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darthannie · 1 year ago

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potential side effects

pairing: Jonathan Crane x f!reader summary: After giving you an experimental medication, Dr. Crane helps you get over your fear of intimacy. word count: 2,143 warnings: 18+, minors DNI for the love of god, DARK, rough at points, I’m gonna go ahead and say NONCON, au where Dr. Crane has a private practice, abuse of power, reader is under the influence (kinda like the fear toxin), reader is sleepy, Crane doesn't take no for an answer, dacryphilia, inexperienced!reader, floor sex, spit, fighting back, a smidge of aftercare at the end. a/n: Please do not read if you’re not into what's in the warnings. I had fun experimenting with this one. I tried to be a little more thorough in the warnings. Better safe than sorry. I’m still toying around with Jonathan’s voice. Let me know if you want more of this kind of thing, or something different. I’d love to interact with you guys more!

Dr. Jonathan Crane had been treating you for the better part of a year and was in the midst of creating a new medication regimen for you. Your previous treatment plan was not working as intended, so it was back to the drawing board.

He selected you as the first person to receive an experimental medication. It was meant to be inhaled and doses were to be given during the time of the appointment. You didn’t necessarily know what to expect. He’d briefly mentioned that there may be potential side effects but didn’t go into much detail.

You were nervous the first time you’d gone in to receive a dose. As you approached the door to his office you felt a lump begin to form in your throat. You knocked and after a moment he opened the door. Jonathan always wore the same thing most of the time. Today he donned a black blazer and slacks with a white button-up. His red tie was placed right at the center of his collar. His dark hair framed his face perfectly. He looks good today, you thought, better than usual.

You exchanged your normal pleasantries and sat across from him on a couch. His office was spacious and dark. All the furniture was made of wood. In the corner, there was a big bookcase that consisted of books on fear, pharmacology, and different editions of the DSM. The DSM-4 was missing from the shelf, presumably on his desk.

The room brought you a lot of comfort. It was the only place you ever got to see him. It felt like Dr. Crane was the only person in all of Gotham that understood you. It was his job after all.

Soon the time came for him to administer the medication.

“I’m going to spray in front of your face and you’re going to breathe in. It doesn’t take much to be effective.”, he said.

You nodded and he sprayed.

Your nerves subsided almost immediately and your mind became quiet.

“Any difference?”, he asked.

“My mind is silent. All my racing thoughts have stopped.”

“Good. That means it’s working. Some of the other side effects may begin to set in now.”

He was right. Like clockwork, you started to get drowsy. It was like someone had given you a little too much Benadryl. It was hard to keep your eyes open.

“Dr. Crane? Is this normal?” You couldn’t help but drag the ’s’.

“It’s nothing to worry about. It’s just the medication working. How do you feel?” He seemed a tad on edge as he awaited your answer.

“I feel all warm inside.”

He then leaned back against his desk. “Any drowsiness?”

“Lots of it.” You chuckled slightly.

“That is normal.” He said, answering your question. “The medication was likely to make you feel tired.”

“Does it go away?”

“As your body builds up a tolerance, the effects will lessen. Now, I wanted to talk about the recent screenings you filled out. I would like you to check over them and rate their accuracy on a scale from one to five, five being very accurate.”

He handed you a piece of paper and you looked it over. “Four.”

“Why not five?” His eyebrows furrowed.

“Number six. ’S worse.” Question number six pertained to your interest in sex. More specifically how terrified you were of having it.

It was a topic you were working on with Dr. Crane since it impacted your life so much. You were hesitant to mention it at first, but he assured you it was better to talk about it instead of holding it in. So, you spilled every detail. This included your inability to get yourself off and failed hook-up attempts.

You’d try very hard but when it came time for you to do the deed you shut down and found a way out of the situation. You hadn’t been getting out there much because, frankly, the thought of being intimate with someone was frightening. You didn’t know how you’d ever get over it.

“Have you sought out any partners to help with your fears?”, he asked.

You took a moment to process what he said. “No, I haven’t. I can’t. It’s too-“

“Frightening, yes I remember you using that word.” He removed his glasses before continuing. “I think there’s a way I can help you with that. Personally.”

You yawned. “What do you mean by that doctor?”

“I can make you feel better.” He looked down at you and brushed your cheek with the back of his hand.

“How do you mean?” You could hear the apprehension in your voice. He ignored your question and reached down to the hem of your top, lifting it slightly.

You pulled back a little too quickly and you got a bit dizzy. “I don’t know about that Dr. Crane. I can’t- I’m not well.”

He ignored you. “I think it’ll be easier if I just take you here on the floor.”

He dragged you off the couch and onto the ground, sitting up. The hardwood was cold to the touch but started to warm under your body. He kneeled next to you. You tried to fight him as he reached for your sweater. He grabbed your wrists to stop you from thrashing around.

“I would hate to have to tie you up, sweetheart.” You knew he would follow through so you did what he wanted. You stopped fighting back.

He neatly folded and put aside each article of clothing he took off your body. Eventually, you were completely bare in front of him. You were almost too gone to grasp what was going on. Almost. The fear began to creep in and he could tell. Maybe the medication was not working the way he intended it to. Maybe he lied about what it was intended to do.

You slurred, “Dr. Crane, please don’t- Please don’t do this.”

He leaned over you and you tried to push him away. He only offered a small smile and reached his hand down between your legs. You whimpered as his fingers moved lightly over your clit. You mewled at the new sensation. You gave in to the feeling and your eyes started to close. When they wouldn’t open again Jonathan lightly slapped your cheek.

“No, no, no don’t fall asleep. I need you to stay awake for me.”, he said.

You fought the exhaustion and watched as he used his fingers to tease you.

He noticed you getting wetter and moved his fingers down to your entrance. He slowly stretched you with two fingers, watching your face as your mouth fell open.

A tight-lipped smile appeared on his face. He started slow and then moved his fingers in and out very quickly, hitting a new spot until he found the one that made your legs shake. You lied back and let him work on you. All you felt was bliss. No one had ever touched you like that.

He took his hand away and you whined. This was a first and you were glad you made it this far. This was a win.

You thought it was over, but then you noticed him unbuttoning his pants.

Your breath quickened and you put your hand out. “Wait! Please, no! I think I’ve had enough for today.”

“We’re not done with your treatment yet, princess. Please hold still. It will be easier for the both of us.”

Your body was made of putty. The side effects had gotten worse. He brought your legs into position before grabbing himself in his hand. He stroked his cock a couple of times before entering you.

He gave you no time to adjust. His pace was slow but he fucked hard. You gasped at the feeling of him inside you. You’ve never been fucked like this before. But, that didn’t matter to him. All he wanted was to feel you around him. Make you his.

The sounds in the room sent you reeling. You didn’t know you would moan so much. The sound of his skin hitting yours filled the room along with his heavy breaths and moans. He grabbed your hips as he thrust hard and fast. You were having a hard time coping with all the feelings you were having at once. The fear, exhaustion, and pleasure were beginning to mix. You wanted to scream. Instead, you cried.

Jonathan moaned at the sight. He loved watching you cry. He’d seen it happen during sessions and couldn’t help but wonder what it would look like if you moaned while you cried. Now he knew. You were unable to keep quiet. Silent cries became sobs which became whimpers.

He caressed your tear-stained face, “Shhhhhh, hush now it’s alright. You’re doing so well.”

You tried to talk through your tears. “Please Jonathan- Dr. Crane, Make it stop!”

This time he went deeper. You yelped as you felt him hit a new part of you. “I’m not stopping until you tell me it feels good. Tell me, does it feel good?”

“Yes,” you moaned, “it feels good.”

“Yeah? Are you still frightened? Are you scared of me?”

“Yes.”, you admitted. It was hard for you to get out. How could you ever fear him? All he had ever done was help you. This was just another one of his unorthodox methods.

He bent forward and put his arms next to your ears, locking his fingers on the top of your head to hold you in place. Your body was limp as he continued fucking you into the floor. Your eyes closed; you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him.

He shook your head slightly. “No, eyes on me. Look at me.”

You looked at him wide-eyed.

“Open your mouth.” You obeyed and he spit in your mouth. In all honesty, you savored the taste. It was another way of him claiming you.

“Swallow.” When you did he hummed contently. “Good girl.”

You felt something weird tightening in your core. “Dr. Crane. I feel like I’m gonna-“.

A long moan came out before you could finish your sentence. He fucked you as you rode your high and soon after his thrusts started to falter. He sat up and grabbed your hip to use as leverage. You mustered up as much energy as you could to move away from him, using your legs to drag yourself across the floor. He was much stronger than you at this point and he pulled you back.

“No, come here. You’re gonna stay still while I finish. Got it?”

The tears kept flowing, but you obeyed. You lied back as he came inside of you. He stayed inside of you for a minute, savoring the moment. You were tired and blissed out. He pulled out of you without a word. He watched as his cum dropped out of you.

“What a sight.”, he said matter a factly. He helped you sit up and wiped tears from your face with his thumb. He brought you close to him and kissed your forehead.

He got up and put himself back together again. He fixed his clothing, tucking in his pristine white shirt and fastening his pants. He fixed his tie and looked past you into a mirror.

Once satisfied, he grabbed a towel from his desk and cleaned you up. He helped you up to your feet and began dressing you. His demeanor was softer now. He took his time as he got you dressed. Once he was finished he helped you sit on the couch. You curled up into his side, seeking comfort from the man who had just used you.

You’d never felt more confused. You knew this shouldn’t have happened. Every boundary had been crossed. But, the special attention from him felt better than anything. You fell asleep on his shoulder. He let you sleep on him for a while before he got up to write notes on what had just occurred. He found his glasses, put them on, and returned to his desk to begin writing. He included your reaction to the “medication” and how receptive you were to the treatment.

You woke up about an hour later, confused. You looked around and recognized his office. The memories of earlier events came rushing back. You felt your cheeks get hot.

Jonathan looked up from the paper he was holding up. “Rise and shine.”

He grabbed a sheet of paper from your file. He attached it to a clipboard and grabbed a pen. He handed you the materials and you looked down. It was another questionnaire.

“Fill this out as accurately as possible.”

“What is it for?” You cleared your throat. He sat back down at his desk and picked up the paper he was previously inspecting. He looked at your file before looking back at you.

“Our next session.”, he replied.

#jonathan crane #jonathan crane x reader #jonathan crane smut #jonathan crane x reader smut #i proofread this but no one is perfect #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy fic #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy #cillian x reader #dark jonathan crane #dark!jonathan crane #annie writes #dark jonathan crane smut #scarecrow x reader #dr jonathan crane

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illdowhatiwantthanks · 5 months ago

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The Eggplant (The Surprise, Part 18)

Emily Prentiss x fem!reader Warnings: nightmares, mentions of Emily's fake death, mentions of past sexual trauma (nothing graphic though), discussions of birth/delivery times (let me know if I've missed anything!) Word count: 2.1k

Summary: You've always struggled with sleep and nightmares, but the third trimester is making it worse than ever. Thankfully, Emily is always there to calm you down and take your mind off the bad dreams.

Note: I know the gif is the man that we can't stand! But it was the most appropriate one! Just use your imagination! Replace him with reader!

Week 28: The Eggplant

You jerked awake, gasping and flailing, struggling to sit up against the weight of your baby bump. Sweat pooled in the dips of your collarbone and at the nape of your neck, dampening the soft strands of hair that rested there.

You blinked in the darkness, sucking in great gulps of air, feeling for Emily next to you. She was already up, already pressing her hand into yours and squeezing your palm, already drawing you into her chest, holding you protectively.

“Hey, hey,” she cooed, “it’s okay. You’re alright. It’s just a dream.”

Your heart raced, and you snaked your arms around Emily’s waist, burying yourself in her. You coughed, your breath still caught in your throat. She ran her thumb gently along the side of your face, wiping away the tears that lingered from the dream.

You’d always had more vivid dreams–and more often–than the average person. As a child, you’d even been diagnosed with a sleep disorder characterized by horrific nightmares. It had faded, but not gone away, as you grew up. After a lot of trial and error, you’d discovered that taking ashwagandha supplements before bed largely put a stop to the nightmares.

But you weren’t allowed to take ashwagandha while you were pregnant or breastfeeding. You’d been lucky until now–the nightmares had been few and far between, despite not being able to take your usual sleep aid. But when you hit the third trimester, they’d come back in full force. Almost every night, horrifically realistic, so terrifying that you were often scared to go back to sleep afterward for fear the dreams would resume. You’d tried melatonin, Benadryl, Tylenol PM, Unisom, and doxylamine. Tonight, you’d tried magnesium. The only thing it’d done was make you have to get up and take a shit in the middle of the night.

Your heart rate was slowing, but your body still shook. You grasped onto Emily’s t-shirt desperately, as if it was the only thing tethering you to the world. Sometimes the dreams involved your family. But most often these days they were about Emily.

“I guess that’s a no on the magnesium, huh?” Emilly whispered, her breath warm at the top of your head. “You want to talk about it?”

You let out a shaky breath, holding her just a bit tighter. “You died again,” you said, your voice so soft she almost couldn’t hear you. You were afraid to speak it into existence.

You could see Emily’s face without seeing it. Always wracked with guilt, always heartbroken. She always told you that going into WITSEC after Doyle, letting you and her team believe she was dead for nearly a year, was the worst thing she’d ever done. There had been no way around it; you knew it and she knew it. You didn’t like to bring it up, didn’t like to make her feel bad. She’d done what she had to do to protect herself, and as much as her fake death had devastated you–destroyed you, even–you couldn’t bring yourself to hold it against her.

“It was Doyle,” you whispered into her neck. “He made me watch.” You shuddered, and Emily grasped your face in both of her hands, turning you gently so she could look you in the eyes. She brushed a strand of hair out of your face and sighed.

“He’s dead, honey,” Emily said firmly. “I will never do that to you again.”

A tear ran down the side of your face, part of your brain still stuck in the dream, still watching Doyle hurt Emily again and again. Emily wiped it away, replacing it with a kiss.

“It’s okay, baby,” she reassured you, her heart aching to see you so scared. “I’m okay. I’m safe.”

“I’m sorry, Em,” you choked out, more tears coming now. It was three in the morning. You were on your second week of waking up terrified every night. Emily always got up with you. She had to be tired. You were exhausted. “You should go back to sleep.”

“Nope,” she protested lightly, drawing you down to the bed with her, pressing your face to her chest. “No crying, come on. It’s okay. You’re up, I’m up. Shh, just let me hold you, alright?”

You leaned into her touch, relishing the way her fingernails felt against your scalp, the weight of her arms around you, the steady rhythm of her heartbeat, the up and down of her breath.

“What’ll help?” she asked. “You want to get your mind off it? Think about something else?”

You nodded, sniffling.

“Alright,” she yawned, stretching a bit to reach inside the drawer of her nightstand. She pulled out her tablet, the light from the screen making you blink.

“What are you doing?” you asked, blinking.

“We might as well get something done, if we’re up,” she said, cradling your head in the crook of her elbow, so that she could manage the tablet and keep you close at the same time.

She opened a Google doc that she’d titled Birth Plan.

“Birth plan?” There was a series of questions and fill-in-the-blanks on there, as if Emily had copy-pasted it from another website. “I thought the plan was to have the baby. That’s the birth plan.”

She pinched at your stomach, and you giggled, squirming. “No, you dork. There’s more to it than that. And I’d rather us make the decisions now, so when you’re in labor, freaking out, we don’t miss anything.”

“I think you mean when you’re freaking out during labor.”

You watched her roll her eyes and smiled. You loved teasing Emily.

“Okay, well, regardless of who's freaking out, we need a plan. So just… lay your pretty head down and answer my questions, okay?”

You kissed the inside of her arm and nestled yourself comfortably against her. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Alright, let’s see…” Emily said, brows furrowed, biting at the corner of her lip. Her thinking face. She meant business. “Full name and pronouns, I already know that. Partner’s name and pronouns… Due date, provider… I can fill all this out without you.”

“So then, the birth plan really is just have the baby?”

“No!” Emily insisted, scrolling. “Here. Here’s some you can answer. Have you ever… had group B strep?”

“No.”

“Been previously diagnosed with genital herpes?”

Your face went beet red. “Jesus, Em! No!”

She smirked. “I know, I just wanted to see you blush. Uh… do you have Rh incompatibility with the baby?”

“I don’t think so? I feel like Dr. Delgado would have mentioned it by now.”

“I’m putting no. Gestational diabetes?”

“No.”

“Fear of needles?”

“No, not really.”

“Have experienced–” Emily stopped suddenly, her voice stuck in her throat.

“Experienced what?” you prompted. When she didn’t answer, you poked her leg with your foot. “Emily, experienced what?”

“It’s okay,” she mumbled. “I can answer that one for you.”

“Well, now I want to know…”

“It’s fine, Y/N. Let’s just move on.”

“No, Em, I want to know!”

She sighed and bit at one of her nails. You furrowed your eyebrows and took her hand.

“Have you ever experienced birth trauma or prior sexual assault,” Emily read, her voice soft.

“Oh.”

You were both quiet for a moment, your thumb running over Emily’s knuckles. “Well, I guess you did know the answer for that one…” you said, trying to lighten the mood. “Let’s keep going.”

Emily shook her head a bit, as if clearing clouds. “Uh… delivery plan… I’m assuming vaginal?”

You nodded. “What are the other options?”

“C-section or water birth.”

You shivered. “Yeah, definitely vaginal. I think I’d cry if I had to give birth in a kiddie pool.”

Emily cracked a smile, and you were glad to see her getting back to herself. “Who do you want in the room with you?”

“You.”

“Well, yeah. Anyone else, though? Your mom?”

“Just you,” you confirmed, kissing her hand.

“Whatever you want,” Emily confirmed, continuing down the list. “Do you want any music played?”

“Screamo.”

Emily laughed. “Can you imagine?”

“Alright, I’ll settle for punk.”

“I’m putting TBD,” Emily decided. “Okay, this next part is a big, long checklist, so just say yes or no, I guess.”

“Okay,” you agreed. Your heart rate was almost back to normal, your breathing calm and even as you snuggled into Emily. You were starting to feel sleepy again, and were trying not to fight it, not to let yourself get scared again.

“Lights dimmed?” Emily asked, making her way down the list.

“Uh… I guess so?”

“Room as quiet as possible?”

“Minus the punk music, yes.”

Emily fought off a smile, running a hand absentmindedly through your hair. “As few interruptions as possible?”

“...Yes?”

“As few vaginal and cervical exams as possible? Yes.” Emily’s voice grew quiet again as she read this one, and you squeezed her hand to let her know you were okay. “Hospital staff limited to my doctors and nurses only? I’m putting yes for this one, too. I don’t want any fucking students in there watching.”

You yawned, closing your eyes as you pressed your cheek against Emily’s chest. You were having a harder and harder time staying awake.

“Do you want to wear your own clothes?”

“Yes,” you mumbled.

“Your glasses?”

You looked up at her, confused. “As opposed to what? Loaner glasses?”

Emily shrugged. “No glasses, I guess?”

“No. I can’t see shit without my glasses. The baby would just be a blob.”

“So yes to your glasses… Do you want me to take pictures?”

“Of me giving birth?!” you exclaimed. “No!”

“But you’ll look so beautiful!” Emily argued.

“I’ll look like a hot plate of shit,” you shot back. “In fact, I might actually shit myself during labor. I don’t want any photographic evidence of that, thank you.”

“Fine,” Emily grumbled. “Putting no. Would you like to stay hydrated with clear liquids and ice chips?”

“What kind of question is that?” you asked, fighting off another big yawn. “Of course I want to be hydrated.”

“Do you want to eat?”

“I don’t know. Depends on how long it takes, I guess.”

“There’s no box for maybe,” Emily observed.

“Make a box, then, Emily. Jesus. You work for the FBI.”

“Mean…” she mumbled.

“Sorry. I love you.” At this point, you were half-asleep, Emily’s voice far away, as if you were underwater.

“Do you want me to catch the baby?”

“Catch the baby? What are they tossing it?”

“No, like… as he’s born.”

“As she falls out of my vagina?!”

“...Yeah.”

“Not really. I want you up with me so I can squeeze your hand and yell at you.”

Emily was quiet, and you grabbed for her hand, blinking your eyes open.

“Unless it’s important to you,” you told her. “If that’s something you want to do, then by all means.”

“No…” Emily thought out loud. “But I think I’d like to cut the umbilical cord, if that’s okay with you?”

You nodded, getting comfy again, sleep infringing on the edges of your consciousness.

“Do you want him placed on your chest right away?” When you didn’t answer, Emily prompted you again. “Y/N?”

She looked down to find you conked out, snoring softly, your arm wrapped around her stomach, legs entwined with hers. She smiled softly at you and kissed the top of your head, sneaking her hand under the fabric of your shirt to rub your back.

“I’m putting yes,” she whispered, typing quickly then turning off the tablet and setting it gently on the nightstand, careful not to shift too much and wake you.

Emily adjusted the covers so that you’d be nice and warm. She wasn’t a praying person, but she hoped against hope that you’d sleep through the rest of the night. You had huge circles under your eyes from so many nights of restless sleep. Emily was used to running on little sleep, but you weren’t. And you were growing a baby. You needed more sleep than usual, and you weren’t getting it.

She pressed her lips to your head again and again, making sure you were secure in her arms. She couldn’t go into your head and fight off the nightmares for you, but she could make sure that if and when you woke up, you felt safe right away. She could make sure she was there, make sure that the moment you gasped awake, you felt Emily next to you–real and alive and warm and very, very here.

#emily prentiss #emily prentiss fanfic #emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss x fem!reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic

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heartfullofleeches · 1 year ago

Note

V would be sobbing behind the window pane looking at cat darling trying not to get caught then expose himself by doing one of those loud ass sneezes

Cat Darling gets cozy in bed, ready to fall asleep only to be woken up by V coughing up a lung in their closet drinking a soda they left out hours ago. Apparently, cat saliva is usually what sets allergies off so V is forced to wallow in misery everytime he kisses his precious kitty. Rest in dirt. Ratboy

V, on the verge of death: Please, Kitten... just...one more kiss

Cat Darling: You said that the last twenty times. Take your damn Benadryl and quit whining

V: The only medicine I need is your love....

Cat Darling: It literally isn't. Swallow the goddamn pill

V: Only if you deliver it mouth to mouth....

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere headcanons #yandere imagines #yandere insert #yandere scenarios #yandere blurb #yandere x you #male yandere #yandere oc #V my oc #catboy reader #hybrid reader

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trippinsorrows · 5 months ago

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with me + part eleven

authors note: hi! i'm super sorry for the cliffhanger! i just have this thing where i need sections to be cohesive, and this chapter is much heavier than the previous, so i didn't wanna boggle ya'll down with all that angst!

i've also been thinking about the length of this story. currently, in terms of story timeline, we're at the very end of december 23', and i have ideas for up to may 24'. well, beyond that, but i don't want things to get stale, so i can end it around that time or keep it going? just curious because i don't want it to play out so long that it bores anyone. if that makes sense. just lmk.

status: in progress // masterlist

warnings: angsttttt (parental neglect, abandonment, trauma) language, alcohol consumption, suggestive themes, some fluff

song inspo: with me by destiny’s child

words: 6.2k

taglist: @pixiedust4000 @southerngirl41 @yolobloggers @msbigredmachine @wanderingreigns

You knew as soon as he walked in that something was up.

In getting to know Joe, you’d also learned that he was, surprisingly, on the quiet side. He spoke with you, of course, but you learned he leaned more towards introverted than extroverted. It was kind of sweet and pretty surprising. But, you’d also learned there was a difference between him being his sometimes quiet self and when something was off, and something was definitely off.

“You gonna tell me what’s wrong, or do I have to fuck it out of you?” He rolls his eyes, not even showing any excitement at the idea of fucking you. Yeah, something was definitely wrong. “Seriously, what’s up?”

He shrugs, playing it off clearly. “Just tired. Back to back matches.”

That's when you realize what it is. “You’re hurt, aren’t you?” He shakes his head, dismissively, and you cross your arms. “Take your shirt off.”

“What?”

“Take it off, or I’ll climb your big ass and take it off myself.” Joe blows out a breath. He has to know you’re dead serious. So, wordlessly, he lifts his shirt over his head and turns around.

You gasp almost immediately. “What the actual fuck?” Your hand reaches to touch him, but you stop yourself, knowing that his skin must be sensitive to the touch. His back is inflamed, red welts spread in different areas with a nasty bruise that looks like a borderline hematoma and other various cuts.

“Why didn’t you say anything sooner?” Shaking your head, you point to your room. “Go sit and wait for me on the bed.” He opens his mouth, and you lift a finger. “I don’t want to hear it. Get in there now.”

Surprisingly, he follows suit, and you start to move about, gathering the necessary supplies. Along the way, you experience a plethora of emotions but mostly bounce back and forth between irritation and concern.

You’re irritated that he didn’t just come out and say that he was hurt. You’re also concerned because he’s obviously in pain, and that bothers you. He doesn’t have to be, he didn’t have to be if he just said something.

Stubborn asshole.

With everything needed and placed in a cloth bag, you walk into your room and stretch your hand out to him. “Take this.”

Joe looks down at your open palm with a single pink pill. “What the hell is it?”

“Coke,” you answer with a straight face. Rolling your eyes, you answer, “Benadryl. It’ll help with the inflammation of the welts.”

“It’ll also knock me out.”

“We’ll we’re obviously not fucking with your back all messed up, so what else are you going to do?”

“Who said we can’t fuck?”

You sigh. “Joe, if you don’t just take this goddamn pill. With your size, you probably should take two, but I’m trying to be nice by only giving you one, so accept my kindness and swallow this damn pill or I’ll shove it down your throat.”

He sucks his teeth but also takes the pill from you followed by the water bottle tucked under your arm. “You’re a terrible nurse.”

“And you’re an awful patient. At least we’re both on the same page.” You wait for him to swallow it before taking the bottle from him. “Good, now lay on your stomach.”

He lifts his brow, asking, “why?”

“Oh my god, you’re as bad as my students.” Men when they’re sick or not feeling well are a special kind of torture you’re not sure why exactly you’re subjecting yourself to right now. “Just do it, please. I’m trying to help you here.”

He just looks at you, as if he has something else to say, probably so. But, he surprises you by staying silent and following your instructions.

Pleased, you climb on top of him, sitting on his ass to avoid irritating his already sensitive skin. “Okay, now this may hurt a little bit at first—”

He makes a sound underneath you. “Can’t hurt anymore than it already does.”

“If you had said something sooner, I could have helped you before now,” you scold, dropping the bag on the bed beside ya’ll. Men and their tendency to downplay pain will never cease to amaze you. The minute you start getting hit with cramps, you pop an ibuprofen.

“It’s not that big a deal.”

“You’re in pain. That’s always a big deal.” Pulling out the ointment, you dab enough to your hand and start carefully massaging it into the welts. He hisses at your touch and you murmur an apology but don’t stop. It’s short term discomfort for long term benefits.

“What is this?” He asks.

“Calamine lotion,” you answer, adding on. “I have hydrocortisone too, but my grandma always said calamine works just as well without getting into your bloodstream. Don’t know how true it is, but it always worked for me, so it’ll work for you.”

He chuckles. “She sounded fun.”

Instantly, a smile is on your face as you continue to treat him. “Always. Summers with her were always the highlight of my year.”

He doesn’t say anything after that, and you continue to work the lotion into his skin. Once pleased with the application, you move on to the next part. “Alright, I’m gonna apply some cold compresses. You’ll probably be out in another 20 minutes, so just leave em’ on, and I’ll come change em’ out while you’re sleeping.”

When he doesn’t push back, you pull the compresses out of your bag and strategically place them on different areas of his back to maximize the comfort. Once finished, you climb off of him and go to close up the blinds and curtains. “Alright, get some rest.”

You’re at the doorway when he says your name. “Yeah?”

A slight delay before he says, genuinely, “thank you.”

There’s something meaningful beyond just the obvious, and it brings a small smile to your face. Not that he can see that. So you settle on, “of course. You’re no good to me if you can’t fuck me.”

He laughs, loudly. “Shut up.”

Smile widening, you close the door. ________

Joe finds you a couple hours later in the kitchen, but it’s the state of you that gives him a pause and brings a smile to his face.

You’re dancing around, clad in one of his shirts and short shorts that your ass swallows up. Brief glimpses of your side profile reveal that you’re singing too, just in a low enough voice, probably not to disturb you.

He doesn’t know the specific song, but the voice is familiar enough for him to know it’s Taylor Swift. That definitely surprises him, though it shouldn’t. You have a weird ass taste in music to where he’s found you in the shower listening to some random rock song, other times, it was throwback R&B.

You were just so….different from anyone he’s ever known.

It’s one of the many reasons he’s so enamored with you.

Drop everything now

Meet me in the pouring rain

Kiss me on the sidewalk

Take away the pain

'Cause I see sparks fly, whenever you smile

It’s when you turn around, mid bite on a cookie that you finally notice his presence, smiling. “Hey. You’re up.”

“I am.” He nods, walking over to you. He gestures around the kitchen. “What is all this?”

You finish chewing and swallow before directing Alexa to pause the music. “Well, I finished my lesson planning and was bored, so I decided to bake. But then I got hungry for actual food, so I ordered takeout.”

“And the music?”

You shrug, taking another bite of your cookie. “I like the song. Don’t worry, it’s the only Taylor Swift song allowed in this African American household.”

He laughs and moves past you when you take the chance to assess his back, immediately noticing how the swelling and redness have decreased. “How you feeling?”

“Better,” he answers, moving to the cartons, seeing that you made sure to order his favorites as well. “Thanks again.”

Smirking, you climb on the island, locking your ankles together. “Not so terrible nurse after all then, huh?”

“Your bedside manners still suck.”

“Shut up.” You watch him fix his food and when he gets ready to sit down on a bar stool, you hop off the counter, prompting, “come with me.”

“Where?”

“All these damn questions….” Grabbing a couple of cookies and placing them in a bowl, you find your sandals and slide them on your feet. “Just come on.”

“Let me at least put a shirt on.”

“Absolutely not. You need to let your skin breathe,” you lecture, taking him in, all of him. “Trust me, no one’s gonna see us, and even if they did, who the hell would complain about you being shirtless?”

Snatching the keys off the table, you open the door, allowing him to walk out first. You start to leave your door unlocked but decide against it. It’s an extremely safe town, but there’s always a first time for everything.

Locking it, you motion for him to follow you up the two sets of steps until reaching the heavy door that you turn the knob left and then right in order to open it. Joe’s immediately hit with a nice breeze and diminishing sunlight as the evening sets in.

“Come on,” you usher him to follow you to your favorite spot, sitting down and patting down on the ground next to you.

Joe chuckles, following suit. “Seriously?”

You ignore him, pushing on his shoulder as he brings his plate in front of him to eat. “I like to come out here sometimes to just get away. Especially if I need to clear my head. My grandma used to always say the closer you are to Heaven, the clearer you can hear God’s voice.”

He just watches you, the way the wind blows at your curls, making them splash at your face. Everything about you has always been stunning to him, but in this moment where you sit so relaxed and unbothered, he’s never thought you looked more beautiful.

“Plus, you obviously need to clear your head to bounce back from that ass whooping,” you snort, taking another bite of your cookie. One look at Joe’s scowl makes you giggle. “On one hand, it’s crazy to me you put your body through so much, but I also recognize your passion and dedication. So, I get it. I was an athlete too. Love of the game type shit.”

You can’t say that you would have ever continued to cheer if it left you the way Joe would come to you sometimes, but as someone who’s been in a similar situation, you understand it. And it’s so much more than just a job to him. It’s a legacy, in his bloodline. All he knows.

All he wants.

So, you support him.

You’ll always support him.

________

There’s the initial chaos that ensues in the minutes after your departure. Callie’s confusion. Joe’s confusion. Bianca’s utter confusion. And as Callie is right there, Joe can’t go immediately after you. He can’t and won’t leave her, so he does the best he can, offering apologies to Bianca and Co. before taking Callie and finding your mom who was catching up with an old friend in another part of the show.

He has some level of difficulty explaining what happened, other than the fact that you’d run off and he needed to find you. It’s really all of the information that he has to go off of, and when he’s finally able to get back to the apartment where he thinks you probably went. He's disappointed to find it empty. There’s brief moment of panic.

Just where the hell would you go?

He pulls out his phone to check again if you’ll pick up, but it goes straight to voicemail. He then starts to call your mom to ask her if she had any idea where you would be when he thinks about what happened. You were upset, very much so.

You needed to clear your head.

He knows exactly where you are.

On that same roof he sat on with you years prior is where Joe finds you, but what he doesn’t expect is the bottle of Hennessy that’s not only open but already halfway empty and sitting beside you.

He doesn’t try to hide his presence and is unsurprised when you ask, “How’d you find me?”

“Wasn’t that hard,” he answers. It wasn’t. He remembers almost everything you’ve ever told him about yourself, including how this spot has always been your place to escape.

Just what were you escaping from is what has him stumped.

“Sit down.” You pat the space beside you much harder than what’s necessary. He sighs and asks for a minute, pulling out the phone and stepping away to make a call.

Your mom answers on the third ring. “Did you find her?”

“Yeah,” Joe runs his hand over his face. “I got her, but….can you take Callie back to your place?”

“Why? What’s wrong?”

He looks over again at the bottle. “She’s drunk.”

“Drunk?” It sounds like she’s holding back a chuckle, like his words are humorous because everyone knows you don’t drink, and she says as such. “What do you mean she’s drunk? My child doesn’t even drink.”

“She did tonight” Joe’s eyes fall back over to you to see you still sitting, swaying slightly as if listening to music. There is no music. “And Callie doesn’t need to see her like this.” He especially knows you wouldn’t want her to see you like this.

Your mom sighs, heavily, on the other end. “You’ll stay with her, right?”

“Of course.” That’s not even a question. “And once I get her settled, if Callie is still up—”

“Oh, she’ll be up. She can’t fall asleep unless she talks to you or her mama.” It feels like an inappropriate response, but there’s a small part of Joe that finds joy in this. He remembers when you mentioned to him before that Callie needed to see and/or speak to you before she could fall asleep, a sign of how closely bonded you two were. To be added to that category means everything to him. “Thank you, Joseph.”

He sees no need in being thanked but acknowledges your mom’s appreciation anyway. “Of course.” The call ends, and he brings his focus back to you. The first thing he does is take away the bottle of Henny.

You see this and instantly scowl. “You’re no fun.”

He sits next to you, asking in a quiet voice, “what happened tonight, Y/N?” Joe is still utterly confused at all of this, your zero to one hundred change in demeanor. But, the fact that you resulted to drinking shows him just how heavy whatever it was has impacted you. “Talk to me.”

You laugh, but there isn’t an ounce of humor. “God, where do I start?” Your eyes light up, as if realizing something. “Oooh. I know where.” You lean into his shoulder, whispering, “I’m the product of an affair.”

This piece of information definitely takes him by surprise.

He's noticed you've never talked about your father, and he's never asked. Obviously, it was a sensitive topic, that much he could garner. But now, he knows just why it was sensitive.

“I don't—I don't know exactly what happened between them. She’s never really talked about it, but I do remember when I was younger, maybe—maybe a couple years older than Callie, he was—he was at the house.” You swallow, and Joe can see the distance in your eyes, like you’re no longer sitting here beside him. But someplace else. “She told me to go to my room, but I snooped at the top of the steps. Don’t….don’t really remember everything that was said except that she was literally begging this man to have some type of relationship with me, and he refused.” You laugh suddenly, and it’s so out of place, doesn't make sense given the nature of the conversation. But it does if he factors in the liquor coursing through your system. “He called me a m–mistake.”

Joe's heart aches at your words. “Baby—”

“When I was sixteen years old, I worked at a clothing store in town, and I saved up my money for this necklace…it was gold, and I thought—I thought it was so pretty. It made me feel fancy.” You chuckle, not as humorous this time, head tilting. “And once I finally got the necklace, I drove—I drove an hour away because…because after all those years, I still….I wanted to meet my father. I wanted…I wanted him to be in my life.”

“He’s uh—or was, I’m not sure anymore—captain of police in his town, so I went to the precinct to meet him, wearing that necklace that I worked months to save up for because…because I wanted to look nice. I remember walking into his office, and I was nervous, but—but I also figured there was no way he could reject me then. I—I was head cheerleader. A straight A student. I—I had just gotten a near perfect score on both my SAT and ACT. I was…I was a good kid, Joe.”

Your jaw fixes, and he can see you’re trying to hold back tears. It kills him to see you this upset. He’s never seen you this vulnerable. “And I—I told him all that. I told him I wanted to see if he wanted a relationship with me, and do you know what he told me?” You suddenly stand up, clearly intending to mimic this interaction. “A relationship? Why would I want a relationship with you? You’re not even supposed to exist.”

You giggle, eyes watering. Joe frowns. He can’t even begin to fathom how someone can say something like that to their own flesh and blood.

“Oh, but that’s not even the best part.” You’re doing one hell of a job playing this all off as something that isn’t impacting you, no doubt thanks to the alcohol. But, he knows you well enough to know and even see where this is headed. “He—” you hiccup, covering your mouth to hide your giggles. “He said again that I was a mistake that he paid my mom to take care of and—” It’s starting to crack, the alcohol induced facade that all of this is fine, that you don’t care. Your voice starts to catch. “---that the money he gave her for an abortion was the biggest waste of money he ever spent.”

“Y/N—”

“Minutes later, his wife walked in and then—and then his daughter walked in, and I—I ran. I couldn’t….I couldn’t—we looked the same age, Joe. He had a daughter already, he–he didn’t need me. He didn't—he didn’t want me.” You sniffle, wiping at your eyes. “And that’s fine, I—I didn’t care. I—I blocked that out after that day. I’d—I’d forgotten about him.” A beat. “Until tonight.”

“Because—because for the first time since I was sixteen years old, I was in front of all of them again. My—my—father, his wife, my—-”

Joe starts putting the pieces together. “Bianca….”

“She’s my sister,” you answer for him, having a hard time keeping it all in at this point. “She’s the one he’s proud of. She’s the one whose kid he claims as his grandchild. She’s the one he acknowledges. I’m just—I’m just the mistake he wishes was never born.”

Joe stands up, gradually moving toward you.

“I did everything right. I stayed out of trouble. I went to school. I got my degree. I did—-” He’s in front of you, gently pulling you into him as you finally break. “I don’t understand why he didn’t want me. I’m his daughter.” you finally shatter, crying into his chest. “What’s wrong with me?”

“Hey, hey—” Joe brings his hands to your face, making you look at him. “There is nothing wrong with you. You are an amazing, intelligent, beautiful woman, and I can’t even begin to describe how amazing of a mother you are.” He wipes away your tears as you clutch onto his shirt. “He doesn’t deserve you, baby. He doesn’t deserve to be in your life. He never did, and he never will. Fuck him. You don’t need shit from him. I’ve got you, okay? Always.” You allow him to hold you, to comfort you, because it’s just what you need in this moment. You tried to find it in solitude, tried to find it at the bottom of a liquor bottle, but it was all in vain. You just needed him.

Joe holds you as long as you allow him, letting you cry it out until he's eventually able to guide you into returning to your apartment.

But outside the door is when you hesitate.

He notices this, immediately asking, “what’s wrong?”

Your eyes start watering again. “Callie…I—I don’t want her to—”

He shakes his head, kissing the top of your head. “I asked your mom to take her back to her place. I’ll go check on her after I get you straight.”

This seems to settle some of your anxiety, and he continues to guide you into your bedroom. He helps you out of your clothes and into a simple t-shirt that he recognizes as one of his own.

Joe moves all of your decorative pillows, placing them on the chair in the corner of your room as you pull back the blankets. He turns around to find you reaching for his hand, tugging him towards the bed. “Just—just until I fall asleep.”

He doesn’t object. Joe planned to stay with you until then anyway.

He undresses enough to climb into bed with you, and you waste no time burying yourself into his chest, feeling an instant sense of peace when he wraps his strong arms around you. You’ve always felt so safe and protected in his embrace, and in this moment, it’s everything you need.

“I realized something tonight,” you mumble into his skin. Joe’s hand is under your shirt, hand moving soothing circles on the small of your back. “I—I didn’t keep Callie from you because of your wife. That was part of the reason, but it wasn’t the main reason.” You lift your head, throat feeling pressured as you allow yourself to finally admit, “the truth is that I was terrified you would reject her the way my dad rejected me, and I never wanted her to feel that way. And I know now that you would never do that to her, but I—I didn’t know then, and I was so wrong, and I’m so sorry. I—”

“Hey—” He cuts you off, hand going to palm your cheek. “Don’t do that. I understand why you did it now, I do. You were trying to protect her. I can’t be upset with you for that. I’m not.” He studies your face, your eyes, always so beautiful to him. “I don’t think I could ever be mad at you for too long.”

It’s not a lie. Joe’s always thought he’s known you like the back of his hand, learned you so well, but tonight has shown him that he didn’t know everything. He’ll never get back the time he missed out on with Callie, and maybe on some level there will always be a slither of resentment. But, it’s not enough for him to notice and most definitely not enough for him to actually feel.

He’s not quite sure how he could find it in him to hold your decision against you. It didn’t come from a place of selfishness or vindictiveness but love and protectiveness. You just wanted to keep her from experiencing the pain and trauma you’d endured.

There was no faulting that.

And you accept his grace, so understanding and considerate. You feel slightly undeserving but immensely grateful that he can extend such empathy.

You’re quiet after that, eyes shut as you work to turn off your brain and decompress what’s inarguably been one of the most difficult days of your life. You’re almost in the early stages of sleep when his voice invades the quietness.

“I love you.” Joe doesn’t feel any sort of movement at his confession, doesn’t feel you tense or relax. He’s not even sure if you’re still awake, but still, he continues. “I’ve always loved you, and I don’t even know how much of this you’ll remember tomorrow, but that doesn’t matter because I’ve always imagined telling you under much different circumstances anyway.”

“I want to be with you,” he continues. “I’ve always wanted to be with you, and I’m sorry for not putting you first. You deserved better than that. I should have gotten divorced long before I even met you. And that’s….something we eventually need to talk about. I owe you that much.”

He wants to say more, so much more, but he also knows now is not the time given he’s almost certain you’re asleep. Hence why he finally slips out of bed, knowing he needs to check on Callie.

He doesn’t leave without caressing your cheek and kissing your temple, relieved that you’re finally getting some rest following what was inexplicably an emotionally draining day.

But you’re not asleep, and you did hear it.

You heard it all.

________

“Who are you?”

Joe walked into your moms house, not expecting anyone other than your mom and Callie. Only one of those individuals are present, and the other is a man he’s never in his life seen before but automatically doesn’t like. Just his aura seems off.

Joe especially hates that this man is in the same house as his little girl.

Your mom seems taken back by this side of him and explains, “Joe, this is Amir. He’s, uhh, an old friend of Y/N. He saw her run off and wanted to check in on her.”

The day's events are definitely a contributing factor as Joe feels exhausted, both mentally and physically, but hearing that this is the infamous Amir instantly angers him. What the hell is he doing here?

“You bold as hell coming here.” is all Joe says, redirecting his attention to your mom. “Y/N tell you that she found out he and Mariah been sleeping with each other?”

What he wants to say is that they’ve been fucking, but he wants to remain respectful. Even if it is hard as hell.

Your mom is looking, mouth ajar, between Joe and Amir. “Wh–what is he talking about, Amir?”

“So you’re the one that’s been feeding those lies into her.” Deflection. It’s a typical bitch move. “You talking a lot of shit for someone who abandoned his own kid and just came back on the scene like ain't nothing happened.”

If not for the fact that you’ve already explained to Joe that you’d never told Amir what really happened between you and him because it was none of his business, Joe would have been livid. He would never abandon you. And definitely never Callie. Ever.

He’d have been with you every fucking step of the way the minute you found out you were pregnant if he’d been given the chance.

But all of that is no business of this asshole’s.

“You can say or think whatever the hell you want about me. It doesn’t matter. You’re irrelevant, regardless, so the same way you walked your ass in here is the same way you can walk your ass right on out.”

“Apparently not to Y/N.” He’s smug, and it takes a tremendous amount of willpower for Joe to not lay this man out right then and there. He doesn’t know why you would ever settle for the likes of this prick. “Not with how many times she ended up in my bed.”

Joe partially forgot your mom was even in the same vicinity until she gasps loudly, clearly disgusted, “my Lord. Please, this is my daughter you’re speaking about.”

With a low chuckle, Joe tries his best to remain respectful yet still abundantly clear. “And how many times has she reached out to you since I’ve been back?” His silence is all the answer Joe needs, not that he really needs one at all. Joe knows you have eyes and desire for him and him alone. He just needs to prove a point to this motherfucker. “I’m not asking you. I’m telling you to stay the fuck away from my girlfriend and especially my daughter, cause the next time it won’t be no conversation.”

And before Amir can say or even, stupidly, do anything, a new smaller voice enters the scene.

“Daddy!”

Joe is unsure if he’ll ever get over the joy that fills him at being called that. Callie is at the top of the steps but proceeds to rush down when she sees him, Joe leaning down and catching her, picking her up.

“Hey, sweetheart.” He kisses her cheek, noticing almost immediately how tired she looks. Understandable, as it’s almost 11 o’ clock, far past her bedtime. Uncomfortable with this Amari or whatever the fuck his name is being so close to Callie, Joe starts leading her back up the stairs.

With a frown, she asks the question he was expecting. “Where’s mommy?”

“She’s back at the apartment sleeping.” Joe is unsure just how to explain tonight’s events to Callie, not really knowing how to help her understand what occurred, if at all possible. “I’ll take you to see her tomorrow morning as soon as she wakes up.”

Joe walks her into her room at your mom’s place and seats her on the bed, sitting next to her. “What’s wrong with her?”

Such a simple question in wording and massively difficult in every other area, especially when one considers Callie’s young age.

“Mommy saw someone who was very mean to her when she was little, and it made her sad, so….she just wanted to be alone.” It’s the best, simplest answer that’s not a lie he can come up with on the spot.

Callie’s frown deepens. “I don’t want mommy to be sad.”

“Neither do I, baby,” he murmurs. “But, I talked with her, and she should start feeling better soon, okay?”

Her frown diminishes slightly, and Joe can tell she’s in thought. She then asks, “are you gonna go stay with mommy tonight?”

“I was, but I can stay with you, if you want me to.” Joe knows you’ll probably sleep throughout the night because of the alcohol and more importantly, if Callie needs him, he’s there. No questions asked.

You would do the same.

She suddenly shakes her head. “Mommy stays with me when I’m sad, so someone’s gotta stay with her while she’s sad.” Her face grows sullen again as she asks with a yawn, “do you still have to leave tomorrow morning?”

“No, I leave tomorrow night instead.”

In the midst of all of tonight’s chaos, he’d managed to switch flights, picking an evening one instead. Joe let Hunter know there was a family emergency, and that he’d be back later than initially expected. Hunter was understanding, and while he was grateful for that, it didn’t really make a difference.

You and Callie come first.

She’s obviously partially pleased with this information and moves her body against his, laying her head on his arm. “I’m sleepy….”

Reaching to caress her cheek with his finger, he directs, “get some rest, Callie. I’ll stay with you until you fall asleep.”

She doesn’t say anything, just closes her eyes. It doesn’t take long for sleep to overtake her, a mere matter of minutes really. He stays with her longer though, just to be sure, needing to know she’s okay.

He needs both of yall to be okay.

________

You wake up with an instant sense of unease and discomfort. Your head is throbbing, and your body feels heavy. Your chest feels pressured, like there’s some invisible weight on it.

But in a matter of seconds, it all comes rushing back to you. The fireworks. Bianca. Seeing your dad. Running. Drinking.

"I love you."

Eyes shutting, you do your best to settle your brain because only one thing is at the front of your mind when you hear giggling coming from outside of your closed door.

Callie

Just how in the hell did your brief mental breakdown affect your child?

Pushing the blankets off, it’s then you notice the bottle of water and white pill sitting on your nightstand. Picking it up, you see it’s Advil.

“Joe…..” you whisper, realizing he must have left it here waiting for you once you woke up. Eyes watering at his thoughtfulness, you swallow it and head straight for the bathroom. You need to get cleaned up and get out there to see what kind of damage you’ve unintentionally inflicted on your child’s psyche.

You know how attached she is to you and don’t even allow yourself to think about how difficult it must have been to be so abruptly ripped away.

Especially when you’re the one who did the ripping.

The shower is kept to a minimum, and once your teeth are brushed and face clean, you don’t hesitate to step out of the room. Following the path of sound, in the kitchen is where you find Callie. With Joe.

They’re sharing a quiet laugh, and you’re certain it’s quiet because he told her you needed your rest. Always looking out for you.

However, it’s when Callie happens to glance your way that her eyes go big.

“Mommy!”

She surprisingly climbs off the counter instead of outright jumping and runs over to you. You kneel down to meet her for her hug, so tight and welcoming. “Do you feel better?”

“Oh baby, I’m always better when I get to see you.” Kissing her forehead, you add, gently, “mommy’s sorry for scaring you.” And it's true. You never meant to scare her or make her worry about you, and it's something you'll work as hard as necessary to make up to her.

But your sweet child surprises you with her authentic, mature reassurances. “It’s okay. Daddy said you were sad,” she explains and gasps. “I made you something to make you smile!”

Touched, you palm her cheek. She really is the light of your life. “I’d love to see it, baby.”

“Okay! I’ll be right back.” She rushes out of the kitchen, and you take the opportunity to talk to Joe. Wordlessly, you move over to hug him.

“Thank you.” There’s not enough thank yous to show him just how appreciative you are to have him in your life, to have him as Callie’s father. He took such control yesterday while you were busy drowning in your daddy issues. And now he’s still here when you’re almost certain that he was supposed to have flown out at the crack of dawn. “I’m really sorry about last night. That’s not—-I don’t get drunk. I would never leave Callie like that—“

“I don’t care about any of that,” he dismisses. You believe him, as he looks entirely uninterested in any explanation you want to provide him because he sees it as unnecessary. He takes the back of hand to feel your forehead. “How are you feeling? Did you take the Advil?”

Nodding, you try again, “seriously, Joe. You’ve changed your whole schedule around—“

“You needed me,” he answers. “There was nothing to think about.”

And the tears are brewing again, but for very different reasons. This man is everything you’ve always wanted and dreamed of, even better. And he loves you. He wants to be with you. Your daughter's father wants to establish a life with you, be a family. What logical reason do you have to continue to deny him? Deny yourself?

“Joe…..” Licking your lips, you place your hands on his chest. “I lo—”

“Here it is, mommy!”

Callie’s interruption is both perfect and imperfect timing. You want so badly to tell him that you love him too, that you also want to be with him. But maybe it’s not the best timing, maybe the setting should be different.

You want him to know you love him not just because of the aftershocks of vulnerability. That you’re in love with him and have been since you were 23 years old.

Callie is at your legs, holding up a drawing she created of you surrounded by hearts. Her artwork has always been her favorite form of expression, and you’re so grateful for her pure, kind heart in this moment.

Holding it against your chest, you lean down to accept her hug. “Thank you so much, baby. I love it.”

“Yay!” She rejoices and then looks up between the two of you. “Daddy and I made you breakfast!”

Gasping, you ask, “really?” It’s only then you notice the kitchen, while cleaner than one would expect after preparing breakfast with a four-year-old, you see the counters that have food laid out on a variety of plates and tupperware. “Waffles?”

“Your favorite.” Joe reaches to kiss your temple, and lightly pats your hip. “Sit down, we’ll fix it for you.”

You open your mouth to protest when Callie takes your hand and guides you to the barstools and scampers back over to Joe who picks her up, holding her with one arm while the other fixes your breakfast for you. He allows her to point and dictate what goes on your plate and how it’s fixed.

And you sit there, allowing yourself to take in this moment. There’s so much you need to navigate and sort through. Bianca, your dad, Mariah, hell, even finally being honest with Joe about your feelings. But, all of that can wait.

Because all that matters right now are the two people you love most in this world.

#roman reigns x black!oc #roman reigns x black!reader #roman reigns fic #roman reigns #arisnotebook #black writers

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deepfakefart · 8 months ago

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EDIT: please see @cliffsideview's replies for more info! Tragically it is sounding more probable that it was a suicide spurred by a long period of bullying. Every person who participated, every teacher who stood by, every legislator who is a proponent of the anti-trans bills – every one of them is complicit in Nex's death. Ryan Walters specifically has blood on his hands.

They're ruling Nex Benedict's death a suicide. Death due to "combined toxicity" of fluoxetine (Prozac) and diphenhydramine (benadryl). Let's explore this.

Fluoxetine is known to cause seizures at very high dosages but rarely causes death. In one case study, 1.4 grams of Prozac likely caused a seizure but not death in an adult woman. "A dose as low as 520 mg of fluoxetine has been associated with a lethal outcome, but there’s record of someone taking 8 grams of fluoxetine and recovering," according to Healthline. ("Associated with" does not necessarily mean the sole cause!) Diphenhydramine overdose has been known to cause death at doses of 20mg/kg or greater; in the USA in 2017, it was involved (but not necessarily the sole factor) in 3% of OD deaths according to the CDC. I've no clue how much Nex weighed but I based my math on a 100lb person. A lethal dose of diphenhydramine at that weight would have been approx 900mg. There is no known lethal dose of fluoxetine for humans. It can vary greatly but is generally safe and generally requires very large doses to cause seizures let alone death. There are no known serious drug interactions between these two drugs.

But let's say there is some interaction at unusually high doses that I don't know about because this is an extremely unusual combination for a suicide attempt. We know that Benadryl is much easier to OD on than Prozac is. So let's pull some numbers out of our asses and say 750mg of diphenhydramine plus 3g of fluoxetine equals lethal dose for a 100lb teenager.

The typical upper range of fluoxetine dosage is 80mg/day. If we assume that Nex was taking 100mg of fluoxetine/day and he had access to a full 30 day supply, that's 3 grams. Add confounding head trauma and diphenhydramine toxicity and...maybe???

But we're talking about someone downing a full or nearly full 30 day supply of high doses of fluoxetine AND about 30 tablets of Benadryl. And there were no signs until he entered the living room and collapsed? Fluoxetine toxicity can cause rapid heartbeat, irritability, nausea, vomiting, dizziness, etc. Diphenhydramine toxicity can cause confusion, irregular heartbeat, agitation, nausea, vomiting, etc. This combo seems like a very uncomfortable and unpleasant way to go and I'm meant to believe he was quiet, not vomiting, not agitated, not terrified – just walked into the living room and collapsed? Unless he was exhibiting those symptoms and Sue didn't say anything about it which doesn't add up either. She said Nex went to bed with a headache and we have audio of the 911 call. She mentions their eyes rolling back and their hands "posturing" (both those things could be related to brain damage or a seizure).

With the added complication of head trauma (blacking out due to head injury = concussion = brain injury), I guess death is feasible but this just doesn't feel right. I don't know. Maybe it was a perfect storm of circumstances but those two drugs are so hard to OD on, not to mention unpleasant to OD on, and this state is so hostile to trans people it's hard not to approach this with a TON of skepticism.

I hope the Benedict family had their own toxicology and autopsy done.

ETA: for the record, im not saying I agree with the suicide decision, I'm saying "I mean I guess technically it's possible but it seems highly unlikely and incredibly sus and I am not convinced"

#nex benedict #transgender #non binary #cw death #cw violence #cw overdose #oklahoma #cw sui mention

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iwannascreameurekaa · 28 days ago

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pjo characters as quotes part 2

Will to Nico: "Here's your Benadryl, it appears Kayla has ripped up a piece of the flooring so if you go to the bathroom just be careful not to stub your toe"

Nico: "...okay"

Jason: "I am not a dog"

Leo: "Yes you are"

Piper: "i bet on loosing dogs"

Leo: "Is it possible to have an autistic dog?"

Will: "wtf"

Piper: "I'm sprinkling sexual tension on them like Parmesan cheese"

*Taylor swift music blasting while they're watching tv*

Hazel: "is Will able to turn down his music or"

Nico: "will turn down Taylor swift"

Will: "you're not a swiftie!!" *music immediately turns off*

*lightning strikes*

Rachel: "Looks like the gods are telling you no!!"

Hazel, in an extremely gleeful voice: "Do it again circus monkey!!"

Annabeth: "You know how to use the microwave, I'm not worried about your happiness"

Will: "*mockingly* "The boogeyman's gonna get you" *normal voice* I will kiss the boogyman. On the mouth."

Nico: "what"

Piper: "greys anatomy is one piece for white people"

Leo: "I am a fricking car"

Jason: "cars can't speak"

Pipers: "he's kinda proof that they can"

Hazel: "what's thunder thighs? Does it strike lightning"

Jason: "I'm sorry since when was I a twink"

Piper: "since your birth"

Jason: "then what is Leo????"

Piper: "a double twink"

Random person: "turn to god"

Piper: "turn to Chappell Roan"

Will to Nico: "DO YOU NEED A LAMP? I CAN STAND IN THE CORNER OF THE ROOM SILENTLY PLEASE"

Will: "my parents chose normal daughter but something happened in the process and they got Hamilton son"

Nico: "I wanna be a bibically accurate angel when I grow up"

Leo: "you're a bibically accurate plastic bag"

Leo to Piper: "You poked me with your long fricking female nails"

Percy: "I'm a strong boy"

Annabeth: "if you're such a strong boy can you help me put away towels"

Percy: "I said I'm a strong boy not a smart boy"

Annabeth: "the gods are gonna strike you if you touch his stuff"

Nico *pointing at every character that has died in the series*: "DEAD DECEASED KILLED MURDERED"

Nico *pointing at Jason*: "CYBERPUNKED"

Hazel, just learning about Bluetooth speakers in cars: "i would be a bad driver bc I would be listening to music and swerve to the beat"

Percy to idk who:*pointing to a tv that says "predator"* "thats YOU!"

Leo: hi Frank!

Frank:...I wish I had a prosthetic leg so I could take it off and throw it at you

Leo: what 🧍‍♂️

(Note: I love their beef sm make them kiss now)

Will to Nico: "Time for sleep!! *pause* oh wait I forgot you can't sleep the city needs you!"

Annabeth: "Don't make enemies if you're allergic to peanut butter."

#will solace #nico di angelo #leo valdez #jason grace #piper mclean #hazel levesque #frank zhang #annabeth chase #percy jackson #percabeth #valgrace #valzhang #solangelo #trials of apollo #heros of olympus #rick riordan

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howlett-n-morgan · 1 month ago

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Take Me Home

5. Blood Stains

Arthur Morgan x Texas Red!Reader

A/n: HEY GUYS I AM BACK WITH A DOOSIE. okay so my fashion show was fantastic, let me know if y'all wanna see a video of my collection i think it turned out pretty damn good. anyways, wrote this while crocked off my ass on Benadryl bc allergy season is hitting very very hard right now so if it's not perfect we are all going to collectively blame the Benadryl, okay? okay.

Summary: An accident in the laundry causes chaos in the camp, and secrets are revealed sooner than expected. With everyone else acting like the world is caving in, Arthur steps up as usual.

Warnings: misogyny, major gender role tropes, a little bit of personal violation, but very minor. Susan is a bitch in this chapter (we love Susan). Blood plays a lot into this chapter, and so do menstrual cycles, so if you're uncomfortable with those mentions, this may be a skippable chapter for you. There's also like some sexual implications but nothing inherently sexual happens. I think that's it, let me know if I missed anything.

WC: 7.8k

“Climb up, let’s go to town before closing time,” he walked around to the other side where his horse was hitched from earlier today, still saddled since Bill hadn’t made his rounds yet. You complied, but were unsure of the motives for such a trip. “Is Dutch paying you to take me somewhere? He want you to kill me quietly?”

In the weeks since John’s disappearance, you’ve noticed three things:

One, Dutch hasn’t barely been seen in the camp, and when he makes his presence known, it’s either angry or forlorn. Two, the entire gang has been very quiet, not wanting to set off Dutch, or make anyone else upset with the matter. Three, Arthur has done as he said he would, becoming closer with Abigail, and helping nightly with Jack.

It shouldn’t break your heart, because you had no right for it to. You shouldn’t be distancing yourself from the both of them, they didn’t do anything to deserve it, but the way your chest tightened by watching them, watching Arthur gently place a hand on her shoulder as he watched Jack squirm in her arms was far too miserable. Abigail won’t speak of it, knowing that everyone has been on edge since her former lover left, but she missed the talks and conversations you held. You understood her, and though she didn’t exactly know the truth as to why, she was still partially in grief over that bond, too.

Arthur takes immediate notice, but doesn’t say anything. Hosea had mentioned your run in with John the evening he took off. He figured you needed time to cope with the situation, even if you didn’t know John all that well, or even like him for that matter. Everyone in camp was dealing with it differently, so why should he judge the way you handled yourself?

It was only when you stopped talking to him altogether that he became slightly concerned, and he wasn’t the only one.

When Dutch first brought you into the gang, he knew there was some subtle competition with you and Arthur. The two fastest guns in the west, hell, maybe even the world… but you butted heads often. He didn’t know why it had suddenly stopped, but his concern grew from being in both your presences at the same time, and the icy feeling he got just from standing between you, running over job details in a tent.

It was like Arthur didn’t exist to you anymore. Everything you said and did was conveyed to the people around him, but never to him. You would even give news to a big group of people to avoid telling Arthur directly.

Dutch knew there was something wrong, because he could have sworn you both were inches away from getting along, but now it was worse than square one. It was after a successful job that he said something about it. After you had deliberately handed Arthur’s cut to Javier and told him to give it to the next man over.

You’d ridden back, safe and sound, but Dutch held you back, nodding the others away from the horse troughs.

“Talk with me for a bit, will ya son?” He tried to approach the situation gently. This couldn’t have been a gradual thing.

“F’course,” you muttered, hands resting on your gun belt as you followed him into the center of camp.

“I’ve been noticing some… strange behavior from you towards Arthur. Only lately…” he scratched his head, looking at you expectantly. “You can tell me if he did somethin’ to piss you off, I’ll speak with him about it.”

You furrowed your brow and shook your head. “He didn’t do nothin’ to piss me off… I’ve just always been better off on my own, don’t wanna rely on anyone.”

“I can understand that sentiment, but it doesn’t make any damn sense as to why you’re givin’ him the cold shoulder,” he furthered his point, and you didn’t have any choice but to make something else up. Something that could actually be worth what you were doing to Arthur. Your head told you that the truth of ‘I’m actually a young woman and I’m catching feelings for your gang enforcer’ wouldn’t help you.

“He’s been tryna hold me back,” you sighed out, as if revealing some huge secret. It was partially true, but you’d grown more relaxed about the protection Arthur had been trying to provide. Still, you kept on the charade, knowing it would get you out of this situation free and clear. “M’tired of him thinkin’ I can’t keep up, tired of feelin’ like a helpless kid next to ‘im.”

Dutch let out a breath and narrowed his eyes. “I see… and so you figured it best to keep him out of arm’s reach, is that it?”

“Guess so,” you shrugged, leaning against the pole of his big tent.

And then it seemed that Dutch saw this as a teaching moment, because he nodded for you to sit down on one of the cross latch boxes, across from where he stood. He had a whole spiel oncoming, and you were almost sure you knew what it would contain. Something about the camp being a family, everyone sticking together and more nonsense of the like.

“You don’t understand this now, because you’ve never had a time of need in this gang… but that day will come,” he paused, and you perhaps had it all wrong, listening intently now. He pointed in the direction of Arthur’s camp set up, and you glanced over, not for the first time that day. He was tired, hunched over his cot and leaning in exhaustion, running his hand over his face. “And when you are in that time of need, there is no better man to have in your corner than Arthur Morgan.”

You nodded in understanding, a small frown on your face. You wanted to protect yourself, but if what Dutch says is true, you’re only setting yourself up for failure.

“He’s been here a long time, and no matter your opinion of him, no matter the things you do or the things you say, he’s loyal. It ain’t up to me what you decide to do, but you should know, he’s the best ally you’re ever gonna have.”

And just like that, you regretted the past weeks. Everything you did to avoid him, getting up early to grab some of the coffee before he came by. Going out and hunting without letting anyone know, just so that he didn’t have a chance to come with you. Even going as far as to mend your own clothing and do your own laundry, knowing he might catch you at one of the girl’s stations while picking up your weekly wears. You felt awful. You remembered at least four times he tried to approach you before he just gave up. At the time you were grateful, because you thought it was making things easier for you, but in actuality, the things Dutch said were true. You needed him in your corner. There would be a time of need, and Arthur was the best ally to have when that time would come, whatever it may be.

“I think I oughta go set things right, then,” you let out, your ego deflating slightly when your eyes met Dutch again.

“If you think it’s best,” he nodded, switching places with you and watching you walk over to his favored outlaw, the man he called his son. He called you son, too. You wondered if that would hold up if he ever found out about you.

Arthur was on the verge of sleep, but you were doing this now. You could apologize later.

“You look like shit,” you tried to be nonchalant, and not bring any emotion into this.

When he looked up, he was slightly annoyed, but his face softened once he looked at you for a moment.

“Feel like shit,” he grumbled, trying to understand what you were doing here. You didn’t exactly give him reason to believe he was important to you anymore. “Did you need something?”

You kicked the dirt beneath your boot, trying to keep yourself composed, but you weren’t too good at these things, and the amount of shear stiffness in your body wasn’t helping you to relax about it.

“I think I owe you an apology,” you started, and he tilted his head in slight confusion. Sure, he knew what you were apologizing for, but he didn’t know why. “I’ve been avoidin’ you, n’ I shouldn’t have.”

He nodded in thanks, accepting your words. You stood awkwardly, unsure if you should say more or just leave, but when you turned your boot to walk, he stopped you.

“Did I piss you off or somethin’?”

Why was everyone asking that?

“No, ain’t nothing you did. Just my own stupid ass and things that don’t matter,” you told him. You felt even worse now, because you’d made both him and Dutch think that it was something he did wrong. He could rarely do any wrong in your eyes, which made this whole ordeal that much worse.

“Matters enough, you stopped talking to me. Couldn’t even get you to look my way.”

You didn’t want him to know anything else. With him and Abigail rapidly forming a blossoming relationship, it wasn’t for you to stand in their way. Jack needed a father figure, and Arthur was the perfect candidate.

“I’m sorry about it. I swear it won’t happen again,” you really wanted to leave this time, unsure of how far it may go in the event of a deep conversation… but he caught your wrist and gently tugged it back towards where he sat as soon as you started turning away again.

“You gotta give me somethin’, Red. I’ve waited weeks just to ask you,” he pleaded, his tired eyes looking through you and trying to enter your mind. You caved just as soon as you saw how badly this affected him. You hurt him. He might be big, burly, and dangerous… but he bleeds, and his heart can be wounded as easily as anyone else’s.

“I’ve been going through some things, and you’ve had a lot on your plate with Jack and Abigail. It’s not fair of me to make my burdens your burdens… I was tryna keep you out of it,” you admitted, which was only half true. The partial truths of the night were stacking up, but fortunately he couldn’t tell the difference right now, too tired and unfocused to really study your features and what you were hiding.

“Red,” he sighed, not yet prying for more information, but giving you one last glance. “You can tell me things. Remember that.”

You nodded, smiling at him for the first time since John left. “Alright.”

You stopped avoiding and ignoring Arthur, but things were still distant. You’d been getting close right after Jack was born, but going into his third month in the world, you two were miles apart. Still, it was better than the stone cold facade you’d been turning to him before.

“Got any laundry?” Susan asked, breaking you out of your trance as you watched the sun setting. You weren’t really paying much attention, but nodded, reaching behind you into your tent for a sheet full of worn out and dirty clothing. You should have looked it over, but you didn’t, too caught up in your own mind. “You can ask the girls about getting it back tomorrow, they’ve been going stir crazy for things to do.”

“Yes ma’am,” you nodded, tipping your hat and leaning back against your small tent’s middle pole. You had half a mind to slide your hat over your eyes for a nap, but that didn’t seem like it would fly, especially if one of the others needed you for something.

You could definitely use a nap, you were cramping like crazy. You swore if Bill came up to you and asked for any more favors with the damn horses this week you’d kill him, but only because you were feeling grumpy.

You wanted so badly to confide in Arthur about these things, the troubles of womanhood that you couldn’t share with anyone else but him. You wondered if he would ever tell anyone, since it’s been almost five months of your residence and you have yet to reveal your secrets to everyone else. Maybe you were being paranoid, but the closer he got to Abigail and the further you pushed him away, you thought he might care less about the agreement you both made. After all, spilling your secret to Dutch would gain him loyalty points, and Dutch seemed all too happy to be giving them out since John left.

It was about an hour later when there was a shriek at the other side of camp, and many ran over to see what the trouble was.

Tilly had been sitting by her wash bin, but had pulled her hands out on account of one thing.

“What’s the matter, Tilly?” you heard Sean over your shoulder, and when you finally saw the trouble your eyes widened and you muttered a single word under your breath.

“Shit.”

“What’s shit?” Arthur’s voice was also heard beside you now, and you turned to him ever so slightly with a whisper.

“Me, I’m in deep shit.”

Tilly showed everyone the water, with some clothing swirling around, but it was all tinted red.

“I think someone’s been hurt,” she said, waving over Mrs. Grimshaw to show her the problem. “There’s blood in the water.”

You tried to casually back up slowly, hoping that it wouldn’t get traced back to you, after all, the clothing in the bin was yours, and Mrs. Grimshaw had just picked up the pile from you. You were just stupid enough to leave your monthly attire in with it, and during your monthly time, too. You were only two days into the cycle, meaning there had been a lot of blood.

Grimshaw, being the stern and impatient woman she was, rolled her sleeves up and dug around in the water, looking for clothing with holes to indicate a stab or bullet wound… but she only found:

“A sanitary apron?” She furrowed her brows. She was pretty in tune with the women of the camp, and hadn’t been aware that someone was menstruating right now.

“You better run, kid,” Arthur caught on, nudging your shoulder. You’d already started getting further away from the scene, but it seemed Grimshaw already came to a conclusion before you could make a break for it.

“I picked these up from…” she trailed, her brow now seemingly angry and strewn together in a stressful manner. She marched over to you, grabbing your lanky wrist harshly and tugging you away from the scene. “You better not be hidin’ what I think you’re hidin’!”

You held onto your hat as she practically ran you into the nearest tent. It wasn’t hers or yours but that didn’t matter, her urgency was all too apparent.

“Miss Grimshaw, what’s this all about?”

“I have had my suspicions about you since you arrived here,” she spoke intensely, pulling you forward by your belt buckle and doing her best to undo it.

“Hey, hey! What’re ya doin’?!” You tried to protest, but her nimble hands were too persistent, and she finally got your pants loose enough to take a brief peek at what she needed to see. “What the hell, would you stop?!”

“I knew it!” she yelled, a finger pointed in the air.

And just like that, you knew you were screwed.

She quickly ran out of the tent, and you tried to follow her, making a quick attempt at putting your belt back together on the way out.

Arthur ran a hand over his face when first he saw you, and the state you were in. He knew the jig was up, too.

“Where is that man when you need him?” Susan was turning every which way, a mess of herself just trying to frantically look for the camp leader.

“Dutch? He’s in town with Hosea, what’s the problem?” Bill sauntered up, dusting his hands from the work he’d paused.

Pearson and Javier all of a sudden made an appearance, and when you thought nothing could make this worse, the rest of the camp zoned in on the chaos, having had nothing better to do this whole day. It was slow, and there were no jobs to be done, so the boredom consumed minds jumped on the first sign of entertainment they could find, and boy was it something.

“We have an imposter in our midst!” She yelled, her arms waving around wildly.

“Hold on, now…” You tried to interject, but Arthur shot you a look, shaking his head. Don’t do it, kid. Just shut up.

“What do you mean an imposter?” Pearson crossed his arms. He was never one to give bad news of any kind to, because he had a tendency to blow it out of proportion. “Who?”

“That,” she pointed at you, her voice raised to the highest decibel count you knew was humanly possible. “Is not an eighteen year old boy! She has been fooling us all. Who even knows where she comes from, what her real name is!”

“What the hell are you even talking about?”

“The kid?”

“Ain’t no way…”

The rapid responses coming forward almost eased your mind, except for the fact that Susan did in fact have up close and personal proof from what she saw.

Arthur stepped forward, and as the murmurs grew louder, and Miss Grimshaw was prepared to go on another rant, he did all he could to calm the situation.

“Let’s not make any rash judgements right now,” he gave you a look, trying to let you see he was attempting to help, but that you needed to leave. “We’ll just wait until Dutch and Hosea get back.”

You took that as a cue to leave, awkwardly making way for your tent.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Susan tried to chase after you, but Arthur held her back.

“Wait for Dutch,” he said, his arm blocking her path. Who knows what she’d do in this state? She’d been known to whip some of the boys into compliance before, who knows what she’d do to someone she viewed as an imposter.

Sitting with the flaps closed, you could still hear everything that was occurring outside, and it nerved you far more than being in the middle of it all.

“It doesn’t make any sense…” and “Do you think it’s true?” could be heard from separate conversations, and you wished more than anything that you’d just done your own damn laundry.

Your face fell in your hands, and you started going over all the things that could happen. Dutch could hate you for lying to him, and kick you out, banishing you as far as you could go. Or, since you were a newbie, and didn’t have the trust factor built yet, maybe they would just shoot you dead. That may have been an extreme idea, but with your rapidly beating heart and increasing worry, things like that were bound to spill in. Not like you’d been in a gang before, you didn’t exactly get an etiquette and rule book when you arrived. Who knew what would happen to you. Nothing good, that you knew.

When Arthur finally opened the flap and leaned down inside the small dwelling, you knew it was time to face the music.

“Dutch is back, Susan’s tellin’ him everything,” he sighed, looking over your face and feeling a sense of guilt that he didn’t do anything to stop all of this. When you first arrived he thought maybe it wouldn’t be a big deal, but having experienced this much drama in just the past hour has most definitely led him to believe he was wrong.

When you stayed silent, and didn’t really give him a reaction of any kind, he could tell you were hit hard with the anxiety and shock of it all. He couldn’t ever get you to shut up, and he often didn’t want to, most of all now when you looked like a scared animal.

“I ain’t gonna let ‘em hurt ya, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

You shook your head, and against your hardest efforts, tears were backing your eyes, looking for ways to escape. He hadn’t ever seen you like this, and it wasn’t pleasant.

“I don’t wanna leave,” you admitted. You liked it here. You weren’t lonely here, and you had a family… or at least you did an hour ago. You didn’t know where you stood with half of these people.

He couldn’t speak for Dutch or Hosea, or anyone else really, but he could speak for himself.

“I don’t want you to, either…”

When Arthur heard his name called, he leaned back, looking in the direction of his father figure, looking angrier than a pack of hungry wolves.

“Yeah?”

“Tell Brooks to see me, now.”

You didn’t even need the message relayed. You stood up, and followed Arthur out of the tent, your head down as you made the distance to the center tent, the big one you’d been at only a bit ago with council from your leader. You only hoped he’d be so forgiving when he found out you lied to him.

Arthur got into the tent first, mumbling a few things you were a little distracted to hear. You did catch the small ‘don’t be too hard on her’ fall from his mouth, though.

You sat down on the box chest, close to the exit of the tent, just in case things went south and you had to run. Not that you were thinking about running, but again, a million scenarios crossed your mind.

“Arthur, wait outside.”

You grew more tense as soon as those words were uttered, and so did Arthur it would seem.

“Dutch, I think I should-”

“Wait. Outside.”

He reluctantly did as he was told, walking far enough away that he wouldn’t be reprimanded, but still in your eye-line so he could keep an eye on you. He trusted Dutch with the gang members, but if he was considering kicking you out, that made you fair game.

“I’m gonna cut to the chase,” he took a long drag of the cigar he held between his fingers, blowing the smoke out when he turned his head to the side. “You know why you’re here.”

“I reckon I do,” you answered quietly, trying to keep an ounce of confidence though your entire body felt like it would start shaking in fear.

“I could have you stripped for the whole camp to see, but for propriety’s sake I’m only going to ask you this once… is it true?” He asked, his tone less stern but still eager.

“Yes.”

He sighed, having heard the softness in your voice since you came in, he already knew. You’d never shown this side of yourself to the camp before. You were always confident, sure of yourself, cocky even. To think it was an act boiled his skin… but he wanted to take his time with this. You still had capabilities the likes he’s never seen, and if he wasn’t careful they could one day be used against him. You didn’t know about the O’Driscolls yet, and he sure as hell wouldn’t have you running off and joining them. It would be the death of the Van Der Linde gang, of that he was certain.

“I’m gonna decide what to do with you, but until then, you stay out of my sight.”

He pointed outside of the tent, and you were honestly surprised that this was the extent of his questioning. Nothing about the lies? About the history? About anything at all?

You gave him a double glance, but scurried away in fears he might change his mind and tear you to shreds on the spot. You walked hastily towards Arthur, your face gaining more color to it once you were out of the line of danger.

“You alright?” He asked, his furrowed brows reflecting his concern.

“No,” you let out with a dramatic scoff. Your flare for over exaggeration was sometimes quite amusing to him. He just dropped his head and chuckled.

“You’re fine,” he patted your shoulder before stepping past you and going to talk to Dutch. What he knows is that Susan Grimshaw spilled every nasty detail of this afternoon to the camp leader, but he also knows that he hasn’t had his say yet, and when it comes down to it, Dutch will side with his loyal enforcer over a disgruntled Miss Grimshaw.

Dutch was stretching out his arms, sore from the ride in and out of town. It was a scouting trip, really, but it was enough to make him ache when all the stress was added.

“First John leaving, now this. I can’t seem to catch a break, can I?” Dutch sighed out after his words, the toll they took on his mind caused him to shake his head of so many thoughts.

“This ain’t so bad,” Arthur began, tilting his head from side to side.

“How could you possibly think that?”

Arthur shrugged, reasoning with himself a few options before saying them out loud.

“S’not like she did any harm. Only thing that’s come of it is a bit of surprise to everyone…” he trailed, sitting across from the man he called his father figure and his friend. The tension seemed to ease up the second he neared the man, but there was more to be done to diffuse the situation, and he was all too happy to insert himself as the cause of said diffusion.

“She lied about who she is, for all we know she could be working with local law, or worse, the pinkertons.”

Dutch’s raised concerns nearly made Arthur chuckle. When you first got here, facade or not, you were still just lost and looking for somewhere to call home. There were never any motives behind your gang participation other than needing a family.

“We haven’t had them on our trail in ages. Coming here, we finally put a stop to their sniffin’ around. Besides, she’s been the reason for our successful jobs lately… she’s been loyal enough to save my life despite our differences.”

“But she lied to us,” Dutch kept driving his point. A liar’s a liar, and they lie about other things.

“She’s a scared kid, Dutch. She just wants a place to be,” Arthur defended, his arguments becoming more close and personal, which led Dutch to connect some other dots.

He sighed, looking at Arthur and coming to an understanding of what he knew were past events.

“You knew, didn’t you?”

Arthur dropped his head into a subtle nod, not yet meeting Dutch’s eyes for his fear of a bad reaction.

“Since the week she got here.”

Dutch had to laugh, because of course he did. Arthur was more in tune with the members of camp than he could ever be, and more than they could be with each other. He was like Hosea that way, his ability to connect and grow relationships with others was just a natural gift. He often thought it stemmed from Arthur’s great love of the unknown, and his endless curiosity.

“How’d you figure it out?”

“I didn’t, until I found some uh… rather feminine items in her saddle bag. She fessed up pretty quickly to me,” Arthur scratched the back of his neck, his nerves settling when he knew he wouldn’t be in any trouble.

“Well,” Dutch started, coming to the edge of his open tent, looking for the troubled recruit among the busy movement of the camp. “We’ve taken in much worse, and it’s always been in our favor. And you’re right… She's just a scared kid. A scared kid with the quickest hands I’ve ever seen.”

There was a moment, and then Arthur smiled.

“So… She’s free n’ clear?” He asked, his tone hopeful, which Dutch noticed. Perhaps Red had made amends after all, and just as Dutch promised, Arthur was in her corner. This wasn’t her time of need, per se, but he knew she would have him when it arrived.

“I suppose so, although… I’m not going to be responsible for the court of public opinion,” he gestured to everyone in the camp, frantically working around just to keep themselves busy. With all the chaos going on, it’s the only thing they can do not to sit and gossip, which they do anyway.

“I reckon I better keep her away from Susan?”

“With a ten foot pole, preferably,” Dutch rolled his eyes. That woman was full of determination, and it could be both a great strength, as well as her worst weakness.

Arthur smiled, ready to go make good on a promise he’d been waiting on for some time. “I’ll catch you later then.”

“Alright, Arthur.”

You didn’t know if Arthur’s conversation with Dutch would benefit you or condemn you, but you didn’t stick around to find out. He’d found you saddling your horse, just in case a hasty escape needed to be made. Yes, perhaps your delusions were getting a bit out of hand.

“Where you goin’?”

“Depends,” you started, “How mad is he?”

Arthur huffed and grabbed your wrist, stilling your movements. “He ain’t mad.”

“No?” You could hardly believe it. “He seemed riled up to me.”

“I talked to him,” he explained, but gave no further intel.

“You got magic words or somethin’?” You chuckled, slightly more relaxed since the news came better than you hoped, and Arthur wasn’t dragging you back to be punished or anything. “What’d you tell him?”

“That you were gonna be loyal… and that you’d been scared.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes, trying to play off his last words like they weren’t true. “I ain’t scared.”

“Really? You were about to run, weren’t you?” He pointed to your full saddle bag and stocked up horse, ready to disappear at a moment’s notice.

You caved.

“He gave me a little fright is all,” you toed your boot into the dirt as you spoke, looking back up to find him nodding at your horse.

“Climb up, let’s go to town before closing time,” he walked around to the other side where his horse was hitched from earlier today, still saddled since Bill hadn’t made his rounds yet.

You complied, but were unsure of the motives for such a trip.

“Is Dutch paying you to take me somewhere? He want you to kill me quietly?”

It was just a joke, but he was getting tired of the overly dramatic interactions. He wasn’t sure what all transpired in your past, albeit knowing more than everyone else… even still, he figured there had to be something that gave you your theatrical touch.

“Knock it off, would ya?”

“Sorry.”

The ride wasn’t long, but the sun was down when you both tied your horses to the poll in front of the general store. You’d been in here a few times, and the man behind the counter always cowered in fear of Texas Red the unkillable. No matter your manners or gentility, that’s just how it was.

“What’re we doin’ here?” You adjusted your hat, wiping some sweat off your forehead and following him up the front steps.

“I remember sayin’ I’d get you a dress a while back, we’re here to make good on it.”

You stopped in your tracks, a wide smile blossoming on your face when you heard him say it. He’d remembered, and been waiting for it since the night he uttered the words.

He noticed you weren’t close behind him, and turned, catching the sweet expression you wore, but brushing it off with a sideways smile.

“C’mon now, gotta pick it out.”

You followed after him, and once inside, the man behind the counter seemed to be nervous, as usual. He didn’t seem to be weary of having you both in, just a bit anxious. Arthur knew his presence held power, but he figured with your reputation in this town, and others around… your presence was bound to hold more.

“What can I do for you? Need more socks?” The man asked you kindly, and you shook your head, a small laugh escaping you.

“No, we’re uh… we’re here to get a dress for my wife,” Arthur spoke evenly, his confidence showing through when he had to put on a show.

Your head snapped to him, and though you knew he was intending to buy the dress for you, a thought sprang into your mind. Abigail. She was going to be his wife.

This sweet little moment, with Arthur keeping his promise, and making a big to-do over your acceptance into camp, was all part of your own little fantasy. It wouldn’t last, and when you returned to camp, he’d be with her again, helping with Jack. You tried to shake the thought from your mind, wanting to enjoy this sliver of time with him.

“Of course! I’ve got a new selection,” he pulled out the catalog, and opened the pages to a section with different types of skirts, petticoats, chemises, and corsets. All were beautiful, but your eye was drawn to a more simple style. It was a work dress, which would be far more practical for you than any of the other ones.

“I’m not too good with all this. What do you think, Red? Which one would she like best?” He tossed you a smirk, leaning his elbow on the counter while he let you browse over the pages a bit longer, turning them over with a furrowed brow of focus.

“What color does this one come in?” You asked the man over the counter, keeping your act up, but letting your hints of excitement show through.

“That one is a nice pale blue, perfect for spring and summer time,” he spoke firmly, becoming more relaxed the longer you both were in the store. Yes, he’d heard the whispers, and for you, he’d actually seen your acts of a quick trigger. But here, you didn’t seem like a threat, so he stopped acting like you were.

“Blue, huh… Might bring out her eyes a bit, hey Arthur?” Now it was your turn to smirk, and he chuckled, nodding back to you and tapping the page twice with a heavy finger.

“You’re right it would, make em’ look like crystal,” he played along, making you blush under the brim of your hat, unbeknownst to the man behind the counter.

“It’s gotta be that one, then.”

Arthur chuckled, counting out the cash that the dress price was listed under, tossing it down on the counter and nodding to the man.

“You heard the kid, we’ll take that one,” he spoke in a playful tone, ignoring the movements of the man as he scurried to the back rooms, getting your dress pieces together.

Arthur lifted the brim of your hat, and smiled genuinely at the look on your face. It was excited, sweet, and grateful. He wanted to buy you the entire stock of the store just to ensure that look stayed on your face, no matter the irrationality of it. He’d become quite accustomed to giving you his time and his efforts, and this was no different. The only difference is that now he wanted to, wholeheartedly. The deal you’d struck with him, the one where you were going to teach him your methods of shooting faster, were now null and void. He didn’t want to take anything from you, he just wanted to give.

When the store worker returned with a large box in hand, Arthur thanked him for his time, carrying the thing over his shoulder and heading for the door, which you opened for him.

Getting outside, you went for the horses, but he stopped you with a swat of your hand away from the reins.

“Can’t go back yet, gotta see how this looks on ya,” he insisted, nodding for you to follow him yet again. He walked for a bit before coming up on the shed with a small lantern inside. It looked like it only housed tools and ropes and things of the like, but there was space enough to change in. “Came across this when I was out one day. Took a whole nap before someone realized I was in here.”

“How convenient,” you teased, taking the box from his hands and eagerly walking into the confined space.

“I’ll be out here,” he mumbled as you shut the door, putting a shovel against it since it didn’t really even close all the way.

You knew he wasn’t the peeping type, so you began tearing away at your clothes, the ones that had been worn completely through by now and needed replacing anyway. You had more back at camp, but you had always missed dresses. This would be the first of many you would probably buy for yourself, but it was going to remain your favorite, because of who it came from.

It was just like clock work, muscle memory helping you to remember all the little ties and snaps that needed to be in place, the corset laces that needed to be pulled enough to fit the outer fabrics. You knew you probably needed a good hair brushing and face washing to actually look like a young woman again, but for now, the dress was doing wonders on your self esteem… or at least it did until you realized you couldn’t finish putting it on by yourself. The buttons on the back went up higher than your shoulder blades, and sat in a near impossible spot to reach. If there was a mirror, you could probably just contort yourself enough to get it together, but in a dark, barely lit tool shed, your options were limited.

You sighed, pulling the shovel away from the door and peaking your head outside. Arthur had nearly gone through an entire cigarette in the time you took to change.

“Arthur?” You asked timidly.

“M’here, you alright?”

“I can’t reach the back,” you admitted, just slightly embarrassed. “Can you give me a hand?”

He was all too happy to comply, stomping out the cigarette on the ground and taking quick steps to reach you. “Turn around.”

You did as he told you, turning so he had access to the open back of the dress. He couldn’t see you all too well in this light, but even from what he could see, a few words entered his mind from a past conversation you had with him.

I used to be quite the stunner… and he surely believed it.

His fingers caressed the exposed skin of your back before buttoning the fabric closed, smoothing it down over your shoulders and watching the way it fit you perfectly.

“Don’t mention this to Abigail,” you joked, turning back around and trying to keep the mood light. It was beginning to feel too intimate, and you knew you couldn’t allow yourself to feel that way with Arthur anymore.

“Why?”

“Well, I might be a bit old fashioned, but isn’t it frowned upon for a taken man to be helping another woman with her dress?”

It was just another joke, but he seemed to be completely thrown off by the implications.

“I ain’t a taken man,” he confessed, looking at you with a stare that was all too deep, and all too consuming. He needed to stop that, but you didn’t have the heart to make him.

“Not yet,” you corrected, but again it was you in the wrong.

“No,” he shook his head, trying to bring a serious tone to the conversation. “I’m not gonna marry Abigail.”

Your face screwed up in confusion, thinking about all the times when he collapsed in her tent with Jack, just to get up and help him in the night. He was Jack’s new father, wasn’t he? That was the deal he made.

“Why not? I thought that you were- well since you were helping with Jack and… what about your deal?”

“I said I was gonna do right by this boy, and I am… But Abigail won’t have me,” he shrugged, admitting to the rejection she gave of his offer. “She’s still in love with John, n’ I can understand it.”

It should have made you feel a bit of sadness, to know that even with all that Arthur was, someone would turn him away like that. ‘Abigial won’t have me’ sounded like perhaps he thought himself not good enough, just as he always does. Despite all of this, you didn’t feel sorrow, you felt an abundance of joy. A wide smile spread across your cheeks, and he furrowed his brow.

“What’re you smilin’ about?”

“Nothing,” you dropped the smile and shook it off, running a hand up his arm and giving it a sincere squeeze. “I’m sorry, Arthur. I know you’ve meant well.”

“S’alright. Hosea’s been tellin’ me since Jack was born that I shouldn’t have offered. He doesn’t think we’re right for one another, somethin’ like that.”

“I agree, you’re not right for each other,” you spoke out loud, though that thought was meant only for your head.

Arthur seemed to be catching on slightly to your behavior, stepping a bit closer and staring downwards at you.

“Yeah? And who am I right for?” He teased, watching the redness of your cheeks spread down your neck and shoulders with every breath you took.

“I guess we’ll just have to wait and find out,” you did your best to counter his taunts, stepping away from him and going to collect your old clothes from the shed. Once they were in hand you turned back to the opening of the alley, making way for the horses. “You coming?”

And of course, he followed, shaking his head and chuckling under his breath.

The next day fared better than you thought it would, if you’re being honest.

You didn’t really know why, if Dutch had said anything, or if Hosea did, but after you returned to camp the previous night, everyone seemed to be acting just fine. They treated you differently for sure, but not badly. In fact, you noticed the men had a certain kind of reverence to you that they never held before. The same they did with the other women.

Maybe it was just the beautiful dress that Arthur bought for you, the light and pure color of it giving you a sense of being ethereal, having finally exposed the raw feminine beauty that was hiding for so long. You reckon you’d even start growing out your hair again, as the short style coming to your chin was not how you preferred to have it in the first place.

You still went to work doing the same tasks you normally did, but were careful not to rip your dress or over-exert yourself, given you were still in the same physical condition as the day before.

“Charl- I mean, Miss Brooks?”

You heard a voice chirp softly from beside you, and you dropped the wagon supplies for now to walk over to the owner of said voice, Tilly.

“Yes, Miss Tilly?” You extended a smile, and she smiled back, albeit a tight and awkward one from where she was sitting. You took a step or two closer, and she had to shake her head after getting a better look at you.

“I just-” she cut herself short on account of the words already jumbling in her head. “I don’t want there to be any awkwardness between us.”

You furrowed your brow to her, unsure of what she could have possibly meant.

“Why would there be?”

“Well, if you can recall,” she started, a nervous chuckle in her speech. “I tried to make some… advances towards you. Back when I thought you were uh… a young man.”

You smiled again and ducked your head, a scoff of laughter and a nod of your head brought about less tension. It was no big deal.

“Don’t worry yourself, Miss Tilly. I was the one who tricked ya, I oughta be apologizing. Probably should to Abigail, too.”

“Abigail?”

You tilted your head, recalling the scene. About two weeks before Jack was born. You’d done the same thing Arthur did, with not a care of revealing yourself in the future.

“Before John even left, I offered her to be Jack’s ‘father’ when he was born. I guess I was pretty certain at the time no one was gonna find out,” you explained, leaning against the wagon she sat by, mending a shirt that looked like Arthur’s. You could tell by the wear and tear around the shoulders, where his broadness likely just caused the fabric to break down faster.

“Could you really have gone on like that?”

“I don’t know,” you pondered, another small laugh escaping you. “Maybe not, since I had to tell everyone I was eighteen just for them to believe it.”

“You aren’t eighteen?” She seemed surprised. Maybe you just had a young face.

“No, ma’am. Twenty two nearing twenty three as a matter of fact.”

“I’ll say,” she tutted, throwing down the shirt she was finished with, and picking up a new one. “You had us all convinced. Makes me wonder where you really came from.”

You thought about telling her, but the story was long and today was a busier day than before. There was actual work to be done in preparing for the next job, a few days ahead.

“Some place I didn’t wanna be,” you chided, stepping away from the wagon, nodding to her in thanks for the small chat. “I’ll let you get back to it.”

“Alright. I’ll catch you around,” she spoke sweetly, a kind look of relaxation on her face, now that she knew where she stood.

You went back to work, making sure that neither Dutch nor Hosea saw you with idle hands today. You wanted to make sure that no matter what happened now, you wouldn’t be cast aside. You still had the abilities they needed, but with a skirt on your hips, they saw you differently, and it was up to you to show them you were not going to be ignored when it came to jobs in the future.

You hated that the rest of the women in camp were just seen as stationary helpers, only capable of mending clothes or cleaning up the camp, or even just laying the groundwork in town for the men to actually pull jobs. You’ve seen Abigail in action, she was smart and cunning and had a great way with words, she could be the difference in things staying civil or having a shoot out during a quiet robbery, but the men overlook her gifts. You know the women in this camp have great potential, and perhaps if they let you continue as you have been, they will open the opportunities for the others as well.

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