards you both, Micah following slightly behind, coughing into the crook of his elbow. You grimace at the wet, choking noise. He’s been looking worse and worse everyday. The circles under his eyes are so dark he looks like he’s been knocked across the face.

“Something the matter, Arthur?” Dutch asks, eyes briefly darting to you before looking back at Arthur.

“Saw somethin’ out on the road.” You cross your arms, mind drifting as you wait to be called into the conversation. You’re roughly jarred out of your reverie as a strong, clammy hand lands on your shoulder so suddenly you’re nearly dragged to the ground.

The smell of sweat and moonshine sours your nose and nearly makes you gag as Pearson leans against you. “Gost ‘ome news,” he slurs, eyes barely open as he gestures vaguely towards Dutch.

You struggle under his weight, doing your damndest not to fall into the mud. Arthur frowns and knocks Pearson’s arm off your shoulder. “Get off ‘er, you damn fool,” he grabs him by the bicep, roughly jerking him straight and relying on his strength to keep them both upright.

“Now, Mr. Pearson, Mr. Morgan, I believe you both have news to share. Seeing as Mr. Pearson is close to toppling over into the mud, he can go first.” Arthur’s lips purse in irritation but he says nothing, only shakes Pearson to wake him back up.

“Met ‘ome fine mens in the bar. O’durshels, wanna purl.” You narrow your eyes at him and your face twists with confusion. You’re not the only one, the other men around you already look tired of having to deal with Pearson’s inebriated state.

Sadly, years spent married to a drunkard means you’ve learned the language of liquor quite well. “He met some O’Driscolls in a bar, they want to parley,” you translate, looking to Dutch.

His brows set with something you don’t recognize and Arthur scoffs. “It’s a damn trap.”

“‘Course it is,” Micah snaps. “Don’t mean we can’t use it to our advantage.”

Arthur drops Pearson’s arm and the man goes tumbling face-first into the mud. He takes a menacing step towards Micah who only grins up at him. “We’d be a bunch of fools to go anywhere near this.”

“Arthur,” Dutch barks his name out like an order and Arthur pauses, still leering over Micah. “I believe Mr. Bell might be right.”

“Oh,” you glare at him, smiling with disbelief. “You’re kidding, aren’t you? Those men are bastards,” you spit the word out with venom you didn’t know you possessed and step towards Dutch. Micah darts forward, protecting him like you’d actually try something.

“Arthur,” Dutch warns lowly, intense stare set on you. Your skin crawls with the weight of his gaze. You feel like he’s pulling you to pieces, digging around to see which parts of you are weakest. He doesn’t have to say anything more, Arthur walks forward. He’s gentle as he grabs your arm, but he leaves no room for argument as he leads you away from Dutch.

“Arthur,” you admonish. “You can’t be thinking about this.”

“I’m not,” he mutters, glancing over his shoulder at Dutch. “But I ain’t got a choice.”

You laugh in disbelief and shake your head at him as he parks you beside his tent. “Of course you do. You’ve got the same choice as any of us. Just say no.” You’re praying that he sees sense, that he doesn’t go along with what is a clear trap.

He only shakes his head and turns back towards Dutch. You should have known. Even if he knows there’s danger, he’ll ride in headfirst so long as someone else doesn’t get hurt. You feel something like disgust twisting you up and irritating the anger already present.

You look towards Dutch and he’s already got his eyes on you. He doesn’t wear it plainly, but you see the satisfaction on his face as Arthur comes to stand beside him and leaves you. As if you were ever a threat to his authority.

You turn away from them all, unwilling to watch them ride off as you storm back toward your tent. If they want to go be a bunch of fools, so be it. It’s not your business what mistakes men make with their freedom.

It’s Sadie that wakes you, her hand on your shoulder, shoving you insistently. Your eyes are slow to flutter open, your mind racing to remember where you are and who you’re with. “What?” You slur, one eye open as you try to orient yourself.

“They’re back,” she hisses, tossing away the blanket and getting to her feet. You sit up slowly, hands landing in your lap as you let your head sink between your shoulders. You listen to Sadie’s rushed footsteps as she runs away from the tent.

You’re moving slowly as you rub your eyes, trying to force yourself awake. Whose back?

You try to remember the events of the day and then the realization hits you like ice. Your heart palpitates as you scramble to get up. You chase after Sadie, feet bare in the mud as you run to the entrance of the camp. You’re not looking to give Arthur a happy welcome back, you just want to make sure he’s okay.

You see The Count’s white head parting through the trees first, then Baylock. You come up behind Sadie, peering around her to see if you can spot Diablo through the trees. You know it’ll be hard with his striking black coat, but you figure you’ll manage some hint of him, even through the dark.

Dutch and Micah are slow as they amble up to you. Your brows furrow and there’s an intuitive gnawing feeling in the back of your mind. John comes out of his tent at the sound of hooves, moving to stand beside you. A few others join the welcoming party but you’re not paying any attention to them.

You move away from Sadie and take a step closer to the men now broaching the perimeter of camp. Your hand balls into the fabric of your night dress and you suck in a sharp breath when you realize they’re riding back alone.

Red-hot anger hits you like a hammer knocking a blade into place. You run towards Dutch, not even waiting for him to be fully off his saddle before you start hollering at him. “Where is he? Did he have to stay behind? What’s going on?”

Dutch holds his hands up, lips curled back in irritation as he skirts around you. “There were some complications,” Micah snipes as he jumps down from his horse. His lips are twisted up, humor coating his rotten voice.

Your chest heaves with panic, heart tapping an odd pitter-patter as you try and process what the hell that means.

“Complications!” You shout, uncaring for the way the others are staring at you. “Where the hell is Arthur?” Dutch tries to walk away from you, giving you a bewildered sort of look. He’s looking at you like you’re some sort of ranting madman wandering in from the woods. You may be ankle-deep in mud, wearing nothing but a nightgown, but you are not crazy. And you will not let him treat you like you are.

You shoot forward and shove at the back of his shoulder. You catch him off guard and he stumbles slightly. You reach for him but Micah rushes forward, snatching up your left wrist before you can try again. You don’t see anything but red as you whip around and snap your hand as hard as you can against his cheek.

You hear the sound your skin makes against his, see the bright burning mark on his face, but you feel no sting. You rip your wrist out of his hold and turn back towards Dutch. “You wicked little-”

“You left him, didn’t you?” You interrupt Micah’s low-brow insult and wait for Dutch to answer. He’s got a surprised look on his face as he takes you in. As if he hadn’t expected you to do anything but sit back and obey.

His silence is the only answer you need as he tries to turn away from you again. “After everything he’s done for you! You just leave him!” You sound more heartbroken than he looks and it’s devastating. He left him to the mercies of O’Driscolls and he doesn’t seem to care at all.

“We didn’t leave him!” Dutch shouts, voice cracking slightly. He snatches up your arm, dragging you away from Micah and trying to isolate you from the others. He’s pulling you to his tent, trying to keep you silent so you don’t cause a big scene in front of the rest of camp. You won’t let him do this, you refuse to let him keep his perfect mask of the unfaltering leader.

You dig your feet into the ground and feel the cold wet rush of mud filtering around your legs as he tries to drag you forward. “This is childish,” he snaps, glaring at you and letting your arm go. You know there’ll be a nasty purple bruise where he’d held you but you could care less right now.

“You didn’t leave him? What the hell do you call this?” You gesture around wildly, not fully comprehending that this isn’t just one bad dream. “You don’t understand the cruelty of those men. What you just left him to-”

“Excuse me?” Dutch’s voice is low now, no longer is he shouting. Instead, he stalks towards you in two easy steps.

“Easy,” John warns, coming up behind you both.

Neither of you pay him any mind. You take a step closer, nearly nose to nose with Dutch, refusing to be intimidated by him. “This isn’t your fight, Mrs. Rowe. These aren’t your people, how dare you-”

“Arthur is my people,” you interrupt, voice a deadly whisper. “How dare you leave him. Fearsome Dutch Van der Linde,” you taunt and his nostrils flair at your impudence, “can’t even keep his people safe. Tell me, if you’re such a great leader, a man who’s always got a plan- what is it? What is your great plan? How are you going to get my Arthur back from this?”

Dutch’s face blanches and it’s the first time you’ve ever seen anything genuine appear. He almost looks concerned. And not for himself or his image, but for Arthur. It makes you hesitate for a moment, startling a step back from him with a furrow between your brows.

“I’ve got a plan,” he whispers, eyes wide like he’s trying to convince himself. He turns and looks at the rest of the gang, most of them having woken up while you’d been shouting. “I have got a plan!” He yells, turning back towards his tent and storming off.

Micah follows behind him, shoulder slamming into yours as he passes. You grunt, tripping forward and glaring at his back. You wouldn’t mind putting a bullet between that bastard’s eyes.

Your mind races with everything the O’Drsicolls had put you and Sadie through. Your skin crawls with the way their hands and weapons had felt against you. You swallow the bile in your throat and turn towards the horses.

John is right behind you, having been lurking at the edges of your and Dutch’s fight. “Where’re you goin’?” He asks with a tired sigh.

“Where do you think?” You snap, reaching for Lady.

Charles calls out your name and you turn to see him standing behind John with Hosea. Out of everyone in camp, you’d think these would be the three men joining you, not trying to stop you like they clearly are.

You scoff in disbelief, a sardonic smile on your face. “That's it?” you demand, a disgusted glare directed at each of them. “You’re just going to abandon him too?”

“We’re not abandoning him,” Hosea objects, taking a step closer. You flinch away from him and he frowns. “You don’t know these men-”

“The hell I don’t! I’ve got the scars from what they did to me. I barely survived it.” Hosea winces away from your words.

“Dutch has a plan,” he tells you, but it doesn’t even sound like he believes himself. “We just need to wait.”

“What’re you going to do?” Charles adds, and it feels remarkably like they’re circling you, herding you away from your horse. “You don’t even have a gun and you’re just going to ride into an O’Driscoll camp.”

“I will,” you tell him, all the sincerity in the world backing you up.

“And you’ll get yourself killed,” John snaps. “I want them dead just as bad, but you are only going to get yourself hurt or caught. We only need some time, we’re not abandoning him. But we can’t just go in guns blazin’.”

“When has that ever stopped any of you?” You snap. You feel all your anger, all your determination, slip right out through the bottom of your bare feet. You know from their faces there’s going to be no arguing with them. They’re just as bad as Arthur, just as blind.

They truly believe that Dutch has any clue what he’s doing. How could you possibly be the only one to see the truth of what he is? He’s a conman, decorated as a friend, father, brother, leader. He takes whatever form he wants and he knows how to use it against those around him. There’s no plan, there’s no grand escape to some tropical paradise.

“You’re not leaving tonight,” Charles tells you and you wish you had the energy to cry. You want to weep for Arthur. Here stood the people he would sacrifice himself for, and they aren’t going to kill a few O’Driscolls to save him.

You let them lead you back to your tent and look toward the horizon. You’re not going to be allowed to leave this camp. And even if there was a plan to rescue Arthur, you’d never be told of it. All you can do is wait.

You stay up all night, sitting by the fire and forcing yourself to tolerate the feeling of Charles watching you the whole time. You don’t know what it is that makes you look away from the flames and towards the trees, but something pulls at you.

As the sun crests the horizon, you place your cup of coffee down and turn. Over your shoulder, barely visible, a horse struggles along the path. You squint, head tilting this way and that so you might be able to better make out what it is. You get to your feet and hear Charles follow you.

“Oh, god,” you gasp, making a run for the horse just as the rising sun illuminates it. Arthur is slumped over Diablo’s head, blood soaked through his shirt. You don’t make it to him before he slips off the saddle and lands in the mud. Diablo stands over him, nosing at his neck and cheek.

Charles races behind you as you slide into the mud, hands roving over Arthur’s chest until you find the burned-over wound on his shoulder. You press your fingers to his throat, holding your breath while you pray to feel the beat of life within him still.

“Oh, thank god,” you whisper when you feel the faintest thud against the tip of your fingers. Charles kneels beside you and you both throw an arm over your shoulders, lifting Arthur to his feet. “Susan!” You scream the old lady's name until you see her stumble out of her tent.

A few of the other’s still awake all stand, Dutch included. “He needs help!” You shout, Charles helping you drag him towards her.

“Bring him over here!” She shouts, clearing off Arthur’s cot and motioning for you to lay him down. You stumble under Arthur’s weight, ankle rolling the wrong way as you struggle to keep up his limp body. Charles helps as much as he can but you can barely stay standing. Dutch runs over to you, you share a brief look before he slips Arthur’s arm off your shoulder and carries him the rest of the way to Mrs. Grimshaw.

You turn towards the tent of women and by now they’re all up, watching everything with wide horrified eyes. “Tilly, help me,” you demand, rushing towards the water boiling for Pearson’s stew. She snaps into action, racing behind you and passing you a cloth to lift the scalding pot off the fire. You both carry it over to Mrs. Grimshaw and she barely spares you a glance, too focused on Arthur.

You can’t look at him for too long, can’t bear to face the way his eyes stare up at nothing. He looks too much like the corpses you’ve seen. But you know you felt life inside him. You couldn’t have made something like that up.

Mrs. Grimshaw slices through his shirt and hisses at what she sees. You move past Dutch and peer over her shoulder with Tilly. “Oh, you fool,” she mutters. You shake your head when you see what he’s done to his shoulder. You know he did the best with what he had, but gunpowder is a risky move to close up a bullet hole.

If you’re not careful with how you treat his wound, it’s more than likely to get infected. Besides the gunshot, judging from the bruises on his body, you can tell he was beaten to within an inch of his life. He’d barely been there a day and they’d nearly killed him. If what they’d done to you wasn’t reason enough to want the O’Drsicolls dead, this was.

“Susan,” Dutch whispers and he sounds so disappointed, “sit by him. Take care of him. Keep him alive.” You refuse to look at Dutch, dipping a cloth into the purified water and wringing it out. You pass it to Susan who only nods her head.

Tilly draws the tent flaps closed, pushing Dutch the rest of the way out. Susan presses the cloth gently to the area around Arthur’s wound and his shoulder jerks slightly. “He’s burned himself up,” Tilly mutters, rooting through his supply trunk and ripping up some of his clean shirts for extra cloth.

“Closed up the wound,” Susan mutters, “but we’ll need to watch for infection.” Her hand drifts down his chest, pressing down on one of the purple and yellow splotches along his ribs. His eyes shoot open for a moment, a pained groan coming from his cracked lips.

“Broken rib?” You ask, rooting around in his table for some of the ointment Hosea had made for him. She hums an affirmative and you hear Tilly rip up some more cloth for binding.

“It’s gonna be a long night, you best listen to every damn thing I tell you,” Susan snaps, not taking her eyes off of Arthur. You nod your head silently, pulling out the tin of salve and presenting it to her. Your eyes drift towards Arthur and you let out a shuddering breath, not willing to look at his broken form for more than a few moments.

Susan helped the most the first night Arthur was back. It was because of her that he made it. Tilly and you assisted her the best you could. But she had the knowledge only a doctor should as she staved the infection away from his wound.

She wasn’t capable of a miracle, but this seemed damn close. Still, even with all the work you’d put in, someone had to stay by his side at night, make sure he didn’t slip away quietly. You volunteered yourself, opting to let them watch him during the day while you slept.

His recovery was a slow one. You have to make sure his ribs are wrapped tight enough to encourage them to heal again. You need to ensure he doesn’t flip around in his sleep and do any more damage to himself. More importantly, you have to do everything you can to keep his fever down.

Despite the heat of the day, it seems worse at night. Sweat soaks through his clothes and blankets, he’s constantly twitching with shivers. You try and make sure the cloth along his brow stays cool, but he seems to heat them up like a fire.

There’s no puckering green skin around his wound, none of you can figure out where the infection is stemming from. You don’t have the medicine he needs to fight it, only sheer will and prayer.

You lean forward in your chair, pressing the back of your chilled fingers to his cheek. Same as the night before, it’s hot to the touch. You’re surprised your skin doesn’t sizzle as it touches his. His breaths come in short pants as you slip the cloth off his head and dip it into the bucket of water beside you. You wring it out and place it gently along his brow again.

Standing, you perch yourself on the edge of his cot and peel back the bandages on his shoulder. It sticks slightly to the skin, yellowed and bloody as the skin works to heal itself. He’d done the best he could with the gunpowder, but all it had done was stop you from getting below the surface and healing what needed it.

Your eyes are fighting to stay open after being awake all night. You know the sun will rise soon, that you’ll have an opportunity for rest. But you haven’t been able to sleep well, not since he was brought back. You nearly drift off and then you think of him dying while you’re dozing away.

He might have made it through the first night, but there are no promises with things like this. Your hand slips into his and you let out a heavy sigh. You take in his sallow face, the gauntness of his cheeks, the circles under his eyes. His beard has grown longer than you’ve ever seen it, his hair nearly reaches his shoulders. You don’t recognize this beaten man below you. This isn’t the Arthur you know.

You squeeze his rough hand in yours, “You better not stop fighting, you stubborn bastard.” You feel a familiar burn in the back of your throat and look away from him, choking down your tears. You can’t cry over him again. You’ve done it so often your eyes have run dry.

Just as you’re about to get up to leave, his hand twitches ever so slightly in yours. Your brows furrow and you glance down at his hold on you. It was nearly imperceptible, a barely there movement. You watch his arm carefully, seeing if anything else happens. When he doesn’t move again you dismiss it as your mind playing tricks on you.

Again, almost as if he knows you’re going to leave him, his hand twitches. This time, you can’t dismiss it as a reflex or simply something your addled brain has conjured up. The movement is deliberate, purposeful, as if he’s trying to hold on to you in every way he can. His fingers squeeze your palm weakly, and a sharp gasp escapes your lips.

“Arthur?” you breathe, voice trembling as your heart skips a beat. You turn back to his face, ragged and pale, the shadow of the man he once was. But there’s something in the faint wrinkle of his brow and the uneven parting of his lips. It’s the most life you’ve seen in him in days.

You’re practically shaking as you move further up the cot. You stick yourself as close to his side as you can. “Oh, Arthur?” you plead, leaning closer, searching desperately for any sign that he’s still fighting. A low mutter slips from his cracked lips, the sound so faint it’s almost lost in the silence. You freeze, straining to hear, your breath caught in your throat.

You’re so close you can feel the shallow rise and fall of his chest against yours. His lips move again, his ribs quaking with effort. It’s a whisper, barely audible, but you hear a cracked version of your name slip through his lips.

This is the most you’ve gotten from him in days. There had been moments where, as hard as it was to accept, you’d begun to realize he could be dying. His lips move again and if you weren’t watching him so intently, you might have missed it.

Your heart shatters and mends all at once. “Arthur,” you choke, nearly crying with relief. Your body slumps over his with the relief that he’s not been lost to you yet. You clutch your hand in his as though sheer will can keep him with you. For a moment, the unbearable weight of your fear is lifted.

Tears spill down your cheeks, hot and unrelenting, as you press your forehead against his. “You’re still here,” you whisper, more to yourself than to him. “Just keep fighting for me.”

He doesn’t say anything else, doesn’t have the strength, but his fingers twitch again, his grip just a little firmer. It’s enough for you. You hold on to him like he’s your lifeline, and in a way, he is. You can’t let him go, not now. “I’m here, Arthur,” you promise, voice shaking but just steady enough for him to understand you. “I’m not going anywhere. Just, don’t leave me. Please.”

For the first time in what feels like forever, there’s a flicker of hope in the darkness. It’s fragile, so fragile, but it’s there.

It doesn’t take long for Arthur to start coming back around. Most nights, he’s still groggy and spends more time asleep than awake, but the fever has broken, and that’s enough for you.

You no longer go to sleep every night worrying he won’t be there in the morning. Now, when you check on his tent, you find him waiting for you, even if it’s with little more than a tired glance and a hoarse word or two. Tonight is one of those nights. He doesn’t have much energy for anything beyond picking at some stew and lying down, but you don’t mind.

You stay by his side, fussing over him as you fluff the pillows behind his head. He’d teased you the other day, comparing your fretting to Mrs. Grimshaw. You’d laughed, too relieved he felt well enough to joke to take offense. The memory makes you smile as you smooth the blankets over him.

“Quit,” he mutters weakly, swatting at your hands.

“Oh, hush,” you retort, tone light as you sit back down in the chair by his cot.

His hand catches your wrist before you can settle. When you glance down, you find him peeking up at you through one half-lidded eye, a faint smile playing on his lips.

“Come on,” he mumbles, tugging gently.

“Arthur, I’m fine right here,” you reply, hesitating. His cot isn’t exactly spacious, and you’re worried about jostling him or hurting his still-healing ribs.

He doesn’t answer, just tugs again with what little strength he has.

“Oh, alright.” You laugh slightly and shake your head. “You’re so stubborn,” you grumble, but the smile tugging at your lips betrays you. Carefully, you climb onto the cot, curling into the space he makes for you on his good side. His head tucks into the crook of your neck, his arm settling around your waist like it belongs there.

You comb your fingers through his hair absentmindedly, thinking that maybe you’ll cut it for him when he’s stronger. His breathing slows against you, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. He’s nearly asleep when he rasps out a question, voice muffled against your shoulder.

“Why didn’t they come?” He rasps against your shoulder, nearly asleep as he asks.

Your hands still in his hair, and the quiet around you feels suddenly heavy. His arm tightens around your waist, as though he senses your hesitation. You close your eyes and draw in a shaky breath.

How are you supposed to answer that?

You could tell him the same tired promises Dutch fed you, that there was a plan, that he was never really abandoned. But you’ve been here, tending to him alone for days. You’ve watched Dutch only appear when Arthur’s too far gone to notice, his visits perfunctory and brief. And you know, deep down, what Arthur would never admit, if he keeps believing Dutch’s lies, it’ll kill him.

You swallow hard and take his hand, threading your fingers through his. “Arthur,” you whisper, voice trembling but firm enough to hold his attention. “You’ve given Dutch everything, and he left you there. He left you to die.”

You hear him exhale, a sound somewhere between a sigh and a groan. His grip on your hand loosens just slightly, but he doesn’t pull away.

“I’m not saying this to hurt you,” you continue, leaning closer so your words sink in. “I just- I need you to know the truth. He’s not the man you think he is. He never was. Please, Arthur, when you’re strong enough, tell me we’ll get away. We’ll leave this all behind before it’s too late.”

You fall silent, letting your words settle in the quiet. He doesn’t respond, his breaths deepening as sleep overtakes him again.

You tighten your hold on his hand and rest your forehead against his temple. “I’m sorry,” you murmur, your voice breaking. “You deserve better.”

You doubt he’ll remember this when he wakes, and maybe that’s best. But you had to say something, you had to try. It feels wrong, though, to try and twist Arthur’s loyalty. You’ve barely had a chance to know either of them the way they know each other.

Still, you can’t shake what you’ve seen. Dutch’s words, his cleverly painted lies, they turn into nooses, and he’s got a rope around everyone in camp. You know his kind, once he sinks his claws into someone, there’s no letting go.

You glance down at Arthur’s face, softened and unguarded in sleep, and your chest tightens. He deserves to be free of Dutch. At the very least, he deserves to see the truth and to live for himself instead of chasing someone else’s dreams.

Doubt still creeps alongside you. Did you have a place to say anything at all?

You brush a hand through Arthur’s hair one more time, listening to his breaths as they even out. Curling closer around him, you drift to sleep with your heart heavy, praying he sees the truth when he wakes.

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

@m1stea @pokiona

#Arthur morgan x reader #Arthur morgan x you #Arthur morgan #Arthur morgan fanfiction #Arthur morgan imagine #rdr2 #rdr2 x reader #rdr2 x you #read dead redemption #red dead redemption x reader #rdr2 fanfiction #rdr2 imagine #red dead redemption 2 #Hell Hath No Fury

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thehereticdiaries · 1 day ago

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A (Not So) Meet Cute: Chapter Six

Summary: You go on your first date with Seungmin! Afterwards, you get some good news from the detective

Warnings: It gets suggestive toward the end but not much else.

Series Masterlist

You returned to the studio, hoping that your blush faded enough that the XDH boys wouldn’t notice. Jiseok, being the main gossip of the group, immediately saw right through you.

“Sooooo,” he teased, placing his guitar on his stand so he could invade your personal space. He seemed to have a habit of doing that. You had gotten used to it by the second week working with them. “How did your little chat with Kim Seungmin go?”

“It was delightful.” You narrowed your eyes at the guitarist.

“Oh, I’m sure it was.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “Especially since O.de was saying how Seungmin was heavily eye-fucking y-”

“Jiseok!” O.de shouted from the door of the booth. “I did not say that.”

“Okay, fine, he didn’t say it outright. But it was implied!”

“No it wasn’t! All I said was that Seungmin looked kind of jealous.” Leave it to Jiseok to make such a massive leap.

“You’re right, though. He scared you away on purpose cus he was jealous of how close we were,” you admitted, brushing past both boys to enter the booth.

“Who’s jealous?” Jooyeon asked, suddenly interested in the conversation. You rolled your eyes when the other members perked up.

“You guys are so nosy.”

“And you aren’t?” Jungsu sarcastically asked with a sly grin.

“Touché. But to answer your question, Seungmin from Stray Kids was jealous. Great news though! He asked me on a date, so thank you O.de,” you snickered at the chorus of shouts from the members.

“Dude, fucking finally,” Jiseok gushed, smacking your shoulder affectionately. “You’re both so oblivious. I was about to put a sign on your back.”

“You’re a little shit, just be happy for me!”

The rest of the week passed by in a blur. Seungmin refused to give you any hints other than ‘wear warm clothes’. It annoyed you to no end, because what if you pick something totally inappropriate for the venue?! Since it was almost December, you settled on fleece-lined jeans, a crewneck sweatshirt, and your favorite parka. You figured it would be outdoors, so you also grabbed a beanie and gloves.

“Do I have to wear this? I have my own mask,” Seungmin complained while Dohyun drove the two of you to the mystery destination.

“Yes!” You insisted on having matching masks since he wouldn’t give you any hints about the date. They were simple black fabric masks with a cute cartoon puppy nose and mouth printed on the front. After a few minutes, the car came to a stop by Seoul Plaza. Seungmin opened the door for you before leaning back in to address your favorite driver.

“You’ll be back in two hours?” The elder nodded once. “And you’ll bring what we talked about?”

“Yes, I have everything set up. Go have fun,” Dohyun gently shooed the idol away. Seungmin joined you on the sidewalk, grabbing your hand to tug you into the plaza.

“Oh, wow,” your mouth dropped behind your mask. The lawn of the plaza was transformed into an enormous ice skating rink. A large Christmas tree made of twinkling fairy lights sat at one end of the rink, even though it was currently turned off in the bright afternoon sun.

“You’ve never seen the plaza like this?” You shook your head, glancing up at Seungmin. His eyes crinkled, indicating a hidden smile.

“I don’t know how to ice skate,” you told him while he led you to the skate rentals.

“I’m not the best, but I can show you the basics.” The employee handed you two pairs of skates, and you moved to the benches and lockers. You stood on wobbly legs, carefully following Seungmin to lock up your shoes and purse. He took your hand again and the two of you made your way to the rink. Seungmin stepped on the ice first, turning to hold your elbows while you tightly gripped his biceps.

“Easy, I’ve got you,” he encouraged when your breathing grew heavier after slipping slightly.

“‘Show me the basics’ my ass! You’re skating backwards right now,” you grumbled, refusing to tear your eyes away from your feet.

“Yeah, cus I’m making sure you don’t fall,” he chuckled at your intense concentration. “Y/N, you have to look up. It’ll be much easier if you have your shoulders and hips lined up.”

“O-okay,” you took a deep breath before standing up straight. Your knees shook, partially from nerves and partially from supporting your weight on the blades.

“That’s it, just look at me. We’ll go slow, okay?” Seungmin guided you over the ice, gradually increasing your speed so you were keeping up with the other skaters. He kept your mind off your anxious thoughts with constant questions about Xdinary Heroes and your job.

“No, I’m telling you! Jiseok can find out anything about anyone. I swear he’s secretly an NIS agent,” you grinned, your eyes scrunching up into crescents. Seungmin has never hated a mask more in his life.

“Remind me not to piss him off,” he snickered, glancing quickly at the clock on the edge of the rink. Dohyun would be back in an hour. “Do you want to try skating on your own? I’ll stay right next to you.”

“Yeah. I think I got it.” Your anxiety swelled when the warmth of his hands left your arms. “Wait! Hold my hand, still. Please?”

“Of course.” Seungmin twisted around to skate forward for the first time today, lacing your fingers with his. You continued circling the rink, and with every passing minute your confidence on the ice grew. You glided effortlessly, and by the time you had to leave, you found yourself reluctant to step off the ice.

“You did great, especially for your first time,” Seungmin praised while you changed back into your street shoes.

“Thanks, I had a lot of fun.” Dohyun always had impeccable timing and today was no different. He pulled up right as you left the plaza. Seungmin sighed, ripping off his mask as soon as he shut the door.

“Close your eyes,” he instructed. You raised a brow, but did as he asked. You heard him shift around for a few moments. “Okay, open.”

“Seungmin,” you cooed. Two cups of hot chocolate sat in the cupholders in the center console.

“I have to put the lids on while we drive, but I wanted you to see the marshmallows and peppermint shavings first.” He popped the lids on and Dohyun began the drive to the dorms.

“Who knew you were such a romantic?” You teased, making the idol roll his eyes.

“I have one more surprise.” He handed you a small glass container with a wooden lid. You tilted your head before removing the lid with a gasp.

“No way! Is this a Mississippi mud pie?”

“Yup. I remember you saying it was the only thing you missed from the states, so I had Felix help me make it.” Your eyes snapped to him.

“You remember that?” You asked quietly, feeling a little overwhelmed by the affection in his eyes.

“I remember everything that makes you happy.” Seungmin rendered you completely speechless. The last time you could remember someone putting in that kind of effort for you was your final foster father. You stayed with him throughout high school and he always made it a priority to let you have a normal teenage experience. With words failing you, you decided to let your actions speak instead. In a bold rush of confidence, you tugged Seungmin toward you, leaning up to meet halfway and pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“Thank you.” Seungmin stared at you with a wide smile growing on his face. You blushed, rushing to change the topic. “Do you want to share the pie?” He smirked, clearly aware of what you were doing, but played along anyway. The ever-prepared Dohyun tossed two plastic spoons into the backseat, landing on the middle of the backseat bench. You giggled, handing one to Seungmin and digging into the pie.

The dorm was strangely quiet when you returned. Of course there were times when all of the boys had schedules, but normally almost everyone was home on Saturdays.

“Where is everyone?” You asked while changing into slippers and hanging your jacket in the hall closet.

“Hm, Jisung said that 3Racha was recording today. I’m not sure about everyone else, though.” You both flopped onto the couch, putting on Kitchen Nightmares reruns as background noise for your doomscrolling. You barely got three posts down when a call from Detective Keng came in.

“Mute the TV! Mute the TV!” You sat up immediately, smacking Seungmin on the shoulder for emphasis. His eyebrows raised in a ‘what the fuck’ kind of expression, but complied nonetheless. “Detective! Hello!”

“Good afternoon, Ms. L/N,” she sounded as serious as ever. “I have an update for you. My team and I have successfully identified all of Mr. Cho’s associates that know about you.”

“Really? That’s amazing!”

“It’s good progress, but now we need to locate them all. Some of these individuals are very skilled at hiding. Rest assured, we will find them.” You nodded, momentarily forgetting that she couldn’t see you. Seungmin tapped your thigh repeatedly. He was nosy and wanted to know what the detective was saying.

“I understand. Thank you for all of your hard work.” You silently shushed Seungmin, who was now shaking your shoulder and asking what was going on in a whisper.

“It’s no trouble at all. Your court date will likely proceed before we locate all of Mr. Cho’s associates. Be careful, they may try to sabotage you. Good luck.” You exchanged a curt goodbye with the detective.

“Was that Keng? What did she say? Did they find that asshole’s friends?”

“Seungmin, please, one question at a time. Yes, that was Detective Keng. Her team knows who his friends are, it’s just a matter of arresting them now. She said to be careful around the courthouse, since they might show up there.” He nodded along with your explanation.

“I’ll ask Chan and our manager if we can get security to escort you when you go in.” You opened your mouth to protest, but- “Don’t argue with me on this, your safety is important.”

“Fine.”

“Good girl.” Your brain short-circuited. “Did she say anything else?”

“Huh?” He smirked, tilting his head to the side so his eyes could rake over your form, lingering on your denim-clad thighs. “S-she didn’t say much more than that. Just that, uh, t-they’re good at hiding.”

“Y/N.” You peeked at Seungmin from the corner of your eye. “You’re blushing, sweetheart.”

“I-I’m, uh. I d-don’t-” The sudden pet names stole every coherent thought from your mind.

“You’re cute.” He hooked a finger under your chin to turn you to face him. “Can I kiss you?”

“Yes.” Seungmin grinned at the lack of hesitation. He started gently, almost like he was trying not to scare you away. It was short but the intensity behind it had your mind reeling. He pulled back, nose-to-nose with you to give you a chance to back out. Your hands on his shoulders and a tiny whimper escaping your throat broke down the last of his resolve.

“Fuck, you’re killin’ me,” he swore under his breath. He pushed you down to lay flat on the couch, planting his hands next to your head. One of his knees settled in between your thighs and you inhaled sharply, staring at his chain dangling over you. He crashed his lips back into yours, moving one hand down to rest on your hip. Your fingers curled around the fabric of his shirt. His tongue darted out to brush against your lower lip and you instantly allowed him to lick into your mouth. His hand slid under the hem of your shirt, trailing higher while he dragged his tongue along yours, until-

“OH HOLY SHIT!” Your head snapped back, gaping at Hyunjin’s shocked face.

“What’s going on- oh!” Jeongin appeared next, followed quickly by Felix and Changbin. The room fell to silence as they processed exactly how you and Seungmin were currently positioned. A snort from the youngest member broke the stupor, causing you to squeak and hide your face in Seungmin’s neck. He still hovered over you, glaring heavily at his members.

“Come on, leave them alone,” Minho corralled the other further into the dorm, hands full of grocery bags. Whines of protest were cut off by a sharp look from the second eldest. With the living room empty once again, you sighed in relief, dropping back onto the cushion.

“Sorry,” Seungmin huffed, rolling his eyes and helping you sit up.

“It’s o-”

“No fucking on the couch!” Minho called as he passed from the kitchen to his room. Seungmin groaned loudly.

“Shut the fuck up!”

“I’ll put you in the fucking air fryer!” You cackled, clutching your stomach and leaning into Seungmin’s side. He clicked his tongue, wrapping an arm around your waist and unmuting the TV.

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graciedollie · 1 day ago

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hii hi, could you make one where grayson and reader are wives and work together as council guards until one day reader arrives injured and grayson becomes extremely worried. I would really be happy if you did that! ❤️‍🩹, I love your writing, do it in your own time!!

Complications

Pair: Grayson x FemCouncilGuard!Reader

Summary: It was a pretty normal day while you were doing your normal duties, having to be sent to make an arrest in the grimy streets of Zaun. The arrest wasn’t going to go smooth obviously, but it definitely wasn’t supposed to go this way either.

Warning(s): Description of injuries (stab wound) ,mention of bleeding, swearing (ofc), reader being stubborn, Grayson scolding reader, fluff added too ofc <3, reader is kind of a smartass

A/N: I love writing for my bbg <3 also feel free to leave any requests

The sun was slowly turning in for the late evening, casting a beautiful hue of orange and purple across the hazy skies. You were handling your usual duties before you were requested by the councils, figuring it would be about handling a certain case. It didn’t take you long before you stumbled upon the large room, seeing all the members and your wife, standing attentively.

Grayson looked over at you as you stood next to her, flashing you a small smile before turning her serious focus back to the council members before one of them spoke, who happened to be council Mel Medarda.

“There have been reports of a group—preferably from the Undercity—causing havoc among our city, leading to the people being understandably upset. I trust that you will sort this problem, yes?”

Before Grayson could even speak, you quickly agreed with a swift nod and eager words. “Yes ma’am, of course. I can assure you this little mishap will be sorted.” In return, Mel gave you a soft smile and a firm nod before dismissing the both of you.

As the two of you soon left and walked along the long hallways, you were suddenly stopped by the large hands of your wife on your shoulders. You turned to look at her with a confused expression before she started to speak, “Sweetheart, I think it’s best if you let me take this one with you, yes? I know you’re well on your own, but you haven’t gone much in the Undercity as much as me.”

You couldn’t help, but grunt in slight irritation at her words, knowing she only worried for your safety—you were her wife for God’s sake. “Baby, I can do just as fine on my own. I’ll just take Marcus and backup with me, it’ll be fine.”

She narrowed her eyes at you, obviously not fond of the idea of not being partnered up with you for this case—especially such as these. Her eyes stared in yours intensely before softening, nodding slowly with a sigh.

“Alright…but, if I hear one bad thing goes down there..”

“It’ll be fine, Honey. I can handle it, plus I’ll have hep with me.

How hard could this possibly be? All you were doing is going down to the Lanes and making an arrest, nothing out of the ordinary.

Oh honey, you were wrong.

The night took over the golden sky, leaving the sky blanketed in a dark cover. Venturing into Zaun wasn’t the most extravagant thing, if you’re being honest. It was grimy. People giving you dirty looks. And definitely different from Piltover. Neon lights and signs crowded the dark streets, every angle except the dingy alleys.

The more and more you ventured into the streets, the more you realized how this arrest was going to be anything, but easy. You and your crew walked through the streets, looking around with hardened gaze at the peering standbys—obviously noticing the fiery glares.

Based on the information you and your crew were given, it seem that the group hung around a certain abandoned building—which didn’t take too long to stumble upon. You glared at the group, seeing how their teeth were yellow and how buffed they looked.

“We can make this easy or not so easy. All your choice.”

The group looked around at each other with disbelief before turning back to you with a chuckle, eyeing you as if you were prey—which you definitely seemed so to them. “Would ya look at that? Think you’re gonna take us in? We’re not going down without a damn fight.”

Sometimes you wondered why you even chose this damn job sometimes.

“Let me make this clear.”

That was all you said before you and another of your crew pulled your guns, aiming them directly at the group, earning a grunt of shock and irritation.

“Last chance.”

The group scowled at your crew as the rest of the crew pulled out the restraints, seeing how they dangled dangerously in their grasp. All of sudden, one of the members charged at you before you quickly aimed at the man before..

WHACK.

You don’t know how it happened or what did it come from, but all you knew was that you were on the floor and had blood dribbling down your lips—most likely from being brutally punched. Your eyes glared at the mysterious person, seeing them emerge from the shadow and saw that it was woman. You quickly shuffled onto your feet, looking over at your crew while they were busy handling the others before focusing your attention back to woman.

She had a nasty grin on her chapped lips, slipping a sharp knife from the back of her pants as she eyed you steadily—seeing how you were focused solely on her. “Oh c’mon, can’t handle a little punch?”

You grunted at her taunt before trying to reach for your gun, but saw that it was fucking gone? Fucking great. Luckily, you had close combat experience. You were steady on your feet, keeping eye contact with the woman before she lunged at you with her knife, causing you to lean back and grab her arm to pin it behind her back as she stumbled to the ground and the knife clatter out her hand.

“Made this way harder than it had to be.”

Your eyes narrowed down at the woman as you pinned her wrist behind the small of her back, only moving one hand to reach for the cuffs, but that was your biggest mistake. The woman quickly reached for a knife on her side and sliced you on the side of your stomach, earning a pained yelp as you scrambled back from the woman.

“Wonder how you made it this far..”

You sneered at the woman, panting heavily as you applied pressure to the bleeding wound before slowly standing up as did she. It started to feel that maybe—just maybe—you should’ve listen to your wife.

The woman chuckled lowly before quickly charging at you, but was quickly clocked in the back of her head by Marcus with a gun—specifically, your gun that was scattered to the side—successfully cuffing her. The rest of the crew cuffed the rest of the group, herding them back. He added the woman in with the her group as they were escorted away, shouting out streams of profanities and whatnot.

His eyes immediately snapped back to you as you huffed heavily, seeing the blood seep through the clothes onto your hand gradually. He quickly helped you, throwing your arm over his shoulder as he helped you walk.

“Shit—you ok? What the hell happened back there?” He grunted lowly as you both shuffled back through the grimy streets and onto the bridge, crossing over to piltover.

“Some fuckin’—shit—girl came from nowhere and just punched me…and stabbed me..” Your voice was strained and heavy, trying not to wince too much as the slash only continued to bleed heavily.

“God…do you have any idea how stupid it was to take this case? You know Grayson is already going to be on mine and your ass.”

“Mhm, I know…let’s just focus on me not dying, yeah?”

and brother, was he right.

You laid in the infirmary, laying slightly uncomfortably as the slash on your side was still recovering. The blood loss wasn’t too bad, but scary and a blessing that you survived. The infirmary was nice and quiet, despite having doctors check in on you and here and there, but that didn’t last long until..

“What the hell were you thinking?”

Your eyes shot up quickly at the familiar voice, seeing your absolutely enraged wife rushing over to your side, quickly embracing you before caressing your face with a firm grasp and stern glare.

“Baby, listen—“

“Don’t give me that! I told you that I didn’t feel right about you going there. I trusted that you could handle it. Do you have any idea how worried I was when I was informed to hear that my wife was in the infirmary—being treated for a stab wound? Do you really?”

Her voice was stern, but held a edge of obvious concern and worry—though she was pissed. You frowned slightly as she scolded you, which was definitely expected from her, but you knew she was only concerned and worried for you.

“Honey, I know you’re upset, but I handled a good bit on my own…” Your voice was raspy and low, due to being sleep for a good while or so. She let out a heavy sigh as she pinched the bridge of her nose, looking at you with a gradually softening before her hand caressed her cheek.

“I know and I’m proud that you did, but still, it was a risky idea to even take that case in a first place…you could’ve let me handled it.”

Though she was pissed, she still was worried and highly concerned for her dear wife, who happened to look like an angel despite being injured. Her thumb brushed over your cheek, gazing at you with obvious fret in her eyes as she murmured softly, “I swear I have to keep my patience in check with you…”

“Aww, I know you still love me.”

She couldn’t help, but chuckle at your cocky little remark, looking at you with a raised brow and an amused smile etched on her lips before brushing her hand over your thighs.

“Of course, I do, love. Though sometimes you make me want to strangle you..”

“Like how that woman wanted to before she stabbed me?”

Her eyes widened in surprise at your worst-timing joke, glaring at you with a tight pursed frown on her lips as she pointed a finger at you, “That is not funny.”

“What, you brought it up!?”

It would definitely be a wild before you ever got a case to go back to Zaun…it was definitely for the best to avoid complications.

hope you enjoyed and hoped this was to your liking, anon <3

#grayson arcane #grayson x you #grayson x reader #grayson arcane x reader #guard reader #this lowkey rushed #send asks #lesbian #fluff #arcane #arcane league of legends #arcane s1 #older women <3 #graciedollie ᯓᡣ𐭩 #https://graciedollie #gracieasks!!#wlw #wlw blog

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crownofgildedlilies · 13 hours ago

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ORBIT - 3, the first dinner

satoru gojo x fem!reader wc: 3.3k [prev] - [full series] - [next]

You knew enough about kids to know that they’re not supposed to stand quietly at the edge of the room.

You’re making yourself at home in Satoru Gojo’s kitchen at his massive house when you notice Tsumiki, standing in the doorway. She’s watching you closely, eyes a little wide and a smile curving her lips upwards, just the slightest bit in the corners.

Gojo is off on a mission. You’d actually been at Jujutsu High, turning in corrected paperwork to Yaga when he had called, asking you to watch the kids while he took a last minute mission. You’d accepted, obviously, and handed your phone over to Yaga so your former principal could tell Gojo off for being forty-five minutes late to a meeting they were supposed to be having at that very moment.

It’s the first time you’ve been alone with the kids, and besides your initial arrival when you said hello to them in their playroom—state of the art, equipped with an in-home jungle gym and art center—you hadn’t seen nor heard from them since.

“Hi, Tsumiki,” You call softly, watching her from the corner of your eye as you prepare dinner. Gojo had left you more than enough money to simply order delivery, but you had taken one look at his fully stocked kitchen and decided you’d be cooking. The kitchen at your apartment was barely big enough for a microwave—you were taking advantage of Gojo’s unreasonable wealth.

“Hi, Miss.” The young girl replies warily, taking half a step into the kitchen. She’s got her hands clasped behind her back, rocking back and forth on her heels adorably.

“You don’t need to call me Miss. My name is just fine.” You remind her, smiling softly so that she can’t possibly mistake your words for anger. She’s just so sweet, and Gojo had mentioned she was more on the sensitive side. “Where’s your brother?”

“He’s in the other room. He didn’t want to come with me to see what you were doing.” Tsumiki is still hovering by the doorway. You nod slowly, grin curving one side of your lips, drying your hands on a dish towel beside the sink.

“I’m just about to start cooking dinner.” You wave your hand over the counters, filled with ingredients you’d pulled from the refrigerator and cabinets shortly before she had arrived. “Do you want to help me?”

She’s nodding immediately, stepping into the kitchen fully. You smile fully at her, dragging a chair to the sink so she could wash her own hands. She climbs up on her own and pumps far more soap than she needs onto her palms.

“Can I fix your hair back? It’ll be easier to cook without it in your eyes.” You hum out the question, earning a quick nod from the young girl. Her dark brown hair is tied up in another one of Gojo’s hastily done ponytails, but either from his inexperience or her own rigorous playing, many of the strands now hang in front of Tsumiki’s face.

“Gojo tries his best, but he’s not very good at doing hair.” She sighs, sounding so incredibly serious that you have to chuckle softly. As gently as you can, you tug the hair tie from her hastily done pony, finger-combing it into place. It would look better if you had a brush, but it’s miles improved than whatever Gojo had going on.

“He can’t be the best at everything,” You grin, twisting the elastic tight for a final time before stepping back to admire your work. Instantly, Tsumiki spins around on the chair to smile at you, her tiny voice thanking you sweetly. You can’t help it when you reach out a hand and pinch her cheek. “You’re adorable, Tsumiki.”

“And you’re really pretty,” She smiles bashfully. “Gojo said you were pretty before we met, and he was right.”

Her words, despite your best efforts, have you blushing. You try your best to smile normally at her, and you’re so glad that you can busy yourself by prepping the food on the counter. Adjusting her chair so that it’s beside your designated work station for the evening, you’re careful to give her jobs that keep her little fingers far from the cutting board.

It’s not long before Megumi wanders in, frowning like usual, though his hands are shoved deep in his pockets instead of crossed over his chest.

“Want to help us, Megumi?” You call out, keeping a careful eye on Tsumiki adding veggies into the pot. She’d been animatedly telling you a story about something that happened in school, and you’d been dutifully listening and asking questions to keep her talking. You know it will be much harder to get Megumi to open up, but you’re friends with Satoru Gojo. You love a challenge. “I could always use more helpers.”

“No,” He says, but it’s not in the same snappy tone you’ve seen him use with Gojo. It’s hesitant, and you recognize the uncertain look in his eyes as he watches you and his sister. Slow to trust, it’s clear to you. But despite his denial, he doesn’t leave the room. Instead, he stays hovering by the doorway to the kitchen, surveying what’s happening.

“Did you need something?” You try, though you’re pretty sure the dark haired boy wouldn’t even tell you if he did. From a few conversations with Gojo and a handful of interactions, you’ve gathered that Megumi Fushiguro is as independent as he is sassy. You’re pretty sure he’ll give Gojo a run for his money.

“No,” Megumi repeats the one syllable word, shaking his head. His permanently messy hair bounces with the movement, and you can’t help the way your lips curve up at the sight. You duck your head to keep him from seeing the movement, because you’re pretty sure he wouldn’t react positively if he thought you were laughing at him.

“Megumi, be nice.” Tsumiki scolds, eyes narrowing at her younger brother. You wonder how much time and energy she’s already spent in her short life attempting to keep him in line, and the thought makes you frown. You hate the idea that life forced her to grow up far faster than she needed to.

“He is being nice, Miki.” You hum casually, stirring the veggies in the pan. You can feel both children staring at you, and you know you need to choose your next words carefully. “He doesn’t want to help and he doesn’t need anything. It’s perfectly fine if he just wants to watch. Dinner’s almost done, anyways.”

Tsumiki is satisfied with your answer at once and goes back to her job of mixing all the chopped greens in a big bowl for a side salad, but Megumi is still watching you. You take a chance and lift your gaze to him, and you’re not surprised in the slightest to find him clearly thinking through your answer and what he makes of it. It’s an intelligence you don’t think a five year old should have, but once more you’re cursing the circumstances that taught him to be so cynical.

And maybe you’re cursing your circumstances, too. Kindred spirits, and all.

“Well…” Megumi starts, tearing his stare away from you and looking across the room at nothing in particular. “Maybe I could set the table.”

“I can help!” Tsumiki shouts, scrambling down from her chair.

“That’d be nice,” You smile, not making a big deal out of his offer. If Megumi couldn’t stand Gojo because he was so dramatic, then you would have to remember to keep things casual and let him go at his own pace. “I’ll call Gojo and see if he’s going to be here to eat. He said he wouldn’t be out long tonight.”

Megumi doesn’t say anything at the mention of his guardian, but he does cross the kitchen and wait patiently beside you while you pull three plates from the cabinet. You stack silverware and napkins on the plates you hand to him, and then you give Tsumiki the glasses. You hold your breath as they make their trek to the dining room, half-expecting the sound of broken glass to rain through the house.

Once you’re certain they made it to their destination without tragedy, you pull your phone from your pocket and dial the one number you never thought you’d have a reason to memorize. It rings far fewer times than you expected it to before he answers, voice deep and lilting.

“Satoru Gojo, world’s strongest, speaking!” He chirps, and you roll your eyes as you prop your phone between your shoulder and ear to clear up your hands for tending to dinner.

“Are you going to be home in time to eat, world’s most humble?” You ask. He’d mentioned before he left that he didn’t expect his mission to take long, though you weren’t sure if it was because it really was a low-level curse or that he was just that arrogant. “The kids are setting the table now, but you’ve got probably fifteen minutes until the food is ready.”

“As lovely as that sounds, I’ll have to pass. Yaga’s being mean, again.” You can hear his pout through the line, and your brows raise in an unimpressed quirk.

“He’s being mean or he’s holding you accountable, Gojo?” The question comes out with a huff, but you feel your lips curve upwards and hear his dramatic gasp at your obvious question.

“Oh no. He’s gotten to you, too.” Gojo sounds scared in an over the top way, and you can’t help the snort of laughter that falls past your lips. It’s nice to laugh, and you let the sound hang in the air while you check on the rice. “Want me to bring you dessert tonight? It’ll probably be after the kids go to bed.”

“No, that’s fine.” You hum, trying not to think about the buzzing in your chest at the idea of you and Gojo talking so casually about the kids, like they were your kids, together. “Tsumiki asked if we could bake cupcakes after dinner.”

“Fine. Two desserts for me tonight, then.”

“As long as you brush your teeth after,” You tease. Another comfortable silence lingers over the line, and part of you is screaming at your own self for never once being brave enough to call him in all your time in North America. It’s easy to talk with him, you realize, when he can’t see your face. But soon enough you hear tiny feet padding their way towards the kitchen. “I’ll save you a plate. Don’t fill up on sweets, Gojo.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He responds, and you can practically hear the smirk in his voice. It’s annoying enough—no, you’re absolutely not blushing—that you tell him goodbye before hanging up the phone. It’s over in seconds and the device is tucked away before Megumi’s head pops back into the room, saying they were short a napkin for the table.

He’s halfway back out of the kitchen with his quarry in hand when he suddenly stops, and you barely catch the sudden lack of movement in the corner of your eye. He’s trying to gather his words, you can see it on his face. He’s not old enough to quite hide what he’s thinking, and you’re grateful you don’t have to guess with him.

“Tsumiki said you’re making cupcakes after dinner.” He finally asks, and though you had known he was waiting to ask you something, you hadn’t thought it would be that.

“We are. Gojo won’t be back until after you guys are in bed.” You explain, careful not to act too interested in why he wanted to know. You’re stirring the dinner to give yourself an air of nonchalance, and you smile inwardly at the idea that you were trying so hard to not look like you were trying hard—for the benefit of a five year old.

“Can I help?” Megumi’s tiny voice asks, and you fight the urge to fist bump. Gojo had done nothing but complain for hours on end that Megumi was too independent and closed off. But there he was, asking if he could help you and his sister bake cupcakes.

Oh, you were going to rub it in Satoru Gojo’s face.

“Of course, Megumi.”

It’s hours later when you’re tucked on the couch that you finally hear the front door open. You don’t move from your position, but you turn the television off and listen to the sounds of evenly measured footsteps wander through the massive house. Part of you is dreading the fact that you’ll have to go back to your own apartment soon, but you can’t exactly ask to have a sleepover.

“There you are,” Gojo’s voice rings through the living room as he finds you, and you steal a moment to study the length of him. With narrowed eyes, you take in the tired lines of his face, so out of place. The lights are dim enough that he’s pushed his sunglasses to the top of his head, revealing everything to you.

“What’s wrong?” You ask while pushing yourself to your feet. Gojo flashes you a grin like you had ever been one to fall for his charm, and when you only frown at him in return you watch as his shoulders slump slightly. You sigh, but you’re certain it’s not him you’re upset with. “C’mon. I’ll warm up your dinner while you tell me.”

“Since when have you been so doting?” He quips, no doubt aiming to get a rise out of you to avoid your questioning. But you’re too used to his tricks after four years of knowing him, so you only roll your eyes as you pad past him and into the kitchen. He follows dutifully, and that’s really the biggest sign that something is bothering him.

“Sit,” You order, pointing to a stool tucked underneath the edge of the kitchen island. He does, but in the same movement he reaches for one of the cupcakes you and the kids stacked neatly on a plate before sending them to bed. You make a warning hum low in your throat, and it takes everything in you not to cringe at the fact that you really have turned into a mother hen, seemingly overnight. “Eat dinner first, then you can have sweets.”

“Okay, Mom,” He teases, but he follows directions, tucking his hands under his chin as he watches you pluck the covered plate you had made up for him earlier from the fridge and set it into the microwave. You can’t get yourself to meet his uncovered stare, for whatever reason, so you settle on watching the plate rotate as it warms. “How were the kids tonight?”

“Angels.” You hum, tapping your finger on the counter restlessly. A grin finds its way onto your lips and you discover the courage to look at Gojo with a teasing smirk. “Megumi made me promise not to let you in his room.”

“He loves me,” Gojo clutches a hand over his heart, and you’re certain that it’s not the first time Megumi has banned Gojo from his bedroom. The thought makes you snicker to yourself just as the timer dings on the microwave, and you pop it open after the first beep.

You set the plate in front of him and busy your fingers by searching out for utensils to eat with. You even go so far as pouring him a glass of water before you’re left with no choice but to stand across from him with your arms crossed while he slowly eats. Even though the entire kitchen island stands between the two of you, you can’t help but feel like you want to run from the room. But you’ve never seen him look so tired, so you stand your ground and clear your throat to get his attention.

“You still haven’t told me what’s wrong.” You don’t sugarcoat your words. Not with Satoru Gojo, who you think is an expert at finding ways to try and derail conversations he doesn’t want to participate in.

“And here I was, thinking you were doing all this because you were sweet on me.” He grins, flashing you a dazzling smile, aided by the lack of sunglasses covering his eyes. You’re almost distracted by the sight, and you blame it on the intimate setting.

“I’m not leaving until you tell me.” You cross your arms and tilt your chin up, stubborn and pouting. You’d already lost one friend because you weren’t there when they were struggling with something—you’d be damned to all hell if you lost another.

“That’s not a threat. I like having you around.” Gojo laughs, almost unaffected. Almost. The most you give him is the slight dip of your chin so you could narrow your eyes further at him, and within seconds he’s huffing a dramatic sigh. Even though his dinner is only half finished, he picked up a cupcake, and you let him. “I got into it with Yaga. It’s no big deal.”

“About what?” You don’t let him play off what happened. Yaga is a hothead, you’ve known that since your first class with him. But despite that, you had never seen Gojo get into it with Yaga—not counting that one time in your second year when you’d nearly died on a mission you weren’t yet suited for. Gojo had yelled at Yaga then, but you’d never seen him do it since.

“He wants me to meet with the Higher Ups.” The words sound bitter on his tongue, and it makes your own face twist in distaste. You’d never had to deal much with the jujutsu Higher Ups, but you can’t imagine they were very pleasant. “Something about coming to work for the school. But I doubt that’s all they want from me.”

You’re not brave enough to say it, but you know what he’s hinting at. The Higher Ups are looking for someone to clean up the mess Suguru Geto left in his wake, and who better than jujutsu’s strongest? The thought makes you sick to your stomach.

“I think it’d be a good thing if you went back to teach at the school.” You offer, because the tension was too thick to ignore. Gojo nods, his blue eyed stare fixed on pushing food aimlessly around his plate. You sigh, because you don’t really know what else to do. “I should go home.”

There’s a beat of silence, and the distance across the kitchen island you’d purposefully placed yourself behind suddenly feels much too far. For a split second, you think Gojo might ask you to stay longer, but it’s only fleeting as he nods almost imperceptibly.

“My car is waiting out front to take you,” He says casually, and you want to chastise him for not telling you that he had somebody waiting on you, but you bite your tongue. He’s already had one person important to him tell him off that evening. For once, you’ll let him have some peace.

You’re brushing past him to gather your coat and bag when his hand shoots out, wrapping around your wrist. His infinity is off, because you can feel the burn of his skin against yours.

“Thank you,” His voice is quiet. You think he must not want to break the quiet tension the kitchen holds, because you don’t want to either. “For watching the kids. For dinner. For talking.”

“Night, Gojo.” You kick your sock clad toe into the leg of his stool and brush your thumb against the inside of his wrist holding you. He lets go, and you’re missing his warmth more than you’d ever admit, even under duress. “Stay out of Megumi’s room.”

He laughs, then, and you walk away with a victorious grin.

You don’t understand the pounding of your heart, but that’s neither here nor there.

taglist status: open

@moonchhu

#satoru gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #jjk gojo #gojo satoru #satoru gojo #jjk #jjk x you #jjk x reader #jjk fanfic #satoru gojo x you #gojo satoru x you

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copinghex · 23 hours ago

Text

Sharing a pair of gloves with Tommy

"How fast do you think a Rolls-Royce can go?" Tommy asked, sitting down at the edge of the bed behind his wife.

"You wouldn't content yourself with less than the fastest," she applied some more cologne and continued, "if you want to get there faster then quit sulking and get my gloves, I'm almost done,"

He sighed and stood behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist. Usually, he loved to watch her getting ready to go out, tonight wasn't one of these times. The party they'd attend wasn't too far, but Tommy had the habit of arriving early and she certainly would make him late.

"You look beautiful already," he whispered in her ear, making a shiver run down her spine, however she knew it was just another trick of his.

"Tommy," she pushed him away, "the gloves, will you?"

"Tsk, which ones?" he walked to the wardrobe.

"The black ones, to match my coat,"

He lit up a cigarette before opening a drawer with scarfs, stockings, hats, but no black gloves.

"Where are they?" he asked.

"There,"

"No, not in the drawer,"

"Of course they are, Tommy, just take a better look at it," she argued while fixing her lipstick.

He held himself back from cursing at her petulance. He wasn't blind nor stupid, the gloves weren't there.

"They're not here, I'm telling you,"

"Tommy, they're my black leather gloves, the winter ones! Look at the glove drawer!"

"I am! And they're not here,"

"Look somewhere else then, I'm almost done,"

"Look where? I don't do the fucking laundry,"

"Neither do I, Tom, they should be at the drawer,"

"Well, they're not,"

"Oh, for fucks' sake," she cursed "ask Frances, she'll know,"

"We don't have time for that,"

"Tommy," she finished her makeup and took her coat from the hanger, "it's freezing outside, I need gloves,"

"Alright, fine," Tommy walked to his part of the wardrobe and took his own pair of leather gloves, it looked exactly like hers, except for the size, "there you go,"

She stared at the gloved in his hands and gulped, "What about you?"

"What about me?"

"Don't you have another pair?"

"Of leather ones, no,"

"Then I can't take these from you, Tommy, it's not fair,"

"Love, for fuck's sake, I just want to leave,"

Sitting down at the bed, she sulked like a child, unwilling to admit that the reason why she was taking so long to get ready was because she didn't want to go, it's freezing outside and all she wanted was to stay home with her husband.

"Don't," Tommy scolded, "don't give me a fucking pout, it won't work, put the fucking gloves on and take yourself to the car,"

"I-" she shrugged off, "I can change my dress to match another pair of mine,"

"No, no fucking way, stand up," despite his harsh tone, he pulled her up gently, "c'mon, we have ten minutes,"

"Take it," she gave his gloves back, "I'll change,"

"You take this coat off and I'm leaving you here,"

"You wouldn't," she stood close to his face, "you wouldn't,"

Tommy pressed his lips together and slowly nodded, holding her arms, he explained the situation like he'd do to a child, "Listen, this dinner is important for the legitimate business,"

"...why?"

"Because if we cause a good impression, more people will believe we're legitimate and we'll get more partnerships, do you understand?"

With a frustrated sigh, she agreed, "...I still won't take your gloves though,"

"Alright, take just one then,"

"What?" she giggled while Tommy put one glove on his hand and the other on hers.

Holding her naked hand with his own, he put them in his pocket, in a way both could be warm, "It's not ideal, but it's the best we have now, eh? Let's go."

#tommy shelby x reader #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinder imagine #reader insert

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speed-world · 13 hours ago

Note

Hello i am Engineer Anon. I humbly request that if you can do a Baker reader.

The Baker meets Stormbringer Cookie and her Sky Deities, and I want to see there thoughts on the Baker, like their thought on when they first encounter eachother and how they grow closer to the Eachother.

From- Engineer Anon🔧

Stormbringer Cookie wasn’t shaken when she first met you; in fact she was incredibly interested. It can be dangerous for a cookie to come face to face with a Baker, but it’s not an issue in the slightest for Stormbringer. She’ll say how fortunate you are to meet the Sky God, and will bless you with a very small spectacle of her prowess (it’s still an incredible sight in spite of it being a sliver at a look of her power).

She wasn’t expecting to see you after your first encounter; she figured you’d be busy creating other cookies while she’s handling the creation of Life Powder. However, she would be lying if she said she wasn’t a little curious to know more about you…

You both share a few stories about one another, giving each other more insight to some of the responsibilities you both have. Despite being a god, it seemed that there are a few things that even Stormbringer could learn from another being. Let it be a Baker to introduce her to another side of life, and Stormbringer doesn’t complain!

Stormbringer figured it wouldn’t be a problem to introduce you to the cookies she created. After all, you showed her your creations, so why not return the favor! You were amazed that the other cookies she created weren’t like what you baked, because she created other deities (almost) like herself!

Cloud Deity Cookie was surprised when you two first met. He considered himself fortunate to meet you - different from what Stormbringer was like - and is curious to know how you were able to so easily befriend Stormbringer Cookie!

You were curious seeing how his creation of clouds contributed to the cycle of life powder; which surprised him since he figured it wasn’t as impressive as what you-a Baker-can do. After seeing a display of the various things he could do by manipulating the clouds, you would only applaud in awe, which made him lightly blush from the cheering.

You two grew incredibly close as Cloud Deity Cookie learned more about your process of baking cookies. You offered the idea of borrowing some of the clouds he makes for your own recipes, which he almost immediately said yes to-…if it weren’t for the Great Sky God immediately rejecting the notion.

Wind Deity Cookie was stand off-ish at your first encounter, practically doing everything they could to ignore your presence. They didn’t have any hostile feelings to you, don’t get the wrong idea, they were just confused as to why you were here. A baker going out of their way to meet cookies? Did you have something you weren’t telling them?

After seeing how Stormbringer accepted you, which is almost uncharacteristic of her, Wind Deity would reluctantly accept you too. They admittedly liked your stories of baking cookies, and were curious to know how a baker’s process of making cookies differed from Stormbringer’s. Some of the cookies you mentioned and described sounded like some cookies Wind Deity saw before, which made them even more interested!

You were excited to see how comfortable Stormbringer Cookie and Wind Deity Cookie were together, which you totally teased Wind Deity about. They weren’t super happy when you did tease them, but Wind Deity let it slide as they knew Stormbringer was fine with the teasing. After all, Stormbringer would only tease you about some of your stories, which would make Wind Deity and you share a laugh!

Rain Deity Cookie is as welcoming as she is intrigued by you. It makes sense that a baker would meet deity cookies out of any others, but it was still a wonder as to why you would.

She thinks you’re quite incredible for what you do: making unique cookies isn’t easy at all. After all, she only contributes to one part of the process of making life powder, whereas you go through adding life powder to baking specialized cookies with several different recipes and ingredients! You think she’s even more incredible with her rain giving life powder to the earth, and she’s doing everything she can to hide her flushed face.

You both used your talents together as the cookies you baked would dance in the rain she created. It was a lovely spectacle that made you both want to create a whole show combining your abilities! Of course, it would have to be green-lit by Stormbringer first, but you enjoyed seeing how your creations interacted with the deities in a neat way!

#cookie run kingdom #crk x reader #cookie run kingdom x reader #cookie run x reader #cr kingdom #crk #cookie run #stormbringer cookie #stormbringer cookie x reader #wind deity cookie #wind deity cookie x reader #cloud deity cookie #cloud deity cookie x reader #rain deity cookie #rain deity cookie x reader

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bunnyinvanilla · 19 hours ago

Text

when sugar daddy!john price finds out about the little furry friend you’ve taken it while he’s been on deployment…

you’ve been looking forward to your daily — nightly — call from john all day, now that hes been back on deployment. And you’re not alone, your new fluffy friend can practically feel the excitement and happiness swirling in the air, and is now wagging his tail contently, nudging his humid nose against your lap.

“hello?” your sweet voice rings like a mellifluous, honeyed waterfall, the first sugary and pleasant sound that john has heard in days. “sir?”

“doll,” his own voice is a deep, warm and low note, rough and husky, it makes you blush and squirm even from a large distance. “hi princess”

“hi, daddy!” it’s exactly when he hears the pure joy in your voice that he’s reminded of why he’s still fighting to protect that country — he’s been a soldier his entire life, a roughened and hardened captain, fearsome and grouchy, who loves working in the military, but ever since meeting you, hes found a reason for wanting to come back, someone to come back to.

“how are you sir?” you crouch and rub your free hand on top of Oreo’s soft, almost plush fur, scratching behind his ear just like you’ve learned he likes so much. “I miss you so much daddy,”

“daddy’s fine, love, just headed back to my private quarters, how’s my precious girl doing?”

you hear the faint sound of fabric rustling on the background, the metallic jingle of a belt being unbuckled is familiar to your ears, and makes you flush, warm and red skin pressed against the phone. “im alright, i went to the bookstore with my friend this morning, and finally tried the new starbucks collection,”

he coos at you, still listening attentively, and you wonder if he’s done getting changed, his uniform tidily folded on his mattress. “that’s good, angel, any problem with the bar?”

you feel Oreo stand up on his paws and snuggle up against your lap, the scent of his soap filling your nostrils an making you smile, still petting his head and back “no, I’ve met some local regulars and they were wondering when you’d open again, are the boys okay? do they miss me?”

his deep, warm chuckle makes you blush more, you just love how velvety his voice sounds “yeah doll, keep asking me how my missus’s doing-“

“woof!”

you widen your eyes and remain still, looking down at Oreo who’s basically demanding more pats — you gesture to him to remain quiet, bringing a single finger to your lips.

but john, able to recognize the tiniest shift in ambience and air, practically made to catch any movement and sound, gruffs in your ear

“…who’s that?”

you freeze, pressing your lips together, still petting Oreo that now titled his head, as if understanding where the conversation will inevitably head to…

“no one, ‘s just my friend, daddy” you mentally pray that you’re sounding convincing, knowing well you can’t — and don’t want to — lie.

a few seconds of silence pass between you and price, before you hear the gruff rumble of his voice, somehow tinted with a suspicious tone and becoming even lower. “…your friend barks?”

“no, he’s uhm…he’s just, happy” you try to bite down a worried smile, nibbling on your lip, but Oreo doesn’t show the tiniest concern over your worry, simply wagging his tail and rubbing himself against you — maybe he doesn’t realize that his daddy is on the other side on the phone, or maybe he does and is eager to let his presence be known.

“doll.” the warning in his rough, low tone would’ve made you shiver in a pleasant way any other moment, but now, it only makes you lift your shoulders against your light neck, faking obliviousness — you understand now why his soldiers always straighten their backs in fear when he speaks with that tone.

“mmmhh, yes, daddy?”

“woof!”

“shh, Oreo!” you whisper to the border collie, but it sounds like a yell to john, who’s now sitting down, a large hand scratching his beard and ruffling his hair tiredly, a heavy sigh stuck on his throat.

he clenches his jaw, the muscles shifting his facial hair before his mumbles something quietly, hand now pressed against his forehead.

you did it, you’ve taken a stray home, to his home, and he’s coming back tomorrow.

part 2 coming soon🍓

#john price x f!reader #john price x female reader #john price imagine #price x female reader #captain price x female reader #john price #john price x y/n #captain price x reader #call of duty

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theoceanoasis · 2 days ago

Note

I've got a bit of an angsty Idea.

One day Hot Rod returns home with a couple of dents, bruises and cuts on his frame. In his arms in a crying newly emerged sparkling who is thankfully unharmed. Perceptor rushes to Hot Rod's side demanding too know what has happened while also grabbing the emergency First Aid kit, once settled Roddy begins to explain.

Turns out when he was walking down an ally he heard something crying out in pain, being the kind spark he is Hot Rod rushed down the ally to find tanking carrying mech in the middle of emergence. The tank carrier was already turning grey and losing a lot of energon but wasn't ready to give up not until their sparkling had arrived. With Hot Rod's help the sparkling finally emerged healthy but their carrier soon passed right there, before Roddy could call anyone to help he suddenly hears a couple of voices behind him belonging to two Enforcers likely the bots this carrier was hiding from in the first place.

The Enforcers assume Hot Rod is the bittie's sire and try to arrest him as well as take the sparkling from his arms. Knowing what would happen to that sparkling and any other tank carriers, Roddy quickly puts up a fight knocking out the first Enforcer with ease with a well aimed punch to the face while the other tries to tackle Hot Rod to the ground. Just before the Enforcer can even put a servo on Hot Rod a blue blur flashes past and the Enforcer drops dead to the ground, not wanting to see who helped or stick around Hot Rod runs for home taking the sparkling with him knowing his own carrier can help.

Perceptor only lets out a pleased but tired sigh being proud that Hot Rod was able to save the sparkling from a cruel fate while also being mildly angry that he got into trouble in the first place. Percy agrees to help look after the sparkling until they either find a home or if someone wishes to adopt them. (Which may be difficult since Hot Rod is starting to get attached to the little bittie)

Meanwhile Soundwave is standing outside the home with energon still on his servos, he's glad Hot Rod made it home safely and is already planning on dropping off some stuff for the sparkling. But first he has a mess to clean up.

"Carrier!"

Hot Rod ran inside looking frantic. He had cuts all over his body and was holding a tiny little sparkling. Perceptor rushed to his side looking at the sparkling in shock and grabbing a first aid kit.

"What happened?"

"I was walking home when I heard someone crying out in pain. I followed the noise and found a carrier mech in labor."

Perceptor stiffened already knowing where this was going.

"Did you run into the one's responsible?"

His hands shook with fear and Hot Rod looked down whispering.

"Yes."

He found himself shaking with fear looking down at his sparkling in terror, already imagining them having to flee.

"Please tell me they don't know you're a..."

"No. They thought I was the sire."

Perceptor sighed in relief. Before pulling him into a hug having seen his fair share of dead carriers. Beaten to death simply for existing. He already knew they were dead. Not all the blood on his sparkling was from Hot Rod's wounds.

"I--I tried to help them. They were so scared."

Hot Rod trembled pulling the orphaned sparkling closer.

"They were in horrible shape. They'd been beaten and their body was turning grey yet they were so determined to have their sparkling. I helped them even if it wasn't enough."

Hot Rod looked haunted and he wished he could have protected his sparkling from that. He never wanted him to see first hand how cruel the world was.

"The enforcer's came. They tried to kill the sparkling but I stopped them."

"Did you try to fight them?"

Hot Rod looked down in shame and Perceptor sucked in a breath knowing how dangerous that was.

"I'm sorry."

"They could have killed you. If they knew what you were..."

"They didn't. I'm fine I promise. No one knows the truth except us."

"How did you escape? The enforcer's are ruthless."

"I tried fighting them. I knocked one to the ground but there were so many and I was getting overwhelmed especially with a sparkling in my arms. Then someone saved me."

"Who?"

"I didn't get a good look."

Hot Rod looked down at the now sleeping sparkling.

"I was so scared and I needed to take the sparkling somewhere safe. I didn't look back when I ran here going as fast as I could."

Perceptor sighed helping clean his sparkling off and bandaging what wounds he did have.

"I'm glad you are not injured. Although I'm upset that you got into trouble."

"I'm okay carrier."

He promised, trying to reassure him. Before looking down at the sparkling sadly.

"But what are we going to do about the sparkling?"

"I'll make some calls. For now we'll look after him. Until we can find someone who wants to adopt."

Hot Rod nodded even though he found himself getting attached. He knew it was for the best though. He was far from qualified and not ready to be a parent at all. He couldn't give them the life they deserved especially after everything they've gone through.

Soundwave stood outside hidden from view as he looked into the window. Checking on Hot Rod and making sure he wasn't injured.

He ignored the energon on his hands relieved Hot Rod made it home safely and already planning on dropping off sparkling supplies.

He forced himself to walk away for now still needing to clean up the bodies.

#transformers #hot rod #rodimus #soundrod #soundwave #transformers cyberverse #hot rod x soundwave #cyberverse soundwave #perceptor #carrier perceptor

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hoiststowline · 5 hours ago

Text

ultra magnus x reader

He pauses, almost mid-action, as a revelation consumes him, the temperamental frown etched wondrously deep into his face plate only holds steadfast. Looking around, a bemused sensation skates across his processor, realizing something was painfully missing, a vast trench within a neatly executed puzzle.

A quick check of his internal clock proves true that it was slightly past the time he was typically interrupted, but a welcomed interference if he could describe it most accurately. It practically threw him off from the mountain of paperwork, having gotten entirely too used to the sound of his office door sliding over by now that when the room is not filled with your occasional chatter, it feels simply too empty.

Instances, when you would occasionally click a video on your device and the volume, was turned up too high, hastily clicking the pause button while whispering curses. "Sorry, sorry!" You'd stumble, thinking he would be offering nothing short of a disapproving glower, to your surprise, he actually softly smiles, unbothered.

Or when you'd lounge atop his desk, laid out on your stomach as you'd throw yourself into assignments or other miscellaneous work, infrequently using him as a dictionary. "Mags? What does convivial mean?"

"To be cheerful or friendly," He'd reply without ever looking up, too engrossed in his own responsibilities, but would never not answer your important question, as they were all such.

Your absence was noted greatly, felt largely within the cramped four metal walls. Distraction was not so bad, you've come to explain to him, as he found productivity the most when you would chatter on about your day when all he had to do was ask.

Slowly, he stood from the desk, taking immediate notice of how inelastic his joints felt, meaning he was already on the path to an uncomfortable recharge. It is nothing to navigate the halls, wandering almost aimlessly until he ceases just shy of the cargo bay, his entire body unmoving at the sound of something he cannot place.

Easily, from the ajar entrance, he spots the form he'd been searching for, stationed in the furthest yet most empty corner of the room. You're holding your head in your hands, plainly distressed, a feat that sends a wave of alerts that do nothing but worry him more.

"y/n?" He didn't realize he uttered it, and you probably would not have heard it save for the echo that runs across the length of the room. It's soft but decipherable as you yank your gaze up, a puffiness adorning your face he's never seen before.

When you lock eyes with him across the floor, your heart leaps to your throat, subconsciously blanking on any feasible lie that you could conjure. Magnus stands in the doorway, rightfully unamused and almost speechless by your display.

Coming to, you turn away from him, using your palms to expeditiously wipe at the tears that lingered on your cheeks, even as more come to replace the older ones. Something proved embarrassing, whether that be he seeing you in such a state, or having to try and explain why you reacted in such a way.

Thinking you are unwell or hurt, he traverses the room in six strides, coming to one knee at your front whilst running his optics over every inch of you, searching for your ailment. When he finds none, he keeps his voice at an unfamiliar low and leans just a bit more forward, commanding your attention.

"What has happened," And it's not posed as a question, more so a demand, wondering who could have harmed you to such a degree without leaving a mark.

"I don't want to talk about it," Defenses high, you can't meet his intimidating gaze for even a moment, knowing you'd break down once more. "I'm fine."

Understanding very well you're not, he maneuvers himself to the left, now leaning up against the wall as you currently were, dwarfed by his shadow.

"You are not," Magnus rumbles, elbows poised on his bent knees as his servos dangle freely, such an informal pose for someone known to be so stiff. "But I shall respect your wishes. If only for the time being."

Why he stayed, you wouldn't know, nor could you get your mind unclouded enough to venture a guess. Instead, a glassiness returns to your eyes, scavenging already teetering tears to the surface once more a newfound waver to your tone.

When you force yourself to even your breathing, squeeze your eyes so tight that the tears would just cease altogether. It erupts into a futile effort as an immovable force pulls you taught to his side, cheek now smushed up against his lower torso. Blinking wildly, you try for a moment to wrangle yourself free, but his hold proves committed.

While Ultra Magnus had always been kind to you, you never dared to test his level of patience or sought his company in instances such as these. Every now and then, they occurred, but not frequently enough that he'd caught you in such a disposition before, often glued to his side. He liked you for some enigmatic reason and enjoyed your presence and companionship when others whispered about how unapproachable he was.

He was overawing, at least at first impressions, perhaps guarded, but you'd never found him standoffish. So when he extended such sentiments, you wished someone could see him, just to observe him in this light that he wasn't so callous as everyone assumed.

"Whenever you may be ready," He muses, index finger raising before gently tapping the length of your leg, a gesture that settles your rampaging heart. "I shall be here."

You nod into his side, hand finding his plating in a poor attempt to hold him just a little tighter. He wasn't coddling you, respecting your boundaries and requests, but making his company known so you would not retreat to self-loathing. You needed this, a concept unbeknownst, and his stern composure kept you grounded as you listened to the humming of his machinery.

Magnus freezes every so slightly as your arm comes to his torso, fingers only able to reach well below his spark. You bundle deeper into his side, and the only reason he comprehends your reply is because your lips move across his plating.

"Thanks," You rasp, blinking away another round of tears. "Really, Mags. You're the best."

A million inquiries press against his mind, wondering how long you'd been in here and what was factually the source of your woes, but he hushes them all, storing them away for another time. Once more, his digit raises only to pat your side, understanding he was comforting you in some inconceivable way.

"Anytime." It's genuine, striving to enforce that truly, at any time, you could seek his assistance, and he'd be there for you. Your outward anguish would come to pass, but the root of your pain would remain, holding firm until there would be someone there to fight its battle.

And he intended to do so.

#sul tf writes #ultra magnus #transformers #maccadam #transformers idw #mtmte #transformers prime #ultra magnus imagine #ultra magnus x reader #ultra magnus transformers #i am 100000% sure a hug from him would solve all of my problems

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defuckingthrone-dot-com · 9 hours ago

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This gif just screams Matt to me

Hear me out you’re out at a bar with boys celebrating your birthday. It had been a while since you’ve seen them all due to touring and just living life everyone’s gotten a little busy. And thankfully your birthday landed on a weekend when the boys would be back home.

You’re having a good time dancing and cracking jokes here and there.

“I’m gonna get shit faced and I wanna have the best time since I haven’t done so in a while” you had forewarned all of them before even heading to the bar.

“Sure it’s your birthday you can do whatever you want” said Noah with a subtle laugh

The guys had agreed to keep an eye on you just to make sure you were okay, specially Matt.

Matt was never too keen on going to bars (because he’s a sober cutie) but he agreed to it because it was you duh.

You can see him from the corner of your eye sitting at the table talking to the other but intently looking at you dancing away.

You don’t know if it was the alcohol or what but you felt the heat rise up to your cheeks and made you blush. You’ve never noticed him looking at you this way, and to be honest you kinda liked it. You’ve had this little crush on him for a while but never have mentioned it because it feels too much like being in high school and speaking to the popular guy.

By this point it had been a few hours since you arrived so you decided to call it a night. You had the best time and now it was time to go home and rest.

“Okay my dudes I’m about to crash I’m gonna go home now” you say slurring your words.

“Okay let’s all home then, it’s been quite the night” Jolly agreed

Before you can tell them that it was okay for them to stay and that you could go home on your own they were all getting up from the table.

All of you exit in a little group and started to walk down the street. Jolly, Noah and both Nicks started walking a bit faster and fooling around oblivious to the fact that they left you and Matt behind.

“Are you cold?” Matt asked you clearly noticing that you started to shiver a bit.

You looked at him with soft eyes almost forgetting to answer. “Ah no no I’m okay”

He clearly wasn’t buying into whatever you saying next thing you know he was putting his sweater over you. And with one quick motion he started to carry you bridal style.

“What are you doing, I can’t walk just fine” this time you heard yourself clearly. Matt’s actions had sobered you up so fast.

“What does it look like I’m doing? Carrying you duh. You can barely speak let alone walk right. You’re stumbling all over the place” he says.

You started to giggle a bit thinking how foolish you looked and swinging your legs around. You’d started to make small talk just the whole situation didn’t feel to awkward. Thankfully the bar was only a few blocks away from Matt’s house where you would take an uber back home.

You tried to not fall asleep in Matt’s arms but I guess you weren’t fighting hard enough and to that safe and secure was something you appreciated.

Matt had one of the guys open the front door since he had his hands full. The guys decided to crash out in the living until morning but he didn’t want to leave you on the sofa with the rest of them.

He brought you into his room and laid you on the bed. He took your shoes off and the covered you wait a blanket. He tried to make as little noise as possible as he moved around the room to slide in on the other side of the bed.

Several hours passed and you woke up to a very peaceful asleep Matt by your side. To be honest your head was hammering with ache and you momentarily hated how much you actually drank the night before.

Thankfully you didn’t have to go far to find some pain killers, you looked to the night stand that sat next to the same side of the bed you were on and saw a cup of water with 2 aspirin tablets and a note that said

I thought you would need this when you wake up. Hopefully the head ache is not too bad. Please stay in bed as much as you’d like. It’s nice to have someone to share my bed with. Matt xx.

Your heart skipped a beat and all you could say was “Oh Matt” while taking in the aspirin and a sip of water. You slowly sunk back into the bed and covered yourself again with the blanket falling back into sleep while just looking lovingly at him while he slept.

You knew you couldn’t keep your feeling at bay for much longer.

#bad omens #bad omens cult #matt dierkes #thots 🔥#matty thots #bad omens matt #thotxblaster #matt fic

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trixter-god · 1 day ago

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Just for shits and giggles here’s a very old self insert fanfic i wrote in high school instead of doing my homework.

It’s in first person (I know I’m sorry) and I don’t think the “main characters” name is ever actually said… lmao.

Richard Grayson X random female (me duh) Jason’s also makes an appearance <3

It’s very short so if you’re bored give it a look.

The moon was full, the night was loud and my head was pounding. Being hung upside down is not the best way to spend your Friday nights. I look to the fight below me. Nightwing and the Redhood were back to back fighting off the goons. Pretty much owning them actually. Batman raced off about 10 minutes ago after the joker to who knows where.

“Hey boys, as much as I like hanging out, My leg is starting to fall asleep'' I yelled. Nightwing and Red Hood both looked over to my detection then to each other. Redhood kicked a goon into another before racing his way to me. Throwing something in my detection. I close my eyes knowing what’s coming. A small snap and I’m falling. My head stops protesting as I feel myself rush to the ground. Holding a scream, two fit arms brace my fall. My head pulses in shock and the pounding seems harder. “Are you alright?” nightwing says, rushing next to hood. The goons laid in piles on the floor. I give him a glare while I’m lower on my feet. “Besides my head wanting to come off my shoulders and the fact that I can barely feel my legs, I'm fine.” My words were then, like always, used against me as an unknown pain shot through my leg. My leg gives out, sending me back into red hood arms. Gently I try to stand only for the pain to return.

“Okay maybe not” Red Hood transfers me into Nightwings arms, most of my weight lying now on my right foot and nightwing.

“Hanging upside down probably pulled your ankle out of socket” Red Hood grumbles in agreement as he takes his time detangling me from the rope while nightwing keeps me grounded. I rested my head on his shoulder. The dizziness of being upside down for that long was finally catching up with me.

“Go for nightwing” His right hand came up to meet his ear. I could tell he was keeping his voice light to not cause me any more pain. Hood Finnish off the ropes now using them to tie up some of the forgotten guards.

“She’s safe and sound” Nightwing hummed effectively.

I shifted my weight seeing if I could stand my own. Another sharp pain runs up my leg. Deciding that was not going to happen I relaxed in defeat. Resting my head in the crook of his neck I closed my eyes not realizing how tired I truly was. Must have been the adrenaline. Nightwing continues to replay what I had witnessed upside down over to I assume Batman. His voice was light and clam but I could hear his heart betting a mile a minute.

“We’re on it,” dick said after a good pause. “ you wake down there” he quips as he pulls me up bridal style. He smelt like sweat, kevlar and Vanilla. “No” I half mumbled, wrapping my hands around his neck. “We’ll let you rest when you get to the hospital” nightwing informed. I rolled my eyes playing with the zipper on the back of his collar. “Let’s move,” Hood said at the door nightwing did like he was told to and raced after Red Hood. I was given the civilian runaround answering random questions they asked until I was reluctantly placed on a stretcher and loaded into the ambulance. Nightwing gave one last wave to me before the doors were shut, leaving me in professional hands. Doctors spoke and prodded my body to check for concussions or breaks. I answered the same basic questions as before as I drifted off the sleep with the permission of the EMT.

I woke to the sound of solf beeping and the hard kick of an air conditioner starting up. Slowly opening my eyes. I let myself process where I was. It was dark in the room, the only light coming from a lamp over in the corner. Walls were a sickly white with a matching ceiling. It smelled of cotton and lemon cleaner, Gotham General Hospital. My eyes adjusted to the little light enough to read the bright red clock numbers from across the room. It was almost 5 in the morning meaning I had been out for at least four hours grimacing at the thought of how long I have been here for I rubbed my eyes now, aware of the weight that is pinning my right hand down.

Dark hair seemed to disappear into the shadows of my blanket as an unseen hand held my own. I wondered lightly how it would have looked to the EMTs that brought me in to have seen Dick Grayson racing through the door. lightly wiggling my captured fingers was just enough to stir the oldest Wayne as he turned his head to smile up at me.

“Hey.” His voice is a little raspy from sleep.

“Hey.” I repeated back to him with a smile.

His tawny skin seemed to glow in the darkness as it did in the city lights.

#batman #fanfic #fanfiction #dc comics #oc #batfamily #batfam #nightwing #richard grayson #dick grayson #dick grayson fanfiction #jason todd #red hood #old writing #first person #first person pov

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storiesfromafan · 23 hours ago

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When He's Gone

A/N: first night of house sitting and doggo watching, which means I could finish part two to this. But I am going to make this a 3 parter, as it just felt right to end it where i did 😅

I will also have a poll at the end of this part, feel free to vote.

Warning/s: angst, sadness, maybe you'll cry, possible spelling/grammer mistakes, briefly revised

Tag list: @charmingballoon @strayrockette

Word got back to you, a few days after that night, that Benny had taken off that night. Betty had told you over coffee how Benny had stormed back into the bar, dark mood hanging over him. She said how Johnny had been the one to approach him at the bar – chugging down a beer as Johnny reached his side.

“Ya alright kid?” Johnny asked, concern written on his face.

Finally removing the bottle from his lips, and practically slamming it on the bar, Benny looked at the wall across from him. His face set in a hard scowl. “She ended it...and I gave it to her".

Johnny – looking to Cal, who’d stepped up to Benny's other side – had a confused yet worried look upon his face. Not sure what Benny meant. “Ah, ya gave it to her?” He questioned wanting clarification.

The man at focus nodded his head. “Yeah. She wanted it to be over, so I gave it to her...told her we were over then...”

Both Johnny and Cal sighed, though they knew Benny would never lay a hand on a woman. But his current mood, and words, gave a different opinion. Placing his hand on his shoulder, Johnny stared at Benny's face. Waiting for the man to look to him. And after downing the last of his beer he finally looked to the older Vandal.

“What happened?” Johnny asked calmly, needing the whole story.

So Benny told him what happened. How you took off out of the bar, how he followed you and called out what was wrong. You declaring you were done. Standing in the middle of the road airing out your issues at the hand of the women hanging around the bar, and him. He told you everything you’d said or done wrong, yet never mentioned or admitted to his involvement. How he shut down or let that voice in his head win. Benny would never voice how he was half to blame, never taking ownership of his part that played in your breakup.

“Sounds like she had a good reason to be mad" stated Johnny, gaze hard and righteous.

Benny turned to look at the empty beer bottle, knowing the man was right, that you were right. Yet Benny couldn’t admit it. If he did, he would have to agree with a lot you said. Such as how he put the club and his bike over you. Even though he tried to keep it all balanced.

“What do you love more; her or ya bike?” The older Vandal asked.

Benny kept his gaze on the bottle, mind thinking over the question. And yet he couldn’t answer it. How could he pick which one he loved more? Both were different in their own way, but both brought him such joy and happiness. Sure, his bike couldn’t mouth off to him but would play up. While you, you were full of opinions and ideas, but also cared for him like no one else ever had.

When Cal spoke up, along with a few others, saying how stupid it was to flip out and breakup because you’d said it. How walking away from that fine ass – which was meant to be a light hearted jest – was the biggest mistake. Or how you’d find another man quick smart. It all triggered something in Benny, anger and hurt.

Without a word, he shrugged off Johnny's hand before heading for the front door. He could hear Johnny going off at the men that spoke. But Benny didn’t care. He’d gotten some harsh criticism and truths. He was done. He needed to get away, clear his head and hopefully his heart. Which was aching. Getting on his bike, Benny didn’t waste time starting up the engine and pulling away from the curb, riding through town and off into the night, and wherever the road would take him.

You sat back in your seat at the small kitchen table, lit cigarette in hand which was resting on the table top. Betty sat across from you, watching you closely to gauge your reaction to the story she just told you. Lifting your hand you took the last drag of the cigarette, holding it for as long as you could before releasing the smoke. You then stubbed it out in the ashtray.

“I see...” was all you could say.

You weren’t surprised he’d taken off. It’s what he did best. Running from his problems rather than working through them. It’s like putting a band aid on a broken arm. Him running away just showed how immature, or scared, Benny was. Eventually he’ll blow back into town and act like nothing happened. And that’s fine. He could do that. You don’t care, you won’t be sitting around waiting for him. If he will even come crawling back to you.

“Well it’s going to be quiet around Grand and Division for a while then" you stated, like it was fact.

Betty looked concerned, “you ain’t worried about him?”

You sighed. “Sure, I’ll always worry about him...but he made his choice. He gave up. And sure, I instigated the breakup...but he put the final nail in the coffin, so to say".

She nodded, moving to take another sip of her coffee.

“Once he’s mind is made up, that’s it...” you muttered. “So I won’t mope around. It’s not worth it...”

You left it at that. No more to say on the matter that is Benny Cross. That chapter of your life had come to an end. The next, new chapter was all about you and whatever you do with yourself. Time to pick yourself up and dust yourself off. But there were times you would find yourself crying, mainly at night, over him. Even though you didn’t want to, nor did he deserve your tears. During the day and around people, you put on a strong front, that you almost believed.

The first month of Benny’s absence was hard. You noted it as the withdrawal stage. Missing and wanting him because he wasn’t there. Various Vandal's came to check in on you, though you felt more like they were sniffing around. Trying to find out if Benny had reached out to you, but mainly testing the waters for themselves. See if you were desperate that you’d give them the time of day. And they were mistaken, you’d never go for another Vandal.

At the end of the first month Johnny paid you a visit. He was checking in on you, making sure you were doing alright and if you needed anything. You were nice – even if you shouldn’t be – Johnny wasn’t the one to do all this, it was Benny. You got him a beer, while you had tea, and sat at your kitchen table, which reminded you of when Betty had been there. Both of them were a like, and it warmed your broken heart.

Eventually he dropped the bomb he’d had word on Benny, he was fine and just moving around. It was a relief for you, hearing your ex was alive. The older man told you Benny would be back in time, and it would all work out. But would it? Did you want that?

“I don’t think I want it to work out...I can’t keep doing this, Johnny" you admitted looking him in the eyes. “I can’t be the back-up...”

Johnny tried to reason with you, but you’d made your mind up. Once he had finished his beer, and this conversation wasn’t going his way, he said he had to get going. Politely you walked him to the front door, even watching and waving as he rode off on his bike. That was that. You’d finally put your foot down. And Johnny knew that.

The second month since Benny left, you finally felt more yourself, freer even. You had been focusing on work at the diner. Still getting those passing through town that would flirt with you, and you’d continue to turn them down. Only this time not adding you had a boyfriend. One particular truck driver – a man a few years older than you and easy on the eyes – tried his luck, and when you just said thank you, but not interested, he noted your lack of words.

“No sorry, I got a boyfriend?” He asked, rather surprised.

You flinched, which didn’t go unnoticed. “Nope, no boyfriend...” you muttered moving around the counter.

“Huh. That’s surprisin” he stated playing with his coffee cup. “What happened? If ya don’t mind me askin'?”

Without going into detail, you gave him the summed-up version. Giving the short version hurt less, as it didn’t bring up every issue you and Benny had. And the man was nice, understanding and ended it by saying Benny hadn’t deserved you. That you would find someone to love you completely. Against your better judgement, you believed his words. Even if part of you didn’t want someone else to love you, or for yourself to love another.

Your love with Benny was one of a kind. It was good, yet bad and messy. With its ups and downs. It was wild. It was passion. It was unlike anything you’d experienced. As was Benny. You had admired him from a far, not wanting to get close or involved with him. But that man wouldn’t have that, chasing you until you gave in. And you had been so happy to. Let go and go with the flow.

Yet, it was that love that hurt when you both would fight. Or when he’d take off for weeks. Left to cry and hurt, heart aching because of how you loved that man. But was it like that for him? Hurting from how you’d both fired up and left it? Did he over think it all, and try to pinpoint where it went wrong? Probably not, that wasn’t Benny's style.

A few weeks into month three of no Benny, a few friends of yours – ones that don’t run in the Vandal circle – finally talked you into going with them to the movies. You weren’t in the mood for their girl time, as it was more superficial and of no substance, or really going out. But somehow, they talked you into it.

So Friday night, after your shift, you got home and had a shower. From there you did your hair and light make up, you had to put some effort into your appearance with these women. They were all about looks. You went with a simple (colour) swing dress, that had a rounded collar, sleeveless and a matching belt to accentuate the waist.

Sitting at your vanity you put in some earrings and then your necklace. Which you only noticed, as it lay against the fabric of your dress, was the locket that Benny had gotten you. Staring at the locket, you allowed your finger tips to graze the metal. Part of you told you to take it off, put it away and leave it in the past. Yet, you couldn’t. The locket was something special, something Benny had given you on your birthday, after you had seen it when window shopping one time. That man might have only glanced it, but remembered it completely. And you told yourself, you felt better having a part of him with you.

Not thinking about it again, you got up, put on some shoes and grabbed your bag. Once outside the door, you drove to the movie theatre. Only then were you privy to the fact this three girls movie night was actually a triple date, a blind one for you. Being left out of the loop ticked you off, and eventually you voiced that before going into the movie, when the men went to get drinks and snacks.

“Calm down (Y/N), will you!” Fussed Sally.

You huffed. “All I’m saying is that I would have liked to have known this was a triple date!”

“Honestly, if she had told you the truth, would you have came?” Questioned Ann.

You stood there for a moment silent, knowing you wouldn’t have agreed to it. “No...”

Both women shared a look. “Exactly. That’s why I didn’t tell you" Sally stated softly. “You need to go out, date even. It’s over with him, he’s gone".

You detested how they didn’t say Benny's name, never had as they didn’t like him or think him good enough for you. But also, you were glad they didn’t say it now, or else you might have gotten upset. You knew they had a point. You had to go out and live your life. You had just wanted to do it with the Vandal by your side.

The conversation died then as the men returned. Both your friends linked arms with their dates, while you chose to walk awkwardly beside the guy you were paired with. He was nice, not pushy or a jerk. He was quiet sweet. Making small talk and just being friendly in a genuine way. The movie was alright, but not something you would have seen if it wasn’t for Sally and Ann. After the movie both women and their dates left, leaving you with Andrew. He was kind enough to walk you to your car.

“I hope your night wasn’t a waste" he started, “I mean – you had a good time, even if it’s not what you expected!” He sighed flustered. “I-it’s just, I know you didn’t know about me...when I thought you did. I’m sorry you got roped into this date. But I hope it wasn’t too bad...”

For the first time in months you softly smiled, a small chuckle coming from your chest. Sure, he tripped over his words but he was sincere. Andrew was a nice, good guy. Sweet to being chatty, like friends hanging out, while your friends and their dates got cosy and kissed. He respected you, were another men wouldn’t have been.

“Thank you” you thanked softly. “Though I was blind sided, I had a good time" – Andrew visually relaxed and beamed a relieved smile – “you are a sweet man. I’m just not ready to date...I hope you understand".

He nodded slowly, a sad look shining in his eyes. “It’s alright. I do understand, though am a little sad. But I can take away that you had a good evening, at least".

You reach over and held his hand. “I did, you are a wonderful man".

Fate is a cruel mistress, always ruining your life at the worst time. And this was another one. That was the moment a roar of an approaching engine bounced along the street. And with its ever increasing volume, the familiar bike and rider came into view. Benny rode by, not seeming to notice your car or you at first. But those stormy blues finally zeroed in on you both. You could imagine what would be going through that pretty head of his. Not to mention the possible anger.

You’re not his girl anymore... came that little voice in the back of your head, you broke up...

Once Benny rode on, not even looking back or turning around, that told you everything. He was done, actually done. It was all over between you both, possibly never to get back together. That ache in your chest returned, and with it the want to cry. Quickly you said your goodbyes before getting into your car, and heading home. Not giving Andrew much room to speak before you were gone.

You felt the familiar warmth and sting to your eyes, but held them back for now. Driving towards your house you had hoped to see Benny and his bike out the front of your house, or in your drive way. But turning into the drive way there was nothing. Parking the car and turning it off, the first couple of tears escaped. Sitting in the driver seat you were frozen, sad to not see him here.

After a few minutes you managed to get out of the car, not very gracefully, and headed towards your front door. With every step a tear fell from your eyes, rolling down your cheeks. When you were finally inside, door closed and locked, you slide to a sitting position, back against the door as you freely cried. Ugly crying and barely able to breath properly. Even with the anger and the fight being justified, but you loved and missed Benny. And the hole in your chest confirmed that.

A/N: thought I'd give you all a say in how part three goes 😊

#benny cross x reader #benny cross x y/n #benny cross x you #the bikeriders x reader #austin butler x reader #benny the bikeriders #benny cross imagine

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