#im turning this beta off. hell.

[junovrsmp4]

three is not a crowd

OR

5 times Chris walks in on you and Matt fucking + 1 time he gets to join in on the fun

pairing: established!matt x reader, chris x reader, matt x reader x chris

summary: what it says on the tin basically

warnings: THREESOME, PURE FILTH, dick riding, oral (female & male receiving), teasing, edging, over-stimulation, multiple orgasms, squirting, p in v, slight degradation/praising, slight angst, happy ending yay

word count: 6.9K

author’s note: im a whore for both of them. that is all. (also this has plot, and is mostly beta read but i havent slept in hrs so if some mistakes did slip thru my bad

1

“Hey Matt, have you seen my-” Chris begins to ask as he pushes Matt’s bedroom door open, expecting his brother to either be lazing around in bed or be at his desk, gaming.

What he doesn't expect is the sight he is instead greeted by, of you, Matt’s girlfriend of the last year and a half, astride Matt’s lap, riding his dick while he leans against his headboard, head thrown back and hands grabbing your hips, guiding you, slowly.

Chris is shocked, understandably, and he should just turn around and book it. Instead, he stands frozen, watching the way your head is nestled into the crook of Matt’s neck, your shoulders shaking. If Chris ignores the sound of his own pounding heart, he can almost hear the soft whimpers you’re letting out at each downward thrust of your hips.

At the sound of a soft, deep groan, Chris’ attention shifts to Matt, who has his eyes shut, and his bottom lip pinched between his teeth. There’s something surreal about this scene, seeing Matt, who looks nothing like Chris, but also looks the most like him, fucking this beautiful girl who’s been on his mind for months now.

“Matt…,” he hears you whine loudly against his brother’s neck, and Chris has to grit his teeth, fight against the urge to shove his hands into his pants and fist his growing erection. This shouldn't turn him on so much, hell, he shouldn't even be here right now. He should have run in the opposite direction as soon as he realized what he’d walked in on, but he’s mesmerized by the way you move, your back arching as your hips move back and forth. The slow, sensual, almost hypnotic, movements of your body as you ride Matt’s dick has him clenching his fists, nails digging into his palms and it’s easy to imagine him in Matt’s place as he gets this view of what it might look like to fuck you. Your moans grow louder, and Chris thinks it might be because you’re getting close, and god, he feels so hot underneath his skin.

“Shh baby, didn't you say we needed to be quiet?” Matt whispers against the side of your head. “Can’t have Chris hearing us, can we?”

At the sound of his name, Chris’ heart hammers faster, and he looks up at Matt’s face, only to see that his brother’s gaze was already on him, watching him with a slight smirk before thrusting his hips up, presumably driving his cock deeper into you, making you moan even louder than you already were.

Breaking out of his stupor, Chris stumbles backwards before hightailing it to his room, slamming the door behind him. It takes all of five seconds for him to get his cock out of his sweatpants, furiously jerking off as he leans against his door, biting into the hem of his t-shirt that he’d pulled up over his chest, and only another five seconds before he shoots his cum all over himself.

2

Chris knows its wrong, wanting his brother's girl. This was never a problem before, because any time he found out Matt liked someone, Chris immediately lost interest. It was the brothers’ code; they never fought over girls, and besides, they always just liked different ones.

You, though…it was hard not to like you, even after he found out Matt had his eyes on you.

Chris remembers the first time he met you, how nice you’d been to him and his brothers, how easily you’d fit into their lives. He’s not going to lie and say he’d wanted you right from the start. It was a gradual thing, slowly creeping up on him before he realized what had gotten him.

You just made him feel so comfortable, and surprisingly, the two of you had a lot in common. But then again, you had a lot in common with Matt, and Nick. And yet, you were so different. You were smart, playful, and so, so kind. You were just the right amount of goofy and serious, and you just, fit well into the dynamic Chris and his brothers shared.

It shouldn't have surprised him when Matt eventually told him and Nick that he was into you and planned to ask you out. It all happened so quickly after that. You and Matt had gotten together and, now you weren't just the new friend that Chris and his brothers were always hanging out with, but his brother's (his brother who was also his best friend, really) girlfriend.

Which is why Chris knows it’s fucked up. Wanting you. And he knows it’s even more fucked up that he wishes he could have a repeat of what happened a few weeks ago when he accidentally walked in on you and Matt. The amount of times he’s jacked off to that memory alone the past few nights is insane, his mind supplying images to create his own version of events where he doesn't run away.

Especially fucked up is the fact that Matt had seen him, had looked cocky that he’d caught Chris watching them, and even that fact hadn’t deterred Chris from chasing orgasm after orgasm to the thought of fucking you, imagining how tight and wet your pussy might be, what it might taste like.

Speaking of the fucker who seemed totally unfazed by recent events, Matt sat across Chris, scrolling through his phone, while Nick sat beside him, editing their latest video. Chris was trying his hardest not to flip the fuck out, but his whole nervous system seemed like it was fried. Nick had already yelled at him twice to stop moving so much because he was apparently jostling the table too much, and Matt had just let out a bemused chuckle without lifting his eyes from his phone the entire time.

Just as Chris was about to get up and retreat to him room, the doorbell rings, before Matt gets a series of texts.

“Oh, she’s here-” Matt says, before shooting out of his chair and rushing to great you at the front door.

“Hey, hey, hey!” your cheery voice rings through the hallway, as you and Matt make your way into the kitchen, and Chris almost chokes on the sip of Pepsi he’d just taken because holy fuck-

You were wearing a short, tight black dress that hugged the lines and curves of your body just right, the square neckline barely covering your chest. His eyes slipped further down to the way the fabric of the dress cinched at your waist, and to the slit at the side of the dress that came up to mid-thigh. That and the combination of tall strappy heels you had on made your legs look…really good. So good that Chris wishes he was between those legs, licking a path up your calf to your inner thighs, leaving bruising kisses to mar the smooth, unblemished skin of your legs, before finally, finally-

Nick hoots just then, exclaiming about how hot your fit looks, pulling Chris out of his daze. He watches as you bask in the compliments being showered onto you by both Nick and Matt now, and can't help but smile at the way you try to hide your blushing face.

So, it’s completely out of left field when he sees you again later that night, sitting on the couch with your hands covering your face but this time it’s to hide the loud moans that threaten to slip from your mouth as you watch Matt kneel in front of you, his mouth pressing kisses into your inner thighs…just like Chris had imagined doing earlier.

It’s ridiculous really, how Chris had been feeling slightly normal after dinner with you and his brothers, because as awkward as he may have been feeling about you and Matt, being around you and his brothers, having good food and just laughing about random shit made him feel really fucking good. Like everything was normal and he wasn't fantasizing about fucking his brother’s girlfriend. Like he hadn't accidentally walked in on them fucking.

Of course it’s just his fucking luck that as soon he’s feeling just that slightest bit of normalcy, he’d decided to go to the kitchen and grab a Pepsi from the fridge at 3 AM, only to find his brother about to eat you out on the couch.

“Matt-” you whine, as your back arches off the couch, one of your hands moving to grab Matt’s hair, the other trying and failing to hold back your moans. “Matt, please- nnggh- stop teasing.”

Chris feels all his blood rush down south and it leaves him lightheaded. The low lighting in the room accentuates the shadows of your body and he can see the muscles in your legs flex as your thighs clench around Matt’s head, trying to get him to move his mouth closer to where you want him. You’re not in the tight black dress he’d seen you in earlier, but in a blue baby tee and black lace-trimmed hipster briefs. There’s an almost imperceptible quiver that wracks through your entire body in anticipation for what’s to come.

Matt doesn't keep you waiting for long. Chris' breathing grows even more jagged as he watches Matt’s fingers push your panties to the side before he runs his tongue flat up your pussy. Chris can't see as much as he’d like to, but his overactive imagination does the job for him, imagining how wet you must be.

Chris feels like such a sick perv for still standing there, watching with wide eyes as Matt (his literal brother) enthusiastically licks and kisses your pussy, and he almost wonders how neither of you haven't noticed him yet. Then again, you and Matt seem so lost in each other, and now there’s another ugly thought circling Chris’ brain, one that makes his chest hurt a little.

He forgoes his Pepsi for the night and quietly returns back to his room, cock half-hard, and his heart just the slightest bit heavy.

3

“Alright, what’s going on with you?” Nick asks him, while his eyes are still fixed on his phone.

He and Chris were sitting on the couch (Chris had been avoiding the section that you and Matt had used during your late night rendezvous), and Chris was idly flipping through his Netflix watch list.

“I don't know what you're talking about,” Chris says with a heavy sigh, slumping further into the couch.

It’s quiet, and the silence makes Chris look up at Nick, who was already looking at him with a curious frown.

“Seriously, what the fuck is up with you?” Nick asks, and he actually looks concerned, which throws Chris off a bit. “You’re usually bouncing off the walls and annoying the shit out of everyone in your nearest vicinity, but lately you've just been, I don't know- I’m like actually worried, did something happen? Is everything okay?”

Chris swallows around the lump that had formed in his throat and takes a minute. To do what, he doesn't know. It’s not like he’s going to prepare himself to tell Nick what he’d witnessed, twice, and how he was feeling about it. Really, how does one go about telling their triplet brother that they’d accidentally witnessed their other brother in an intimate situation with said brother’s partner, not once, but twice, and had enjoyed it, to the point of having nightly fantasies about it?

There were more complicated feelings lurking just under the surface, more than just Chris wanting to fuck you, but he did not have the mental bandwidth to unpack all that, so that was that. It’s not like he had honest to god feelings-

“See, at this point, you would’ve been yapping away-” Nick says, interrupting his train of thought, “-but instead, you’re just sitting there, looking all sad and miserable.”

“Okay, I don't look sad and miserable,” Chris says with a roll of his eyes. At least, he hopes he doesn't. “I’m just tired dude. Haven't been sleeping well lately.”

“Right.”

“What? It’s the truth.”

“Didn't say you were lying,” Nick says, matter-of-factually, in that signature Nick tone that lets everyone know when he isn't buying their bullshit.

“I’m fine,” Chris says slowly, waiting for Nick to stop looking at him so intensely.

“Sure,” Nick drawls out. “You’re also a shitty liar.”

“Fuck you,” Chris grumbles, chucking the TV remote at Nick, who flails to try and dodge it, letting out an indignant squawk when it bounces off his shoulder and falls to the ground.

This, of course, results in Nick throwing whatever was closest to him at Chris, which happens to be an empty water bottle, and eventually they're just chucking it back and forth, cursing at each other in between laughter.

It’s the most relaxed Chris has felt in weeks.

Too bad you had to walk in at that exact moment.

“Hey guys!” you say cheerily, plopping down on the couch, next to Chris. You’d stayed over for a couple of nights now, as you usually do, and Chris should be extremely used to your presence, except he feels his skin prickle as soon as your close to him, close enough for him to feel the warmth radiating off of your skin.

“God, how are you so chipper every morning?” Nick asks, shaking his head with a poorly hidden smile.

You twirl a strand of your hair around your finger, and bit the corner of your bottom lip. “It helps that I wake up to one of the hottest guys ever, and then get to hang out with his hot as fuck brothers,” you say with a smirk, waggling your eyebrows at Nick.

Chris wishes you hadn't just said that because now his mind wanders (more like sprints) to the memory of this morning, when he’d walked past Matt’s open bedroom. He’d heard the telltale sounds of skin slapping against skin, and your voice, whining Matt’s name over and over, which had him stopping right before Matt’s door, eyes wide, mouth agape. This couldn't be happening right? There was no way he’d walked into this situation for a third time.

Chris debates on whether he should just turn back around, go downstairs, out the front door, and bash his head against a tree, or if he should soldier on and just walk past to get to his room.

The sounds were getting to him. His cock strained against his grey sweatpants, creating a very obvious tent. His clothes suddenly felt a size too small, the air around him too thick, and he felt sweat break out on his forehead. He should leave, run far, far away from his house probably, but a sick part of him wants more than anything to see what’s got you moaning this time.

He rounds the corner and is met with a sight that almost has him falling to his knees.

It’s unfair, how incredibly gorgeous you look straddling Matt’s thighs, bouncing on his dick rhythmically, your head thrown back. You’re leaning back on your hands, supported on Matt’s knees, and Chris watches the way your body undulates as you swivel your hips, ribs flaring as your chest heaves. Every gasp you let out is a punch to Chris’ gut, leaving him feeling winded.

You’re so lost in the throes of pleasure that you don't hear when Chris groans out loud, but he knows exactly when Matt hears him, because his head rolls lazily towards him, his hands that had been grabbing your hips tightening, and there’s little to no warning before Matt’s flipping you over and thrusting into you with vigor.

“Does that feel good baby?” Chris hears Matt ask, his voice rough and low. “Tell me how good my dick makes you feel.”

“Fuck, so good, Matt- please, please, please-” your moans turning into whimpers as Matt’s thrust pick up in pace. Chris can tell exactly when Matt hits the bundle of nerves inside you that has you seeing stars because your back arches off his bed, hands scrambling to find purchase. Your fingers clench into the pillow above your head, as you beg Matt to go harder, faster.

Chris’ eyes bounce back to Matt, who’s watching you in awe, and he’s seen that look on his face numerous times before, like Matt can't get enough of you. Chris’ breath hitches, because he wishes it was him, in Matt’s place. Him, worshiping you, making you feel good. He wishes he was the one that was ripping those sounds out of you.

He catches Matt’s eyes just then, and Chris has never wanted to punch him in the face more than he does in that moment, because it almost feels like he’s mocking Chris.

See what I have, what you so desperately want…

Chris holds up a middle finger, directed at Matt and whatever god was up there who’d clearly forsaken him. He had half the mind to just yell but the last thing he wanted to do was embarrass you. So with a scathing look at Matt, and a mouthed fuck you, he walks to his room, the sound of Matt’s laughter the last thing he hears before Chris angrily slams the door and sheds his clothes, pumping his cock to the memory of your voice.

It’s the hardest he’s cum all week.

4

Chris walks in on Matt pounding you against the wall leading to the garage. At this point, it had to be on purpose. The two of you had to be planning this, because how was it always Chris that ended up walking in on them, and not Nick? Knowing his brother, Nick would’ve gone around voicing his disgust at having caught you and Matt fucking, any chance he got.

So, it had to be on purpose.

Matt’s whispering dirty things in your ear, loud enough for Chris to hear every word.

“You’re so fucking pretty baby-”

“I want to ruin you, want you to feel me for days-”

“You’re such a dirty little slut, aren’t you?” and that has you letting out a particularly loud whine. The next bit Matt whispers into your ear is too inaudible for Chris to comprehend but he can tell how much it affects you, because you absolutely lose it just then.

Fuck this. Fuck all of this.

“Can y’all stick to fucking in Matt’s bed?”

At the sound of Chris’ voice, you look up at him, startled, and it’s electrifying, your stare. Chris sees your eyebrows furrow, your lips, plump from being bitten (by yourself, or Matt, who cares at this point), fall open. Matt’s shoulders stiffen for a second, so Chris knows he’s aware that Chris is right behind them, but the asshole just keeps fucking going. And you, you’re still staring.

“Chris-” you gasp, your nails digging into Matt’s shoulder. Chris thinks you’re going to push him away, scramble to pull yourself together.

You surprise him by pushing back down onto Matt’s cock with even more fervor, your hands moving up Matt’s neck to grab onto his hair, pulling hard.

Chris watches you cum on Matt’s cock for the first time that night, all while your eyes were locked on his.

5

Chris doesn't like being angry. He very rarely is. And usually, he gets over it really quick.

Which is why it’s shocking to everyone when he gets cold and hostile towards Matt seemingly out of nowhere, and the anger doesn't subside.

It gets in the way of their work. Filming becomes exhausting, and it leaves all three brothers feeling frustrated and annoyed at each other.

It’s in the middle of filming a new car video when it all goes to head. Nick and Matt had attempted to film a video, but Chris couldn’t hold back the jabs at Matt, interrupting him every time he spoke, insulting him for no reason whatsoever, which only made Matt retaliate just as hard.

“That’s it-” Nick yells, his hands pushing his hair out of his face in frustration. “I’ve fucking had it with you two. I’m getting the fuck out of this car and the two of you are going to stay in here and talk. Don’t even bother coming back in until you sort out whatever-” he gestures wildly between Matt and Chris, “-is going on with you two!”

And with that, Nick storms back into their house.

Chris stares out of the window with his arms crossed, seething. He can tell Matt is looking at him, can see part of his reflection on the window, but Chris isn’t going to give him the satisfaction of breaking first.

Matt, much to Chris’ annoyance, was completely calm and collected.

“Chris-” Matt begins to say, but Chris just chucks his empty Pepsi can at him without looking. He hears it clatter against something (the steering wheel, he thinks), before dropping down onto the car floor with a dull thud.

Matt sighs, and Chris wants to yell, because Chris is the one that should be huffing and sighing, he’s the one that’s tired of all this bullshit.

“Are you trying to prove something?” Chris asks, because he never could stay quiet for too long. “Is that it? What the actual fuck Matt?”

Chris had fully turned to face Matt, who at least had the decency to look somewhat abashed now. His face was tinged pinked, and he was fiddling with his rings.

Chris continues. “I don’t know what’s going on in your head, but if you’re just trying to get me to see she’s your girl, I fucking get it, okay? You’ve made that really fucking clear. Did I say or do something to warrant this shit, because if you think I’m out to get her, I’m not, okay? Jesus- do you know how fucking insane-”

“She wants you bro.”

Chris blinks. He opens his mouth, and then shuts it.

“I used to catch her staring at you sometimes, and there were times she’d just keep scrolling through pictures of the two of us together- you and me, I mean- and…I don’t know, she’d have this look on her face.” Matt trails off. He looks at Chris, trying to gauge his reaction so far, but truth be told, Chris was still trying to process what Matt had initially said.

“What…?”

“Look, the two of us are happy together. I love her, she loves me, but I think she…” Matt coughs out, and it’s the first time since this whole thing has started that Chris has seen Matt this awkward. “She’s into you too. She never really told me, but it got pretty obvious after a while. And eventually, I- I started bringing you up, when we- um, yeah. She wants us both.”

Chris starts laughing. Because he doesn’t know what else to do.

“Alright, good prank dude- I’m still so fucking mad at you but-”

“I’m not kidding, Chris.”

Right. Because why would Matt joke about something like this?

“Um…”

“Yeah…”

And that’s how Chris finds himself back in Matt’s room. You and Matt were sitting on his bed, albeit a little far apart, meanwhile Chris had taken a seat in Matt’s gaming chair. Chris almost wants to call the two of you out on the pure torture you’d put him through the past few weeks, but one look at your face has him abandoning that train of thought.

You look so…remorseful. You’re slightly curled in on yourself, like you’re bracing for some sort of attack, and Chris’ heart melts. The last thing he wants is for you to feel upset, so he tries to lighten the mood.

“So, do you just wanna see which one of us has the better dick or-?”

He smiles as you sputter, eyes wide as you finally look up at him.

“There we go,” Chris whispers. “You’re finally looking at me.”

“Chris…I’m so sorry,” you whisper, lips trembling. “God, this is so stupid, why did we decide to tell him-”

“Hey, hey-” Chris chides. “I think I’ve been kept in the dark long enough, actually. I just wish y’all hadn’t used such a weird ass fucking way to tell me.”

“Well, to be fair, she didn’t even know you’d seen us that first couple of times,”

“Oh, god-”

“-And, we kinda assumed you’d take the fucking hint or something.”

“Yeah, I thought the hint was ‘I know you wanna fuck my girl, so I’m gonna make sure you catch us fucking every chance we get so you stay the fuck away’,” Chris says with a raised brow, staring deadpan at Matt.

“Wait, what-” you start, but you’re interrupted by Matt.

“Yeah, he’s wanted to fuck you for a while too.”

And that's how Chris finds himself with a front row view of Matt fucking you, up close and personal. Matt has you on all fours, facing Chris, while he pounds into you from behind, hard and deep. Each thrust punches a high-pitched moan out of you, and Chris watches, enraptured by the way you take it.

Chris watches to his heart's content that night, no longer worried about getting caught, no longer stressed about wanting to fuck you.

Chris watches you fall apart in Matt's hands over and over, and all he can think about is when he can finally have his turn.

+ 1

They’d had to wait for the perfect moment, a night they could be sure none of them would be interrupted.

They'd been planning for this night for a few days now, and it was finally here.

Chris and Matt stand side-by-side in front of Matt’s bed, arms crossed over their chest as they watch you squirm in his bed, their combined attention making you nervous. They’re both barely dressed, Chris in a black tank top and grey sweatpants, the front of which were already tented from his hard dick, while Matt was just in his black boxers. The low lighting of the room made Matt’s rings glisten as he rubbed at the stubble that he’d slowly allowed to grow on his face.

“How are we feeling, baby?” Matt asks you, smirking at the way you visibly gulp. “You ready for us?”

You sink your teeth into your bottom lip, looking up at Chris through your lashes before nodding.

That’s all the cue he needs.

Chris stalks over to you, slowly, climbing over the bed and crawling over you, his hands landing on either side of your head as he holds himself above you. You lay back, your hair fanning around your head on the pillow, your eyes wide as you wait for Chris’ next move.

“Can I kiss you?” Chris asks, wetting his lips, and he doesn’t have to wait long for his answer. Your fingers thread through his hair, pulling at the strands close to his nape, bringing his lips onto yours. The kiss is heady, a wild mess of tongue and teeth, because you’d both been waiting for this, dying for it, and here it was, finally happening.

“Chris-” you gasp, open mouth sliding over the hot skin of his cheek as he lowers his head to the crook of your neck, biting harsh kisses into the skin there, before tracing his tongue across your jaw.

“Fuck, fuck- you smell so good, I need you so bad ma-” Chris blabbers, his brain-to-mouth filter long gone. He vaguely registers Matt settling onto the bed, leaning against the headboard, as Chris kisses a path down your body, laving every inch of skin he can access with nips and kisses. You arch your back as Chris circles one of your nipples with his tongue, sucking on it as he flicks the other. He alternates between kissing and nipping your nipples, all the while, you have an almost painful grip on his hair, pushing your chest harder into his face.

Matt watches your face intently, seeing the way your features scrunch up in pleasure, mouth wide open as you gasp and whine. There’s a small part of him that knows he shouldn’t be so okay with his own brother having his way with his girlfriend, but it’s almost like he gets a 4K view of what it might usually look like when Matt’s the one doing these things to you.

Chris continues his path downwards, fingers hooking into the sides of your panties and slowly, agonizingly slowly, pulling them off of you. Your legs instinctively squeeze shut when the cold air hits your wet core, but Chris’s hands gently pry them open, staring at you in wonder.

“You’re so fucking wet, fuck-” Chris groans, before licking a stripe up the seam where your thigh meets your crotch, so close to where you actually want his tongue.

“Please, please-” you whimper, pushing your hips up closer to his lips, feeling his hot breath fan over you pussy. You hear both him and Matt chuckle, before Chris has his mouth on you, licking the wetness gathered in your folds. All you can hear is the blood rushing in your ears and the obscene sounds of Chris’s mouth as he eats you out like a man starving.

It’s almost too much, the way he’s sucking on your clit, before pushing his tongue into you, his face pushed deep, you’re sure he can’t breath. The pleasure builds, heat pooling low in your stomach. You feel Matt’s fingers brush against your forehead, pushing the hair that was starting to stick to it from all the sweat.

“You feel good baby?” Matt asks, tone soft, but his eyes glint dangerously. “One of us wasn’t enough for you, was it? You’re such a dirty girl, wanting me and my brother.”

You whine, head pushing against his thigh closest to your head. Chris laughs, pulling his head back to chime in.

“Greedy little slut, that’s what she is,” he says, cheeks rosy and face glistening from the nose down, his chin absolutely soaking wet. “You gonna cum soon ma?”

You don’t even know what you respond with, just that Chris goes back to eating you out, this time, bringing his fingers to your entrance, sliding one finger, then two, into your sopping wet cunt as he licks random paths across your folds, occasionally circling your clit and sucking on it harshly, all while thrusting his fingers in and out of you, causing you to buck your hips up wildly. Your orgasm, only the first one of the night, is fast approaching, and your thighs clench around Chris’ head. The only warning he gets is a sudden yell of his name before you gush all over his face.

“Did you just- did she just squirt?” Chris asks, eyes wide as he takes in the mess that you’d made. His face and neck were now fully wet, and there was a perfectly round wet spot right underneath you. His fingers flutter over your now slightly puffy pussy, watching your folds quiver.

“Fuck, it’s too much- Chris, wait,” you whine, hands moving to grab Chris’ wrist. He doesn’t stop with his ministrations though, fingers pumping in and out of you, prodding at the bundle of nerves inside you that caused your vision to white out. It was fast, intense, and Chris manages to pull a second orgasm out of you before you’d even managed to catch your breath from the first one.

Chris sits up on his knees, reaching his arms behind him and pulling his tank top off, throwing it behind him. He hooks his arms around your thighs before pulling you down the bed, closer to him, allowing Matt to slot himself behind you.

“Can you turn over for me ma?” Chris asks with a gentle pat against your hip. It takes some effort, your limbs feel loose and languid, but you manage to flip onto your stomach. Hands grab your face, tipping your head up, and you see your boyfriend looking at you with a smirk, tongue peeking out to run across his teeth.

“Enjoying yourself, sweetheart?” he asks, voice like dripping honey with a hint of something razor-sharp. “This everything you imagined?”

“Yes- oh god, Matt- I need you, please-”

“You have me baby,” he coos. “You have me and Chris. That’s what you wanted, right? ‘Cause one dick was never enough to keep you satisfied.”

“Ngghh- please, please, I-” you whimper, mouthing at Matt’s dick through his boxers, startled when you feel a sudden smack against your ass, pain blossoming across your skin.

“If she’s already this cock dumb, I wonder how she’s gonna get when we actually get our dicks in her,” Chris wonders out loud with an amused huff, palming at your ass cheeks as he rubs his clothed dick against it.

You continue begging, your pussy soaking wet and clenching around nothing in anticipation for what’s to come, hips arching off the bed while your back dips low, shoulders tucked between Matt’s spread thighs as you lick him through the only piece of fabric that is keeping you from tasting him, from having his cock fill your mouth.

Chris smooths his palm down your back, making you arch your back even further, before he spreads your cheeks, seeing the way you twitch at being put on display.

“I think she’s waited long enough, hasn’t she?” Matt asks Chris, nodding his head slightly as if to tell Chris to get on with it. Chris doesn’t waste any time pushing his sweats down his thighs, freeing his cock. You turn your head back to try and peek at it from over your shoulder, but Matt has a firm hand on your head pushing you towards his crotch while he pulls his dick out of his boxers. With one hand holding the back of your head, and the other around his dick, Matt slaps it against your cheek, amused at the way you so desperately try and get him to guide his cock into your mouth instead.

Simultaneously, Chris is behind you, rubbing the tip of his dick through your folds, gathering the wetness there. Above you, you feel Matt lean towards his dresser, before rifling through the top drawer and chucking something at Chris. There’s a sound of a bottle cap clicking open, and lube being squeezed out, before you hear the squelch of it as Chris spreads it over his dick.

Later, you’ll think they must have planned this head of time, but both Matt and Chris decide to push their dicks into you at the same time, Matt feeding you his cock, pushing past your lips, applying gentle pressure to the back of your head, while Chris spreads your folds apart and drives his dick into you, the tip catching inside you for a moment, before he thrusts his hips and pushes his dick deeper into you.

“Look at that,” Chris says, smacking the palms of both his hands onto your cheeks at the same time, before kneading at them. “She takes dick really fucking well.”

“It’s like she’s made for it, isn’t she?”

Chris fucks you like he has all the time in the world, savoring the feeling of your pussy clenching around him, fascinated by the sight of his dick disappearing in you at every thrust. You stretch around him so beautifully, and you’re so fucking tight, he wonders how he managed to fit it all in you in one go.

At the other end, Matt watches you with soft affection as you suck on his cock, tears streaming down your face from the exertion on your body and minimal air supply. At every thrust of Chris’ hips, you would get pushed closer to Matt, which would push his dick deeper into your mouth, making you almost gag on it.

You have no concept of time anymore, or where your body starts and Chris’ and Matt’s end. You feel like one big mess of limbs, moving fluidly, with the common purpose of chasing your orgasm. You hear Matt’s groans getting louder above you, and you know he’s getting close. You’re not far behind yourself, but Chris still seems like he’s nowhere close to being done.

Pulling your mouth off of Matt’s cock, you circle your hand around the base of it, before stroking your hand up and down, twisting it around the head. You swipe your thumb across the slit at the top while you tongue at the underside of the head, all while looking up at Matt through hooded eyes.

“Cum on my face, Matt, please-” you beg, mouth slightly open, a line of spit connecting your tongue to his dick. Chris' thrusts are picking up, but you keep your elbows planted firmly on the bed below to keep yourself steady for Matt. There’s a tingle building low in your spine, but you focus on Matt, the way he looks at you with his eyebrows furrowed, bottom lip pulled between his teeth. His hair is a mess, and his body is flushed. The hand he has on your head grips your hair tight, and the other joins your hand in pumping his dick. It only takes a few more seconds of that before Matt lets out a loud groan of your name, spurts of thick, hot cum landing across your face, and you close your eyes as it drips down your face, some of it landing on your tongue.

Matt leans back heavily against the headboard, and before you can register anything, you’re being flipped onto your back, face still covered in Matt’s cum. Your shoulders hit Matt’s chest as Chris crowds against you on the bed, his hands now on the back of your knees, pushing your legs back against your chest, before thrusting his dick back into you.

The sudden shift has you blinking back stars, and this new angle has Chris’ dick brushing against your sweet spot on every thrust, and all you can do is sob at the immense pleasure you feel. Matt circles his arms around you, one hand playing with one of your nipples, while the other moves down your stomach and edges closer to your clit. The tingling sensation grows, and grows, your hands scrambling to find purchase on Chris’ shoulders as he thrusts particularly deep into you before you finally snap, screaming as your third orgasm is ripped from you, the force of it pushing Chris’ cock out of you as you squirt all over him, yourself, and the bed, legs shaking uncontrollably.

You’re fully gasping and sobbing now, the intensity of your orgasm wracking through your whole body. You watch through hooded, teary eyes, as Chris leans over you, furiously stroking his cock as he soaks in the view of you, hot and messy, ruined because of him, before he too eventually reaches his orgasm, cum pulsing out of him and landing high on your chest, across your nipples, one spurt even hitting your chin.

The three of you are a heaping mess of limbs after, all basking in the afterglow of a night well spent, tired, but satiated. Matt and Chris lay on either side of you, stroking whatever part of your skin they can reach, occasionally batting each other’s hands away and pulling you closer to either side, like you’re not all squished together already.

“We should do that again sometime,” you say after a long beat of silence. Matt snorts, eyes closed, but the corners of his lips are quirked up in a small smile.

“Y’all are crazy if you think I’m never fucking you again after I just got a taste,” Chris states. “Besides, I think there’s a lot of lost time I need to make up for, hm?”

After that night, Chris gets to have his turn with you, over and over. Sometimes, Matt is present, and the brothers somehow always turn things into a competition of who can make you cum the quickest, who can make you cum multiple times, who can make you absolutely incoherent by the end of the night.

Now Chris had his own reason for always being so chipper in the morning. It helps that he finally gets to fuck the hottest girl he’s seen, who just happens to also be fucking his brother.

author’s note: i put too much fucking effort into an idea that essentially started as a joke, its gonna be so funny if this flops because i literally stayed up till 4 am twice in a row to write this lmao- anyways, let me know what you think! my inbox is open and waiting for your thoughts (: likes, comments and reblogs r much appreciated <3

taglist 🩵 (comment on my pinned post to be added or removed):

@luverboychris @bigbeefybitch @liz-stxrn @slut4chriss @sturniolosgirl @coochiedestroyer1 @kvtie444 @vschrissturn @hercigaretteblush @fwskullz @m4rriii @anabanana28 @sturniolosange1 @webbersturn @odeezier @johnniesrealwife @freshsturns @marlenafortuna @carolineheartsmatthew @incndescentglow @starniolosposts @urfavgirllyyyyy @mattsturniolosworld @lilyloveschris @sturniozo @lookingformyromeo @heartss4matthewq @lanasturniolo @ezziewinchester @s-s-842 @sturnlova @55sturn @chrisopeningabag

[billvsgirl]

the songbird : part one

summary ; reader is a beloved, headstrong singer at a saloon in new mexico. billy is just looking for somewhere to play some poker. it’s a match made in heaven.

warnings ; some heavy insinuation (only above the cut) but aside from that, none yet 👀 i dont know if you can classify this as a slow burn but it is for me because my writing stamina is weak as hell 😇 also i might have accidentally mary sue’d reader but thats my issue

also not beta read (im lazy)

author’s note ; HIII to anyone who’s reading this, i’m sorry in advance, this is my first time writing in a very long while so forgive me. if you have any comments or suggestions please let me know 🙏 i thank @goosita and @billysgun for inspiring me to write for billy (y’all always eat thank you for supplying me with the best billy fics) pls let me know if y’all wanna see more of this series and i’m open to requests !!! okay thats all tyty

—

billy pulled the door closed behind himself ever so carefully, making sure not to alert anyone else who might still be awake in the boarding house.

he turned towards the room to look at you; waiting infront of him expectantly- yet still a bit nervous, akin to a tense game of cards. it was his move now.

you leaned into his touch as he brought a hand up to caress your cheek, stroking gently with his thumb. “my beautiful girl,” he spoke softly, quirking the corners of his lips up into a smile.

“are you sure you’re alright with this, darlin’? we don’t have to.”

but oh, how you so desperately wanted to. because it was him, because it was billy.

-

he had wandered into your life by chance; a raggedy stray appearing in a saloon on a friday night, just looking to make some cash off of a game of poker.

you were there, too, hidden behind a humble stage curtain. you dusted some lint off of your dress and cleared your throat before donning your guitar and revealing yourself to the bar patrons with a confident, nearly sanguine smile.

“why hello there, everyone! d’ya miss me?”

and you had the instant attention of the majority of the tired souls in the saloon, ears and eyes becoming alert. if there weren’t smiles, there were whistles, cheers, claps- and other things inbetween.

there was no argument amongst the patrons that you were special. you held a strong and awfully charismatic persona when you were up on that stage, performing each weekend. when you had first started singing publicly, give or take a year or so ago, it took time for the people there to pay mind to you- but there was only so much they could do before your cadence, your charm, drew them in. and now, the townsfolk always looked forward to your appearances.

“oh please, don’t flatter me! it’ll all go to my head. how’s ‘bout we get to some songs instead, boys?”

a bit of soft laughter could be heard, dispersed throughout the room, before some more scattered claps- and a low chatter returned within the building while you propped yourself onto the stool at the center of the platform.

“learned this one from my father- i hope y’all enjoy it, an’ feel free to sing along if ya’ know it too.”

you began to strum, and the noise in the room lowered at your command. if anyone wasn’t paying attention before, they were now.

“O bury me not,”

and the raggedy stray finally looked up from his hand of cards, sapphire blue eyes taking in your beauty for the first time.

“on the lone prarie.”

your voice was amber honey flowing over a silver spoon, it was devistatingly sweet on the tongue, and all the more addicting. even the most haughty cowboys couldn’t help but lend an ear to you.

“these words came low, and mournfully

from the pallid lips of the youth who lay

on his dying bed at the close of day.”

of course, it didn’t hurt the fact that you were pretty. anyone would agree. but the men there stopped bothering you with crude requests and comments a long time ago- you’d established that it wouldn’t be tolerated, that you weren’t some woman of the night who’d play into the egos of these dogs who assumed they were above everyone else. and what were they to do?

nevertheless, you were alluring. you had a voice that charmed snakes and tempted songbirds to whistle along. so, eventually, they left you be. and that was the way it was.

“he had wasted and pined ‘til o’er his brow,

death’s shades were slowly gathering now

he thought of home and loved ones nigh

as the cowboys gathered to see him die.”

some of the patrons softly sang along to that folk song, including the one that sat a bit further from the stage, who had laid his cards aside later than the others.

he wasn’t fully aware of the small smile etched across face, but he was aware of the way your dress draped gracefully over your legs, the way your hair flowed freely upon your head, the way your eyelashes batted against your skin each time you blinked, the way your hands held your guitar.

he was well aware that he had not seen a lady like you before.

and well after you finished your set, and you had taken time to sit down at the bar and thank the bartender for your drink, he found it in himself to approach you.

and if you were a bit apprehensive, he took mind of that, and kept a small distance whilst lowering his hat from his head.

“hello, ma’am, how are you doin’ tonight?”

you couldn’t help but soften your hardened expression just a bit at the sight of him; eyes that bore right into your heart and pleaded innocence, even though you had heard the chatter throughout the bar that night;

that he had accumulated bounties, that he was a force not to be reckoned with,

that he was ‘dangerous.’

“quite alright, thank ya’, can i help you, cowboy?”

you were curious, but you weren’t downright stupid. you’d certainly dealt with worse, and the demeanor of this man begged that he had no distasteful intentions, but there was further convincing to be done for your guard to come down.

“i just wanted to say- you’ve got a real beautiful voice. it was a nice treat after the day i’ve had, ma’am.”

his voice was soft, and he carried himself well, though you could hear notes of nervousness in the way his breath hitched slightly halfway through his speech. you tilted your head a bit, furrowing your brows.

“you’re william bonney, isn’t that right?”

he shifted his stance, breaking eye contact to look down towards the hat he held in his hands. he cleared his throat and looked back up at you with a coy smile.

“yes’m, so you’ve heard- i’ve heard em’ talkin’ about you too, albeit, for much nicer reasons, miss y/n y/l/n.”

and if the way your name rolled off of his tongue made your cheeks a couple of shades pinker than usual, that was your business and nobody else’s.

he was good looking, that couldn’t be denied. good looking in the kind of way that carried much more depth than anyone you’d seen before. good looking in the way of his strikingly blue eyes, his brown hair that curled up at the ends, the button up shirt and pants that complimented his figure perfectly, his strong, yet softened, demeanor.

“so, s’it true? what they say about you?”

“depends what they’re sayin’, ma’am. maybe, maybe not.”

“well, are you as dangerous as they say you are?”

“only when i need to be, ma’am.”

he was definitely a gentleman- that, or he was putting up a real good act. it wasn’t often that you were approached out of genuine, unsolicited interest. but william- who now insisted you instead call him billy, went silent each time you even looked like you wanted to say something.

and on the two of you went, having conversation through the rest of the night. he didn’t let on about a lot of things, he’d gotten used to being a man of few words. he wanted to know everything about you- as much as you were comfortable saying. and to his delight, you had lots to say.

the both of you were a few drinks in by the time you were sat side by side, filling the near empty saloon with laughter.

“and- and then what?” his smile was sickeningly wide.

“well, my mama always told me i should never let a man use me as a doormat, so i grabbed my saddlebag an’ swatted him right in the groin!”

billy chuckled lightly, imagining that scenario before taking another sip of his whiskey.

“serves ‘m right, the men here know less a’ how to treat women than they do knowin’ when’s appropriate to draw a gun.” he huffed out.

you set your elbow on the counter, resting your head on your hand. “i bet your mama’s real proud a’ you, billy. she raised you just as anyone should.”

he held his smile for just a second before moving to look down at his glass. he remained silent for a few moments, and you followed suit, understanding why.

“m’ sorry, i didn’t know-“

“no, it’s alright,” he looked up at you, offering a smile once again. “i hope that she is. i’m always just trying my best to do what’s right- what’s just. sometimes the law doesn’t wanna paint it that way, but i know what i’ve seen and done.”

and you trusted his word. you had let your guard down like this for the first time possibly ever with anyone who wasn’t family. you and this raggedy stray were both different birds, flying far from the flock. having his company was something new, something exciting. and you hungered to know more.

[hellisharchive]

﹒﹒﹒i am a god, now bow

➤ Adam was an angel that you've come to hate, from his attitude to the fact that you're privy to knowing about the exterminations led by him, you never liked him. He wasn't ignorant to this hatred, and wanted you to know just how much you should be praising him instead.

➤ Adam x GN!reader

➤ 18+, degradation, blowjob (m receiving), dacryphilia, dub-con, hair pulling

Heaven was perfect, when was it not? Every second was full of happiness and joy and beauty. Well, it was when Adam wasn't around. He was the bane of your existence and made every second of him being around pure Hell. He was arrogant, cocky, and always liked making an ass out of you. Every interaction with him was insufferable. You don't make your hatred outwardly known to him- but you do act snarky on purpose and deflect his attitude right back. He needs to be put in his place.

He normally talks to you on the promenade since you actively try to avoid him everywhere else, you know he does this on purpose. He just loves talking to you every chance he gets, always here with a Lute usually slurping loudly on whatever drink he has that day. That also pissed you off. You would avoid this part of Heaven if you could, but Saint Peter was your friend so it was easier just to hang around here for when he takes breaks. He knows about your disdain for Adam and usually tries to calm you down. It usually works, but some days it doesn't. Today was that day.

"Peter, I just can't stand him! He's such an ass and I swear he always tries to makes me as pissed off as possible!" You groaned as you felt his hand gently rub your back, being careful to mind your wings, as he knew talking would just interrupt your venting.

"I don't know why he's and asshole! Like sure he's the first man ever created. Cool I guess? No reason to be so arrogant ugh! Yesterday he literally told me that-" before you could tell your friend what bullshit Adam said, the man himself made himself known.

"Told you what? That I got a big dick?" He smirked as he approached, how long was he there for? You froze and stared at him for a second before regaining your composure and taking a deep breath.

"Fuck no, go away asshole before I make you" You scoffed and looked over at Peter who looked so nervous that he wanted to fly away. You felt bad because you didn't want him to be involved with all of this. "Come on Peter, let's-" You aimed to grab his arm to pull him away, but a hand wrapped around yours first, and it wasn't Peter's. Turning, you saw Adam gripping your wirst with a smirk on his face and he started to pull you in his direction.

"Hey! Let go of me asshole!" You struggled against him, but due to his size and strength, he was successfully dragging you before opening up a portal and throwing you in. You had no time to fight back as you hit something soft, looking around in disbelief, you were on a bed. Were you in his bedroom? Looking ahead, you watched as he walked through the yellow portal and closing it once he was fully inside.

"Nah, you need to learn your place, bitch. Now start undressing, or do you want me to do it?" You just stared at him in shock, eyes wide as you quickly shuffled to the other side of the bed, hitting the headboard too soon. He ripped off his mask, revealing short brown hair, and his smirk seemed even more imposing as he snapped off his robes to be only in his underwear. You didn't want to, but if he can do that, then you might as well retain some dignity and do it yourself.

"Fine! Fine! I will" You knew he was going to fuck you, you knew how he was, but for some reason you couldn't say no. Why couldn't you? You hated him, yet you're taking this treatment. Yet you couldn't deny that some weird part of you liked this, why did you like this? Gulping, you watched as he stared at you hungerly while you took your shirt off- being careful to mind your wings- and then your pants. As soon as you were just in your underwear, he pounced on you, caging you in with nowhere to go.

"You know you can always say no, back out now and we can forget all of this, I won't be upset" He leaned close and whispered in your ear before pulling back and hovering just a few inches away from your face. Your heart beat faster and you stared at him with a bated breath. He was giving you an out? He was giving you and out.

"Fuck it" You mumbled before grabbing his neck and pulling him in for a kiss, smashing against his lips, he happily returned the passion. It didn't last last, however, as he pushed off of you and stood up.

"On your knees" Only in your underwear, you obeyed him despite the nagging feeling of embarrassement. Nobody has ever told you to do that much less you complying without argument. But you did anyways, you still hated him, you were sure. Now on your knees on the floor, almost naked, you looked up at the first man who had on his signature smirk.

"Suck my cock, Bitch" You were starting to have doubts now, seeping into your veins. Now you were thinking that this was a really bad idea. When you didn't move, Adam snarled and grabbed your hair, pulling you closer to his clothed cock. The action caused you to yelp and tears to form in your eyes.

"Fucking do it, I am your god and you should treat me like one" Taking deep breaths, you harshly pulled away from his grasp, him letting go of your hair, as you felt the conflicting emotions flicker in your mind- and body. A part of you knows you shouldn't be treated like this by someone who aren't even in a relationship with. But the other part loves the thrill and adrenaline and were getting noticeably wet. Glaring at him, you took your shaky hands and wrapped them around the waistband of his underwear. Taking the plunge- you pulled them down all in one go. It was a little bigger than average, but it was quite girthy. You said nothing as you stared.

"I am your god and this is how you earn my forgiveness. In fact, I want you to beg for my cock" You froze as his words, he wants you to beg now? You should just stand up, grab your clothes, and storm off at his treatment of you. He was disgusting. Yet- here you were, you already were on your knees for him, you already were this far. Well, if he wanted to play that game, you might as well give it your all. Swallowing your pride, you caved.

"Please Adam, let me suck your cock" Your voice was shaky, not firm at all and that caused a huff from him.

"I'm not convinced" Breathing in, you muster up all the confidence you could.

"Please Adam, I want to suck you off until you're dry and your cum is spilling all over me" Your pride completely disappeared as you stared up at him with narrowed eyes, hating the way he made you feel, hating how he could make you do such things that no other man could. But, he bent down and grabbed your face with both of his hands as his lips ghosted yours.

"That's more like it, Slut" He whispered, causing chills to go down your spine as he roughly released you, before shoving your head to his dick again. This time, you felt it rest against the side of your cheek, causing your face to ignite with heat. Pride long gone, you pushed back against his thighs and his cock suddenly became intimidating to you. You were supposed to fit that in your mouth.

"I don't have all day, Bitch" Sighing, you gently grabbed his member and started to rub back and forth lightly, testing the waters. He hitched his breath before he mumbled something you couldn't hear. Leaning closer, you gave a kitten lick to his tip and you could watch his thigh tense up slightly. Deciding to dive in- you swirled around the top of his shaft and sucked just at the head. You felt his hand hold the back of your head and push you in a bit, and you felt the sudden intrusion of his cock in your mouth. Stopping your ministrations, you sent a death glare his way and he just put on a happy innocent smile.

But you continued anyways- going deeper and slowly taking him all in while wrapping your tongue around him. You heard him breath out "fuck" as you started to bob your head back and forth, increasing with speed as you sucked on him, holding onto his thighs tightly. You then felt his hand on your head again as he guided you, wanting you to go faster. Tears brimmed your eyes again as your mouth was completely full and you were going so fast now. Yet, you couldn't help but feel yourself get even wetter, why? He was a terrible person.

"Fuck I'm close... You ready to swallow the first man's seed?" If you were able to roll your eyes, you would, but just as he said that, his cum spilled all in your mouth. It was somewhat salty, milky nonetheless, and thick. His cock was slowly eased out of you as you swallowed and coughed, bracing your hands on the floor as some of your mixed saliva and his cum spilled, making a small puddle. You sat and caught your breath as Adam leaned down, gripping your chin in his hand, he forced you to look up at him with tears growing in your vision, shame washing over you.

"I like it when you cry, Bitch, because you know your place. You are below me and always will be. You are a peasant, and I am your god"

[twelfthgnome]

Heaven is Here

SYNOPSIS: Through many fleeting moments throughout history with a strange woman, Aziraphale and Crowley learn they accidentally trapped a human soul to Earth, stuck to reincarnate forever.

TAGS: Aziraphale x Crowley x Reader, fluff, slight angst, soulmate au (on accident), history, historical settings, no beta we die like men

WORD COUNT : 12,253

A/N: This fic is kind of accidental. I’ve always been more about Aziraphale/Crowley in this fandom than any reader insert, but one day I happened upon a Tumblr fanfic and had an idea. This probably won’t be a regular thing - except I am planning a sequel to this exact fic - but I thought why not. Im still more Aziraphale/Crowley.

55BC—————

"And you love this?" Crowley asked, holding the seafood up to the light as though it would reveal to Aziraphale all the disgusting little details.

"It's delightful!" Aziraphale insisted, showing Crowley how to eat the oyster. "Try it, dearest. You might just enjoy it."

Crowley pursed his lips, not wanting to put whatever the hell this was in his mouth. But Aziraphale was looking at him with those eyes. He didn't know how describe them, and he didn't want to analyze how they made his heart hurt inside his vessel's chest. So he closed his eyes and ate the damned thing.

He put a hand over his mouth to stop the gagging. This Angel's taste was not quite normal if this is what he considered fine dining. He tried to smile politely, to not let him know that it was utter horseshit.

"You don't like it," Aziraphale said with a rather disappointed voice.

"N-No, I don't," Crowley said, and he didn't know why but he was sad to disappoint the angel. He was just trying to be kind after all, it wasn't as though he had properly sinned. But why would a demon feel bad for an angel? That went against his lot's whole thing.

However, Crowley found a wicked part of him that liked pissing off his lot. He'd never put it in as many words however.

"Pity, they are quite delectable."

"Sure, angel," Crowley said, sipping a large mouthful of wine. They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes, eating and drinking as they'd like. Then Crowley looked up to Aziraphale's soft "ahem." He was pointing behind Crowley, and when he turned he saw what caused it.

A young woman was sat in the corner, a large glass of wine in her hands, and she was weeping to herself. It wasn't loud or particularly noticeable, if it wasn't for the tear tracks down her cheeks, glittering as they caught the light. She was looking at her lap and sipping the wine, balking at the taste yet coming back for more.

"She looks happy," Crowley said.

"She looks sad! You demons need to learn the proper emotions."

Crowley stared at Aziraphale for a moment, wondering if he was joking. Upon realizing that Aziraphale was, in fact, not joking Crowley said, "that was sarcasm, Angel."

"What was sarcasm?"

"My comment, 'she looks happy.' Of course she doesn't look happy that's why I said it."

Aziraphale furrowed his brows, "but your words meant the opposite of what you said."

"Exactly," Crowley said. And with a flourish he added, "it's called sarcasm."

"But why say something you don't mean? Isn't that lying?" Aziraphale asked, in all sincerity.

Crowley thought it over, "s'pose it could be seen that way. Most people view it as ironic."

"Oh, yes, of course." Aziraphale took an anxious sip of wine, looking back towards the girl.

"Angel..."

"Yes?" He was avoiding eye contact

"You don't know what ironic means, do you?"

Aziraphale pouted, "no I don't and I quite detest that you do."

"Ironic literally means saying the opposite of what you mean for some sort of point. Mine being that she looks downright miserable."

"Even though you said she looks happy." Aziraphale said slowly as he tracked that line of logic through his head.

"Right, even though I said she looks happy."

"And that's ironic?"

"Don't ya think?" Crowley said with a wide smile, his teeth appearing almost like he had pointed fangs.

"Why yes I do think-"

"Angel, that was irony."

"Oh." Aziraphale blinked rapidly a few times then sipped his wine, embarrassed he didn't know something that Crowley did know. He thought he was the knowledgeable of the two. "Well, sarcasm or not, we should help her."

"We?"

"Why - yes, we're both here and we see -"

"I don't help people," Crowley said quickly, his voice deep and harsh. "I'm a demon, I do the opposite of help."

"Well, yes but-"

"There are no buts with this. My lot were created to ruin your lots pickings. I pillage and plunder, that's my job." Crowley said this firmly as though it would make his point clearer. The more intense he was, the more his words seemed to slur together a bit.

Aziraphale paused for a moment, and Crowley wondered if he was about argue his point once more. "Isn't the phrase rape, pillage and plunder?"

"I don't do that. I'm not a monster," Crowley balked. He finished his wine and set the glass down. Throwing some money on the table he said, "sorry Angel. Got a priest to tempt. Catch you later."

"Oh, goodbye." Aziraphale said as Crowley ambled off through the restaurants doors. But despite himself, Aziraphale found himself smiling. Crowley wasn't truly all bad, even if he thought himself it. His gaze at the doors quickly moved over to the pretty girl weeping. She was still crying and her glass was a lot emptied.

Aziraphale got up, straightened his toga, and walked over to the girl. "Oh, um, hello. I'm -" oh shoot, he hadn't thought of this part yet. He had to quickly think of a name. Instantly his eyes shot up to the art above her, a fleece. Aha! "Jason. My name is Jason. Pardon the intrusion, but I couldn't help but notice you're upset."

She sniffled, setting the glass down on the table. Aziraphale was struck by her face, now that he could see it not turned down and hidden. She was pretty. She eyed him warily, "Yeah, what's it to you?"

Aziraphale sat down on the chair opposite her, "I wondered if I might be able to help."

She laughed bitterly, "only if you can stop the Emperor." Aziraphale's eyebrows raised at that and she rushed to cover for herself, "oh no, I didn't mean that. All Hail the Caesar and what not. He's doing a mighty fine job."

"It's certainly not a 'mighty fine job' if he's got you crying as such."

"No, I s'pose not."

"What can I do for you?"

"Nothing," she said honestly, wiping the tears away quickly. "Honestly, Jason, I appreciate the thought but what's done is done. You can't change the past."

Aziraphale made a face in slight disagreement, though he knew he couldn't explain that to a human female. "Then perhaps telling someone will make you feel better. I harbor no connection with the Emperor, your opinions are quite safe with me."

She stared up at him after he said this, looking him truly in the eyes as though they told her all she needed to know. Then she did speak. "It's this invasion on Britain. My father and brother were both sent off and I worry. I've heard horrible things about the natives, truly barbaric things like removing of one's head. I don't want them to be hurt. Especially my brother, he's so sweet. He could get hurt by the army rather the natives."

"Hurt by his own army?"

"He doesn't stand up for himself. And that lot can be harsh. I s'pose I shouldn't blame them, I'd be harsh too if I had to kill people in battle. But I worry they will pick on him, push him 'round to try and get him to fight, and he won't."

"Ah, I see," Aziraphale said, rolling his tongue in his mouth as he thought it over. "Well, I can assure you one thing. The natives are not unnecessarily cruel. They do fight, but only when they need to. You couldn't expect anything less, dear."

She nodded, biting her lip. "No, you're correct. I'd defend my country against invaders as well."

"But they won't torture. Your brother will be quite alright, I'm sure of it."

After a minute of silence she looked up again at Aziraphale, "Thank you, Jason. Strangely enough, that makes me feel better. Knowing it wouldn't be torture."

"No, it wouldn't be."

"I really should be going, my daughter will be expecting me."

"Right, of course. Blessings on you, my dear." And though he'd already said the blessing, he felt compelled to say it again. To strengthen it for this poor soul. "Blessings on you forever."

Aziraphale helped her out of her seat. Just then, for an imperceivable second, Aziraphale thought he saw a golden shine cross her eyes. He didn't think much of it, figured it was the miracle. He'd never seen that happen, but he wasn't often looking in their eyes.

She took his hand, kissed the back of it, and thanked him again before walking out. Aziraphale smiled contentedly, though he felt a pull in his heart he hadn't felt before. Urging him to follow her, but he figured it was some sort of indigestion.

Crowley was sprawled on a bench not far from the restaurant, glancing up at a night time sky he couldn't see. He wanted to see it, but he gave up on that dream 2,000 years ago. The Fall took many things, and his eyesight was one of them. He could still see in general, he knew what people's faces looked like and where he was going. But specifics were lost on him, and the night looked like eternal darkness rather than the sparkling stars and planets he'd been told about.

"I helped create some of those," he mumbled to himself.

Then he closed his eyes, needing to not look at what he couldn't see. It still hurt, as though the wound wasn't thousands of years old. But it never properly healed in the first place.

He felt a weight against his foot and heard a thud within a matter of seconds, and he blinked in surprise. At his feet, a young woman was crumpled to the ground. His foot was sticking out in the pathway. Whoops.

He thought about rising to help her, then thought better of it. Beelzebub didn't need another reason to hate him. So he sat still and watched the woman get onto her hands and knees, glaring at him.

"Not going to help are you?"

"No, I think I'm keen to just watch," Crowley responded. She rolled her eyes, getting onto her feet and dusting off her toga. He examined her quickly, not knowing what to make of her. Then, she said something entirely unexpected.

"Keep your foot out of the way, asshole."

It wasn't a particularly inspired remark, nothing witty or threatening. But it was the fact that a random woman said that to him, a demon, without prompting. And with that remark, she walked away.

"Damnation on you eternally," Crowley murmured, waving his hand in a flourish towards the woman. He doesn't know why he said it, he's never really said it like that before and he certainly didn't why he even added the 'eternally' bit. But whatever the reason, he said it.

Though he knew she was too far away to hear him, she turned and looked back. And found a brief moment, maybe it was the trick of the light, he saw a golden shine pass over her eyes. She smirked shyly, then turned and walked away. And with each step, Crowley felt his heart pulse in a way he hadn't felt before.

1377—————

There was complete silence in the cathedral as a young boy, only aged 10 and dressed in trousers, walked through the crowd towards the priest. They seemed to hold their breaths as he lay on the floor before God, surrendering himself to Her mercy. Aziraphale watched the coronation. He had mixed feelings about the child, Richard. He wasn't a particular fan of the whole 'king' concept, but he thought the honoring to God bit was a nice touch. He wore simple enough clothes to note stand out, yet nice to enough to be recognized as a noble. His layers were in varying degrees of beige as he hid in the very middle of the crowd.

After the 10 minutes on the floor, Richard rose and made his way to the priest where he was being dressed in oil.

"Bit like a salad, eh?" A sultry, baritone voice said from beside Aziraphale, making him shudder. When he looked, it was Crowley. Dressed in similarly simple noble clothes, of course in tones of black and red, he watched the young king as different body parts were coated in oil for different purposes.

"Crowley? How did you get in here? It's a church?" Aziraphale said in a hushed whisper, earning glares from the people beside him. "Sorry Lord Wellington."

"Churches are built by humans."

"And what does that have to do with anything? You're still a demon in a place of worship for God," he said the word 'demon' especially softly for fear someone would turn in a panic at the word 'demon' being said in a cathedral.

"Yeah but it wasn't made by God. It was made for Her, by humans. Totally human structure."

"It is not."

Crowley shrugged his shoulders, "you got a better reason I can come and go in these?"

Aziraphale pursed his lips, "I suppose not."

A loud smack echoed through the church and Crowley frowned, "you made me miss the slap, Angel."

"That is your concern?"

Crowley shook his head in frustration, "He's a bloody king now, last time he coulda gotten hit and it's by a priest. S'course I wanted to see it."

"He's a child."

"Not anymore. He's got too much to think about now to be a child."

"No," Aziraphale wondered. "I suppose he's not longer a child at all. You know, dearest, you really do have the grandest thoughts when you think about it."

"Shut up," Crowley replied, his cheeks turning rosy at the compliment.

Within seconds of him saying it, the priest placed the crown on top of boy's head and declared loudly, "Long Live King Richard II!"

The crowd burst into applause as the young king was carried through the cathedral. They whooped and hollered, crying "all hail" and "god save the king" as he passed them by. The boy looked cheerful, pink cheeks and bright curls waving underneath a crown that looked awful heavy for a boy his age. But no, Aziraphale thought, perhaps this was the end of his childhood after all.

"Are you attending the feast afterwards? I hear they will serve beef, and I haven't have beef in decades!"

"Ahh, well I don't know, Angel."

Aziraphale smiled, leaning in as though he was sharing a conspiratorial secret, "I hear there are miraculously two spots for a Lord Fell and Mr Fell, if you are so inclined."

Crowley's eyebrows shot up, eyes hidden beneath his favorite pair of sunglasses, "oh you devil!"

Aziraphale's smile dropped, "don't you say that."

There was a pause as Aziraphale processed the hurtful words, and Crowley processed that he actually cared to make it right to him. Then all at once, they both started speaking on the issue, words overlapping in a frightful mess.

Crowley sighed, "Right I'm sorry -"

"- that really hurts -"

"- I know, I know -"

"- I mean, I am most certainly not fallen -"

"-we had this conversation in 1066 -"

" - I did not appreciate that."

" -I know, Angel. I'm sorry."

After that final note, Aziraphale nodded. "Alright, well. Thank you."

They started to walk together towards the banquet hall not far from there, waiting to indulge in fine wines and beef. There was a large parade towards it, all the nobles and even those fortunate peasants engaged in laughing and singing. Jesters performed stupid dances in their funny hats, knights marched in perfect unison, and songs came pouring from every lute and voice in the area. It was a perfect celebration of a new king, all on their way to fall victim to gluttony, drunkenness, lust, greed and infinitely more temptations.

All things that should fill Crowley's heart with a miserable sort of glee. And yet... he felt off. Crowley couldn't explain the feeling in his chest, almost like a nagging telling him things weren't right. But all this temptation, he thought. This ought to be perfect! But it wasn't, and he had a feeling before he even glanced at his Angel that it was because of him.

Sure enough, he was right. Though Aziraphale hadn't said anything, being kind enough to accept Crowley's words at face value and dropping it, but Crowley knew him well enough to know something was wrong. He hadn't made it up to him.

"Angel, a word -" Crowley said, grabbing Aziraphale's elbow and leading him away from the crowd. As he did so, he missed the way Aziraphale's mouth dropped open, blue eyes fixated on the contact. They'd rarely touched before.

"Yes, Crowley?" Aziraphale asked politely but his tone was full of too much passive aggression to really be polite. He stood stock still, arms poised in front of him and looked expectedly at Crowley.

"I- I, I need to..." Satan this was hard. The words felt like glue in Crowley's mouth but he did his best to force them out. "I need to, to s'make it up to you."

"Pardon?"

Oh damn Aziraphale, making Crowley actually communicate. "What I said, I was wrong. You were right. It wasn't right of me and I need to make it because my apology isn't enough."

"I never said that."

"Ah, yeah, you never said it. But you's do this thing with your face when you's upset. And my words aren't getting there. Just tell me what I can do to make it up to you."

They waited a moment, staring at one another. Suddenly, a large crash came from parade and the two looked over in surprise. The musicians were playing a long, one very eager man slamming the cymbals that caused such a loud sound. Behind them another jester bobbled along a delicate little dance, flourishing his arms on either side before turning and doing a bow.

Crowley saw Aziraphale's eyebrows raise, the corner of his cute little mouth twitch up and a finger pointed towards the little dance. He ran to stop it, saying, "no, no, no, I'm not doing that."

"Come now-"

"A dance? You want an 'I was wrong, You were right dance'? You can't be serious, Angel."

"I am serious, you wily serpent. Now do the little dance or I'll never forgive you," Aziraphale said in mock frustration, puffing out his chest.

Crowley saw before him a choice, between what his lot were bound to and Aziraphale. And without a second thought, he chose Aziraphale. He would choose Aziraphale every time, he just didn't know it yet. And so, despite all the humiliation he knew this would cause him if the bosses down under ever found out, Crowley did the little dance.

Aziraphale watched, eyebrows raised in shock. He hadn't thought Crowley would do it. Certainly not for him. But as Crowley bowed, enunciating his t's with a flourish, he couldn't help but smile.

"Very nice."

"Are we good, now?"

Aziraphale beamed, "quite right, dearest. We are quite right."

Crowley let out a breath, adjusting his glasses as though they would hide that dance from history's books. "Well then, let's get a move on."

The pair followed the parade into the banquet hall, and continued with the affair. Aziraphale literally wiggled in his seat when the food was placed before him, so excited he couldn't sit still. Crowley drank the wine, actually quite good for English wine.

Then the dancing started. King Richard - now Richard II - climbed on top of the table and proclaimed everyone to dance. And so, the nobles in their fancy gowns, drunk and laughing to no end, jumped from their seats to join in the dance. Aziraphale sat still for a moment, not knowing what he should do. Angels don't dance, not really. But this Angel longed to dance.

Crowley saw the way his fingers tapped along the table to the beat. He groaned, getting up from his seat.

"S'alright Angel, up up."

"Pardon -"

"You heard what I said. Come on Angel, let's dance."

Aziraphale giggled and got up, following Crowley into the chaos of swirling dresses and flirtatious looks between anyone and everyone. Almost immediately they were separated, swung by different partners.

Crowley danced with an older woman who squeezed his buttocks when she thought he wasn't looking. He wasn't fond of dancing, not the way Aziraphale was, but he enjoyed the freedom of it all. There were no rules, not really. Yes some people liked the structured ones where you pose and turn on every 3rd beat or what not. But in dancing there was an air of just living - being truly alive. That's what it was all about, it's all anyone yearned to feel.

In the next turn to switch partners, time seemed to slow for Crowley. He saw her, flitting between the people to slide her arm into Crowley's and continue the dance. She was pretty in an unconventional way. A way society might not call beautiful, but made Crowley stop and stare. He was pulled towards her, as though he couldn't control it. She was the center of his focus and he wanted nothing more than to meet her. Then, she turned that pretty gaze on him. Her lips quirked into a smile, hands warm and soft as they held his tightly. Her skin was flushed from the dance, and her dress swung around her in bright, dashing colors. The last dance had ended and all the people were gasping for air yet still ready to dive into the next.

"Hello," she said softly, though somehow he heard her voice over the crowd.

"Hello," Crowley answered back, not sure what to do. He'd never been in this position before.

"A dance?" She asked, taking a deep bow before holding her hand out. Palm up. She wore one, golden signet ring.

"I'd love to," Crowley answered honestly, taking her hand and pulling her into him.

She giggled happily, throwing an arm around his neck as he led the pair towards the center of the dance floor. He started to laugh along with her. Their dancing wasn't particularly good, both of them knew that, but they were having fun. She would twirl away only to twirl back into him awkwardly, laughing so hard she snorted which only caused a barking laughter from Crowley. They continued forward, holding each other close until the final pull drew them chest to chest. She was shorter than he, and she glanced up through dark lashes.

"Hi," she murmured, her breath hitting Crowley's face. She smelled of wine and temptation. He looked into her eyes and there it was - that one moment in history he thought was a fluke.

It had been 1,432 years, not like he was counting, but he didn't forget the way the golden band seemed to fleet over her eyes back in 55BC. And now, he saw that same golden shine slide over the same pair of eyes. It was just a second and yet it made Crowley's mouth drop. She saw it too, but for different reasons. He watched as she looked at his lips, he could tell what she was thinking.

She went to lean in, breasts pressed against his chest and breath hot, but was ripped away by the next dance. She giggled wildly as she was pulled into a circle, but found herself glancing over her shoulder to stare at the handsome stranger she almost kissed.

As Crowley stood in the middle of the floor, mystified, Aziraphale went over to his table to get a drink. All this dancing was positively amazing, but it certainly drained one of their energy.

As he brought the cup to his lips, a body crashed into his, sending the crimson liquid all over his clothes.

"Oh, bugger," he said, setting the cup down to assess the damage.

"I am so sorry, sir!" A girl said, breathless as she ran over. "That was entirely my fault. Please, let me help you clean it. I'm sure there's a tub not far."

Aziraphale smiled politely and went to decline the kind offer, but when he looked into her eyes he found himself agreeing to go with her. She lit up with excitement, grabbing his hand and pulling him away. There was something about her, something he couldn't explain. But he was in awe of her movements and eager to learn more about her.

She turned into an empty hall near a bathroom. She had him wait here while she collected a basin of water and grease.

"I can't promise it will fully work," she said as she set it down, "but I'll do my best. I really am so sorry, sir. I would have never ruined your clothes intentionally."

"It's quite alright. They weren't my favorite anyway," he said as he removed the outer layer. His multiple layers undergarments were fine, and could suffer slight staining. It was the outer garment that changed the most.

She shook her head as she dunked it in the basin, "you can't mean that, sir."

"I find that I quite do," he said, watching her with a quite awe.

"What's your name, sir? I feel I've seen you before," she said, suddenly watching him with the same astute attention. She kept narrowing her eyes as though she'd remember.

Maybe it was the stain, the wine, the party, the demon nearby, or maybe it was just this woman that did it to him but without realizing, he answered honestly, "Aziraphale."

Her eyes lit up, "like the Angel?"

"Precisely, my dear."

"That's a beautiful name. Aziraphale, Aziraphale... can you believe it?" She mumbled the last bit to herself, rubbing liberal amounts of grease into the fabric.

"Do you have a connection to the name? Or the Angel, perhaps?" Aziraphale asked curiously, wanting to hear more about her.

"I do, strangely enough. It's a silly connection..." she said, absentmindedly turning the signet ring over and over on her hand.

"I rather find that when it comes to angels and demons, nothing is silly." Aziraphale chose to neglect some of the more strange decisions the staff had made.

"I, well, oh goodness it sounds all made up. Well, I was in the shops the other day. My friend makes jewelry and he's very good. I came by and he said a man dropped off this gold signet ring with the name Aziraphale burned into it. Said he didn't know what to do with it, not many people knows the Angel, and he gave it to me." She took the ring off her finger, staring at it with an admiration before holding it out to him. "It's your name. You should have it."

"Oh I couldn't possibly take from you, dear."

She shook her head, "no it's not taking. It's a gift. It's fate, that I should have a ring for an Aziraphale just before meeting one of my very own."

"Oh dear, I couldn't -"

She interrupted him by pressing a soft kiss to the ring, taking his hand and sliding it onto his pinky finger. When she looked up, still holding his hand, Aziraphale's jaw dropped. That golden shine. Where had he seen that before? It was brief, flashing over a pair of kind eyes, but it was there all the same.

"Please accept this, Aziraphale."

"I - I will. Thank you, my dear."

Neither Crowley nor Aziraphale saw her after that night. They didn't know her name, her status, or even really remember her outfit. If Cinderella was around, she would have been the prime candidate for it. Neither told each other about their experience with a strange woman until 150 years later as they talked about Henry VIII's decision to have Anne Boleyn beheaded. Nasty business that was.

1601—————

"He's really quite good," Aziraphale said, watching fondly as the actor of Hamlet lamented about life and death. It really was moving the way he toyed between truly living a life, or if death was not truly what life was about.

Aziraphale found himself doing that 'excited sigh' that Crowley described. He found it an odd way of saying his behaviors, but Crowley insisted that when Aziraphale was excited it wasn't a 'satisfied sigh' but an 'excited sigh.' To be fair, he'd said this after 2 whole bottles of wine and a shot of pure vodka, so Aziraphale couldn't grant its true authenticity. A drunk demon would truly say anything just to illicit a reaction.

The speech made him wonder what it was like to be a human, with no certainty about what happens with their souls. They don't have a guarantee about life, or death, and yet are expected to do as they are told with no questions. Crowley knew what it was like to ask questions, and it lead to scars even Aziraphale didn't know about.

"Ngk, s'pose so." Crowley grumbled, watching as the man stamped his foot on the stage. "Bit dramatic, no?"

"It'd a tragedy!" Aziraphale countered, furrowing his brows in surprise.

"Eh, I still prefer the funny ones."

Aziraphale shook his head, turning to watch the man on the stage. A flash of purple fabric caught his eye, and his gaze traveled to see a young woman peaking out from behind the railing. She was trying to stay hidden, but Aziraphale could see that she just couldn't resist the temptation to watch the rehearsal. Her eyes were bright and wide, soaking in the sight. Her clothes were dirty and well worn, a few sizes too big and the hem covered in a layer of mud. But despite it all, she looked entirely unique.

She was pretty, and Aziraphale didn't often feel as though many humans were pretty. He appreciated the art of humanity, and believed each human was their own work of art. But he didn't feel a pull to any of them, but her... she had an attraction to her. He could see her lean too far over the edge, as though the stage were dragging her in. It wasn't just a love and an admiration, it was an addiction. Aziraphale could see what was going to happen moments before it did, but it was too late. The girl tumbled over the edge and fell onto the floor of the Globe, catching the attention of everybody in the rehearsal space.

Her cheeks immediately blotted pink, covering her face in a rosy hue as the stage manager came to her with a snarl, "oi, who're you?"

"I-I-"

"You's not supposed to be 'ere," he said, grabbing her roughly by the arm and dragging her to her feet. She stumbled along as he pulled her to the entrance. "Out with you."

"Mary? Whatcha doin here?" Crowley called out, sauntering over to the man and the girl. The man stopped, looking at Crowley with a skeptical gaze. The girl's eyes widened, bright and eager, as she realized what Crowley was doing and she nodded vigorously.

"Yes, sir, I came to fetch you! Mistress Paulson requested you." She said quickly, trying to stand on her own despite the stage manager's tight grasp.

The man cocked an eyebrow, "oh yeah? You know's him?"

"Know me? Know me?" Crowley sauntered over with a cackle, "me's and Mary goes way back."

She nodded, ripping her arm from the man's grasp then standing politely. "Oh yes, Mr..."

"Oh don't bother with all the Mr Crowley Miss whatever business, just call me Anthony like any other bloke."

"Anthony has helped my sister much. He's an excellent doctor," she said, standing firm. Aziraphale watched her in awe, he was impressed. She picked up that Crowley was saving her quickly, easing into the lie with an expert comfort. She seemed familiar, as though they'd met her before. And most importantly, she was intelligent.

"Doctor? You didn't mention that about your friend," the man said to Aziraphale, his enunciation so poor he practically spat the words at Aziraphale's feet.

Aziraphale flashed a charming smile, "I hadn't realized that those particular skills would, uh, come up in a theatre of this, err,... caliber."

"I haven't the pleasure of meeting you, sir." The girl piped up, her smile was warm and gentle. But he could see in her eyes a tension, wanting to convince this man to not throw her out or worse - press charges. "My's names Mary Edwins. Friend of Mr Crowley."

Mary Edwins, clearly a fake name. Just basic enough to be believable, but enough slight hesitation that Aziraphale knew she was lying. She gave a little curtesy, spreading the oversized purple skirt over the floor. It really was too large, but she still looked charming. Aziraphale felt as though he'd seen that curtesy before. There it was, fast you could have blamed the lighting, Aziraphale knew better. There that same golden shine came over her eyes, if just for a moment. His mouth fell open in a little 'o,' unable to speak for a while 10 seconds before stuttering out, "oh, h-hello Miss Edwins, I'm Mr Fell."

The stage manager thought on it for a moment, before deciding that he wasn't paid enough to care. It was hours away from opening night, after all, and the little boy playing Ophelia needed alterations in his costume.

"Alright then," he said, walking back towards the director, a Mr William Shakespeare.

The girl was still a few feet away as Crowley walked dramatically back towards Aziraphale. The Angel tried to ignore it. He hadn't mentioned that part of it with Crowley, and he didn't know how to continue. Crowley mistook Aziraphale's expression as one of angelic smugness and rose a finger, "shut it, Angel."

"That was a good thing you did," he said with a little smile. He pushed it to the back of his mind, something to worry about when it was late and the city was asleep.

"Twasn't good, no. I was, real, I - I - I was bad. I let a criminal get away."

Aziraphale patted Crowley's shoulder, "no, dearest. You let a woman enjoy her passion. Look at her, you've saved her."

The pair glanced over at her as she tried, and failed, to subtly watch the actors get ready for their next scene. Her hand was on her heart, as though if she didn't put it there her heart would pop right out.

"Ehhh, that's not saving. Not really."

"Oh, it's not? Then what would you say is a human's purpose?" Aziraphale asked with a soft voice.

"I thought that's your job, Angel. Praising God and what not."

Aziraphale pursed his lips, looking away from Crowley. "You know as well as I that love of God is not all humans were made for. I am of the firm opinion they are here for their passions. They survive by it. They might be able to live with food and water alone, but no soul could truly exist without their drive. And this woman, her passion is theatre."

"Rather blasphemous words from an Angel."

"Rather kind actions from a demon."

Aziraphale smiled, looking towards the stage. Crowley tried to hide the blush on his ears and cheeks. It was always his ears that turned bright red from, from, well he didn't quite know from what. But he felt the heat and looked away. He looked at the girl, who perked your once she realized he saw her. She went over shyly.

Despite her apprehension, she raised her voice enough to say, "thank you for your help, Mr Crowley and Mr Fell."

"Mmm," was Crowley reply, gazing around the globe with a distinguished air about him. As if he was the most important person in the room. He tried to ignore her presence. She had a pull to her and he couldn't explain it, didn't want to address it. He already had the issue of a certain Angel who wouldn't leave his mind.

"Who are we to stop the love of the arts?" Aziraphale said, rather eccentrically. "Though you could have waited a few hours to see the whole show."

"I can't afford it," she said quietly, staring at her feet. Aziraphale noted her sweet little boots, their pointed ends digging into the dirt out of anxiety. "My mistress only gave me the morning. I need to be back in an hour."

Crowley and Aziraphale shot a glance with one another, not quite knowing how to respond. They stood in silence, the girl's eyes wide as she drank in Ophelia's mad lullabies.

"What's your name?"

"Mary Edwins."

Crowley smiled, "nice try, love. Your real name."

She cocked an eyebrow, glancing up at first at Crowley, then at Aziraphale, before looking back at her reflection in his sunglasses. "Why do you want to know?"

"We did help you, dear. We'd just love to know you, but if you cannot tell us, we won't rush you."

"Are you two a couple?" She asked quickly, pointing at the two and waving her hands in some strange, gesture of coupling. Her choice of question was so drastic, they didn't bother to notice the intentional diversion in topics.

Aziraphale looked up, mouth dropping in a little 'o' and he looked at Crowley. Crowley lifted a brow. Aziraphale answered, "We've known each other for a long time."

"That doesn't answer my question, Mr Fell."

"Aren't you a sly one, Miss Edwins." Crowley sneered, his top lip recoiling.

She just smiled, shrugging her shoulders with a little giggle. "Suppose so, Mr Crowley."

The golden shine. Crowley sucked in a harsh breath as she turned to look back at the stage. He could practically hear all his thoughts as they raced through his head, and he was unable to settle on just one. Those eyes. He hadn't seen them in years and yet this was the third woman who just happened to flirt with him, and had a gold shine go across her eyes. He reckoned she didn't know it happened, she probably didn't know what those little eyes could do to an immortal creature. Crowley swallowed, praying she never had to.

Then, the show continued and 'Mary's' eyes seemed transfixed. Aziraphale loved the theatre, Crowley enjoyed it, but 'Mary' adored it.

Crowley watched her eagerly, partly out of curiosity and partly because he liked feeling her passion in his soul as though it was her own. He found himself attracted to it, a drag of one's purpose. The passion filled her up, and she seemed to want to lean into it. She gasped as Hamlet killed his mother, she listened with eager ears as he instructed the actors on how they were to act, she cried as it seemed that everyone fell to the floor in a miserable death. Then, it was over. Actors stumbled to their feet, laughing as though they weren't stabbed with poisoned rapiers. The story was over, but 'Mary' seemed to be in a daze. Crowley watched with shrewd, yet eager eyes as she came out of it.

Then she straightened her back, smiling tightly to both of them. "Mr Fell, Mr Crowley, thank you for letting me stay. It has been such a gift. I'm afraid I must go."

"Let us escort you home," Aziraphale said, without realizing what he was offering.

She blinked wide eyes, "there's no need, sir. It's two blocks away."

Crowley lifted his chin, "love, we'd like to see you off safe."

"If you insist. Though I must tell you it's entirely through the city. Eyes will be on you at all times," she said it as a threat, a reminder to not do anything unsavory. Crowley almost frowned at that little bit of false hope. If they actually had bad intentions, a crowd wouldn't stop anything. She wasn't truly safe. But both Crowley and Aziraphale nodded, as though they truly headed her warning.

"Was that your first Shakespeare production?" Aziraphale asked, making polite conversation as he walked on one side of her, Crowley on the other.

"Oh, no. I do my best to attend all of them. I tend to prefer the funny ones, but the crowds can be a bit much for me."

"Eh? What'd you mean by that?" Crowley asked.

She blushed, "I don't like when crowds get very loud. They tend to jeer and toss things at the actors. It doesn't feel safe for anyone. I do enjoy his dramas though."

They walked in companionable silence for a moment before she asked the next question, "what do you two do? If I may, you're dressed rather odd."

"Odd?" Crowley asked with a frown, gazing down at his outfit. He was quite proud of this outfit. The ruff was amazing, really helped one feel confident.

'Mary' giggled. "I don't dislike your outfits, you just don't see these colors often."

Aziraphale and Crowley exchanged a glance, shifting in their outfits. Perhaps they do cling to their colors a bit much. But Aziraphale never felt it was a problem, he was proud of his wardrobe.

"I make my own clothes," Aziraphale said with a smile.

'Mary' lightened up, her eyes taking on a bright, sparkling quality before she actually smiled, a little tell that Aziraphale noticed. He'd seen that before, but couldn't place it. "That is quite wonderful, Mr Fell. I'd love to make my own, however I mostly sew for my mistress."

"You make her clothes?"

"Oh no, I tend to mend them."

The conversation lulled again, and Crowley bit his lip as he thought before asking the question that has been on his tongue since the play ended, "why do you love theatre so much?"

Her chest flared, her eyes wide and sparkling, and she could barely contain the words before they poured from her in excited spurts, "what's not to love? It's stories about being human wrapped up in fancy costumes and dramatic voices. It's full of stories that seem so outrageous yet we still find our way to connect. Isn't it just fascinating that you could watch a show about a man, driven mad by jealousy caused by a deceiving friend, murdering his wife and leave full of emotions? You'd think you'd be mad at the murderer, condemning him for killing his love. And yet, there's more to it than that. You can't quite hate Othello, but you can't love him either. It's so hard to explain what it is to be human, there's no word or sentence to explain it. It can be so isolating. But these stories can give us insight. I, sorry, I'm rambling," she said, taking a wistful sigh.

"Stories can be found anywhere, dear. Books, especially," Aziraphale noted. He enjoyed hearing her speak with such fire. In the back of his mind, he felt as though he could recall someone else talking about their love of stories, but he couldn't place it.

She nodded, smiling. "Yes, of course. And I adore books too. It's just... theatre is such a temporary art. Those moments on stage, or watching, could never be recreated, it could never be exactly as it was. And that's what made it so beautifully tragic. You are stuck with a slightly different story each night, with different takeaways."

"What a beautiful takeaway," Aziraphale said, watching her with a slight sort of awe.

She blushed, "I'm hardly unique in that way."

"Ngk," Crowley mumbled in disagreement, though he didn't actually say a word. Yet, she seemed to still understand what he was trying to say and blushed all the same.

As they walked, Crowley took off his sunglasses for a moment to wipe his eyes. He seemed to forget that his were unusual, yellow and with a snake like slit as a pupil.

"Are you alright?" She asked.

"M'yeah," Crowley answered, opening his eyes to look at her. After the initial realization he was seeing her without glasses, thus revealing the snake like eyes, he went to shove the sunglasses back on. But she wasn't looking unkindly at him.

Instead, she smiled widely, "they're beautiful."

"Wot?" He said in shock.

"Your eyes are beautiful, Mr Crowley." Then, as Crowley sputtered in surprise, she stopped in front of an expensive flat. "This is me mistress's. Thank you, Mr Crowley and Mr Fell."

She looked both of them in the eyes as she said their names, and with equal kindness and appreciation. Then, she turned away and scampered around towards the servants entrance. Aziraphale waited until she was inside to blow out a breath.

"She was something," Crowley said.

"Yes, she was."

"I- angel, I could be wrong on this but didn't she feel-"

"Familiar?" Aziraphale finished for Crowley, looking down the alley as though she would magically reappear.

"Yes! It's so bloody weird," Crowley said, rubbing his hand along his jaw.

"Yes, weird," Aziraphale said, enunciating weird in an odd way that made Crowley furrow his brows. The two beings tried to shrug off this encounter, heading their separate ways for the time being.

1865—————

Aziraphale stared at Crowley as though he'd never seen him before, utterly gobsmacked. "I will not provide you that, that thing! It's suicide."

"Aw not for that Angel," Crowley groaned, waving his hand nonchalantly as though he hadn't asked for the one thing that would completely kill him. "Just for, err you know, protection."

"You are a demon, Crowley. The world would need protection from you."

Crowley tried to not let that sting. He'd never said as much to Aziraphale, but these last 200 years have really brought some perspective over what it is to be a demon. He found a weird sense of discomfort over the word demon. As though he were entirely bad because of what he was, and not what he does. But he'd never say it, or tell Aziraphale he accidentally rhymed.

"It's not like that, I just want to secure myself. That's all."

Aziraphale pursed his lips and looked away, not bearing the thought that his closest acquaintance would dare to think of something like that. It was simply not going to happen, Aziraphale refused to let that happen. Crowley was going to live forever, with Aziraphale, and he was going to do so happily. He'd never tell Crowley, of course, but Aziraphale didn't know if he could manage eternity without him.

"Oi! That can't have that!" Crowley said quickly, throwing himself off the bench and facing towards a woman standing by the river.

She turned to look at the, in her view, random man dressed in mourning garb barreling towards her and shouting in a thick accent. She clutched the loaf of bread close to her chest, eyeing him warily as he continued rambling.

"Bread's not good for 'em, it can - can - can cause diseases," he said once he got close to her.

She sucked in a breath. He was taller than he'd looked from afar, and she found herself staring at him. He was also quite handsome, with tanned skin and shocking bright red hair, curled away from his face. She noticed a pair of odd looking spectacles hiding his eyes, and a tattoo peaking out beneath his sideburns.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know," she said breathlessly. She felt kind of stupid now, holding a loaf of bread as he stared at her with a passion for the ducks. A man dressed in all beige apparel came by quickly, standing by the other man's side. He looked kind, with bright blue eyes and plush pink lips she didn't even realize she'd taken note of.

"I'm terribly sorry for my friend's outburst," Aziraphale said to the woman, still looking shellshocked. "Though I'm afraid he is right, bread is not the best for them."

She looked down and stared at it. "Right, well I apologize. I hadn't been doing it long, if it's of any comfort."

Crowley grumbled but didn't say anything else, eyeing her with skepticism. After a pause where the three stood in silence, the woman tore the loaf into three sections. She then offered up a piece to each of the men, "better we eat it than them?"

Crowley and Aziraphale exchanged a glance, they hadn't expected this. Maybe it was the mood of St James's Park or the pull of this young girl, but they reached out to accept their proffered piece.

Just then a golden shine passed over her eyes. Both men's jaws dropped as they'd never shared of this particular detail of their stories, and had never experienced it together. And, for the first time, she seemed conscious of it too.

A hand went up to her cheeks just below her eyes, which had grown wide in surprise. "What was that?"

"Pardon?" Aziraphale asked in that slightly tense voice he had when he was covering up for something.

"The, my, my eyes. I was looking and then it went all - gold like."

"Oh I don't know about that," Aziraphale said.

She shook her head vehemently, pointing at the both of them. "Yours did too, and yours!"

"You saw our eyes shine gold?" Crowley asked shyly.

"Y-yes. I saw through your spectacles. The whole eye, it went gold -"

"It must have been a trick of the light, dearest. Eyes don't 'go gold.'"

She shook her head again, "no. I know what I saw. I, I think I'd better go. Thank you for the, the, the ducks."

"Wait-" "Don't go-" Aziraphale and Crowley started at the same time, but she'd already lifted her skirts so she could walk away as quickly as possible.

"She saw it this time," Crowley said, mouth open in surprise.

"This time? This time? You've had a girls eyes shine gold before?" Aziraphale asked, trying to ignore the way his heart ramped up at the news. Crowley felt it too, it wasn't all him.

"And by the sound of it, you have too."

"Yes, I have. But only thrice before, 55BC, 13-"

"-77 and 1601."

Aziraphale's blue eyes widened and he stared at Crowley in shock, "I- I, how did you know?"

"Same for me, Angel. Same for me."

"So she's connected then, to the both of us." Aziraphale said slowly, trying to work it all out in his head. Crowley nodded, pursing his lips and making a 'tsk' noise under his breath.

"She's looked different each time. I don't think she's an Angel or a demon," Crowley said, ripping off a small piece of the bread she gave him and tossing it into the water. No, it wasn't good for them but who cares at this point. They were eternally connected to something.

"No, I think you're quite right. She's something else entirely. I'll have to do some research, I'll let you know if I have anything of note."

Crowley swallows, "same 'ere."

"Okay. Well then, good afternoon to you," Aziraphale tipped his hat and wandered off back to his book shop, his head completely filled with ideas of shapeshifters and witches, all sorts of creatures.

Current Day—————

Crowley parked the Bentley outside Aziraphale's shop, the wheel a slight tap before getting out. It was cold today, and he saw dozens of people shuffling into Nina's shop for some warmth. He himself was freezing but he knew even slightly suggesting to Aziraphale would earn him some pampering, blanket tucked in, hot chocolate, and near undivided angelic attention. Normally he didn't like asking for it, but it's been a weird few years with the Armageddon't, and he could use some pampering.

He felt a pang in his chest, a strange sort of pull he didn't know what to do with. What did humans do when their hearts hurt? Then it struck him - he wasn't human. Why would his heart be hurting?

"Oi, you doing okay?" A voice said from the pavement outside Aziraphale's shop. Crowley looked up, surprised to see Nina with a bag full of ingredients.

"What're you doing out

She held up the bag with a raised brow, as though he was stupid to just suggest it, "you're alright then?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. But you haven't got other staff and the place's full."

"Oh, yeah, forgot you didn't know about that." Nina said dryly. "I hired a new barista. Name's Y/N. New to town."

There it was, that pull dragging him towards her shop. He couldn't explain, tried to rack his brain as to what would want him in there. He glanced back through the windows, trying to see if anything was amiss.

Each instance with her seemed to last for a second, barely enough to know if it was the truth or a trick of the light. But Crowley had lived long enough on enough stupid planets to know that when he saw something that wasn't typically there, it wasn't a figment of his imagination. He swallowed, trying to betray anything to Nina.

"Right. Well then, better get back to it," he said, moving past her shoving his way into Aziraphale's bookshop.

"Oh Crowley, wonderful you're here-"

"Yes, yes, I'm wonderful, you're wonderful, the world's bloody wonderful. Angel, do you remember in 1865 when we saw her in St James's Park?"

There wasn't a need to clarify who the 'her' was. Aziraphale straightened, removing his spectacles from his nose. "Yes, I do."

"And you remember when you said you'd research it and report back, but never did?"

"Yes, I do. Crowley-"

"I need that research now, Angel." Crowley said quickly, not letting Aziraphale ask more pointless questions.

"Nothing came of it, dear, that's why I'd never told you. We would have sensed if she was a witch, angel, demon, or anything other supernatural. We have those senses."

"Are you absolutely sure?"

"Crowley, what happened? What did you see?"

"She's here."

Aziraphale's eyebrows shot up and he placed a surprise hand on his chest, not quite knowing what to do with that information. "Here?!"

"In London. In the coffee shop, in Nina's coffee shop. I - I saw her. There was a golden thread between us. I know it's her, Angel. She looks different but she has every time. It's her."

"You saw a golden thread?"

"Yes."

Aziraphale put his spectacles back on, heading for one of his bookshelves towards the back of the shop, "are you absolutely sure?"

"Yes, Angel, I'm bloody positive."

"A Golden thread has never shown up before. The previous times were all the, err, the eyes. This means something." Aziraphale said, gathering the dusty book from his shelf and depositing it on his desk with a thud. "In Greek mythology the golden thread was your life line. Your life thread so to speak. Fate, destiny, the whole nine yards."

"Yes, Angel, but the Greeks were wrong and that's how we exist so what does it mean for us?" Crowley grabbed a chair and fell into it, placing a frustrated hand on his temple.

Aziraphale thumbed through pages until he found what he was looking for. He read the words, but it only helped to scrunch his brow. "This doesn't make any sense. The threads only have two colors, two avenues."

"What do the threads mean, Angel?" His tone pained in frustration. This girl was scaring him, and he couldn't explain why. As far as he knew she presented no threat to him. And yet all the same, he feared her. He wasn't a fan of the unknown. Everything had been so planned out for so long, even though he didn't like the idea of the world ending it was a plan nonetheless.

"It says here that white thread is for eternal blessings. Saints and what not. Black thread for eternal damnation. But it only exists on a human while they are alive."

"Wot? I don't see black threads on people, d'you see white threads?"

Aziraphale adjusted his spectacles, "it says here they only appear if an Angel, or in your case, dearest, a demon, specifically bless them. Or, err, curse them."

"Still, you'd think 6,000 years and I woulda seen something."

Aziraphale nodded in agreement, "I've not seen any either."

"Wait, how'd you know about all this then?" Crowley waved a hand vaguely in between Aziraphale and the book.

Aziraphale looked confused for a moment, "all this? Oh, ah, you mean how I've come to know about the threads? Well it is to my understanding that this was brought up by Michael -"

"Head honcho Michael?" Crowley asked.

"Yes, though I wouldn't use such human terms myself. Michael had thought it up around 100BC. Thought it would be a fun way of identifying humans. But the upstairs didn't fancy the idea, She dispelled it not too long after."

"Hmm... never woulda pictured that out of Michael."

"Well, they say you never really know someone." Aziraphale replied, looking back over the pages as Crowley began to ramble.

"Always thought that applied to killers. No one ever says that 'bout the good deeds, they only say it after you've hurt someone. If someone's killed a kid, everyone's all up in arms like 'you never really knew 'em.' But if someone's a paramedic no one's like 'you never really know-'"

Aziraphale felt his jaw drop open as the words at the bottom of the page finally clicked. Part of the reason Michael's plan never worked, at least according to Gabriel, was that the wording was too specific. "No one uses 'eternally' in their everyday vocabulary," he had argued. Back then Aziraphale had quite agreed with Gabriel, but everyone agreed with Gabriel if it meant shutting Michael up. But he remembered a time not long before the thread idea was vanished when he had used the word 'eternally' in conversation. He reread to be sure, then piped up over Crowley's random complaining, "C-Crowley... do you remember what you said to her in 55BC?"

Crowley's face scrunched as he tried to think all the way back. "I, uh, tripped her. On accident, then she called me an asshole and I-I damned her for eternity I think."

"Oh dear."

"What does this 'oh dear' me? Angel?" When Aziraphale didn't say anything Crowley got up, stalking over to him quickly. "What did you see?"

"I blessed her for eternity."

"So? What's that mean?"

"I-I think, and I could be very very wrong, however I think that means we've, err, we've trapped her soul in an endless strain between Heaven and Hell."

"No, no, no, no," Crowley started to say, unconsciously pacing as he tried to unravel it all in his head. "That doesn't make any sense. Her thread is gold, white and black don't make gold. It makes grey, she should be grey!"

"I think the color of her thread is far from our biggest issue, Crowley."

"So, so what? She's trapped to us?"

Aziraphale ran a hand down his face, trying to process. "I- she might be."

"But her body's changed each time. It's not the same woman."

"Ah, but her eyes. They've stayed the same. You know as well as I do they're the same."

Crowley stopped, knowing he didn't have grounds to argue. Aziraphale was right, after all. Then he groaned, rubbing his eyes. "Fucking hell-"

"Language," Aziraphale said with pursed lips.

"Wot? For the fucking or the hell part?" Crowley snapped, then upon seeing Aziraphale's dropped expression he immediately retracted. "I'm sorry. That was rude. You're not getting the stupid dance though. Angel, she's not immortal. Her soul is. She must just keep being, being reborn. But the soul from 55BC is still the same."

"That would make sense," Aziraphale said. "They do say the eyes are the window into the soul. Perhaps that explains why they remain while the rest of her can change."

"Yeah, yeah. It makes sense, don't it?"

"So we've accidentally trapped a human soul to Earth to live and die for eternity?"

"Yeah, yeah," Crowley sniffed. "Think we did, Angel."

There was a quiet pause as the two reflected on what they just realized. They, unwittingly, had created an immortal creature. She doesn't even know she's immortal, and by the past experience it sounds as if her mind is wiped with each death. But her soul lives on.

"Fuck," Aziraphale said quietly.

Crowley looked up sharply, "wot'd you say?"

"I said fuck." He repeated, with more confidence this time around.

On any normal circumstance, Crowley would laugh and cherish the moment he saw Aziraphale curse - and with fuck of all of them - but he couldn't help but think Aziraphale was right. Fuck, indeed.

"What do we do?" Crowley asked.

"We have to tell her."

"We do? Why's that? What d'ya think we're gonna say? Hi random stranger I'm a demon he's an Angel and your soul is stuck, here have a cuppa."

"Well that would be straightforward -"

"Sarcasm, Angel. You've been here for thousands of years and you still don't process sarcasm."

Aziraphale stood up and went over to Crowley, touching his shoulders so he'd look up to him. "I understand that this is difficult. This is, it's entirely unprecedented territory. But she deserves the truth." He leaned in, his voice but a whisper. "It does help that we both feel a pull to her. Once we see her, it hurts to no interact. Perhaps we can find a way to end this, to help her."

Crowley swallowed, looking away from Aziraphale's bright blue eyes. He smelled of vanilla and old books, a scent Crowley would bottle up and spray all over his stupid, cold flat if he could. Maybe this girl could help, maybe she was good. But they first needed to meet her.

"Alright. Fine. Let's go, now," Crowley said, sliding his sunglasses back on. Aziraphale nodded and retrieved his coat.

The pair walked out of the bookshop, locking up, and swiftly walked cross the street. They hesitated outside the door, neither knowing what to do. A flash of a blue apron in the window caught their attention, and then a golden thread, shining in the light, emerged and wrapped round the owners waist.

"You seeing that, Angel?"

"Y-yes, I am. It's not faded."

It didn't. It sparkled and swayed in the air, moving with the owners body as she walked around in the shop.

"On three," Aziraphale said. Crowley grumbled in agreement. "One, two ... three."

They opened the doors and were almost immediately greeted by a sweet smile and kind eyes. The same eyes they'd seen for hundreds of years. She smiled, tucked a piece of her hair behind her ear.

"Hi guys, welcome in! Feel free to take a seat wherever you like, I'll be with you in a moment."

"O-okay," Aziraphale said, his voice wispy in the confusion and whirlwind that was her. But she was entirely unaware, blissfully living in her own world that she didn't know was about to be ruined.

They sat in a far corner, away from any windows. Crowley sprawled in the seat, looking anywhere but at Aziraphale. Aziraphale sat stiff as a bored, left leg bouncing so furiously the table itself started to shake.

"Right, what can I get you lads?" She seemed to appear out of nowhere, shining golden thread wrapped round her sweet waist right where the apron was tied.

Aziraphale spoke first, not looking her in the eye but instead staring out the window. An uncharacteristically rude action on his part. "Oh, um, just a latte please. With 3 shots of vanilla."

"Ooo, yum. And for you, the one with the glasses?" She asked, her voice light.

Crowley thought for a moment. Better bite the bullet, eh? He turned, took his sunglasses off, and looked her in the eyes. "Espresso, darling."

Her eyes had a golden flash and she seemed to jump, her pad falling to the table in her shock. She looked between Aziraphale and Crowley with wide eyes, hands going to her stomach as she took deep breaths. "Aziraphale. Your name is Aziraphale," she said to him. Eyes wide. She turned to the demon. "You're Crowley."

"Yes, dear, we are."

"Why do I know that?" Her voice was shaky and yet she stayed, not angry or scared that she knew unknowable information.

Aziraphale and Crowley exchanged a glance. Crowley sighed, flicking his hand. Time around them stopped. Customers held their mugs up in the air, Nina mid pouring a cup, and a man getting ready to ask for the most ridiculous drink he could think of. All were trapped in this moment except for her, Aziraphale and Crowley.

She jumped, looking around with wide eyes, "h-how'd you do that? Why did you do that?"

"Please, take a seat dear," Aziraphale said, snapping as a plush chair appeared behind her. She tripped into it, her body language stuff and frightened.

"This is all feeling like a very strange dream, and I don't like it," she said, taking deep breaths to try and clear her mind. "Did you just stop time and if so, how the hell did you? And you just miraculously created a chair? And why do I know who the hell you are?"

"Dearest, it's not a dream, I'm afraid. You have met us before. You've met us multiple times before," Aziraphale took a breath. "I-I'm afraid we have some complicated news."

"Tell me who the hell you are!" She was getting scared, her heart fighting against her rib cage. She wanted to get up, she wanted to run away, put her hands over her ears and scream 'la la la' over and over until they left her alone. But she didn't. It wasn't a physical thing, even though these familiar strangers had put her in a terrifying position she knew they'd let her go. It was her soul that kept her trapped. "Who are you? I need to know. Who are you really?"

Aziraphale placed a warm hand on her own. His was large, soft and yet strong. She liked the feeling of his hands as he held one of hers, looking into her eyes. "My name is Aziraphale. I am an Angel of God. I was the Guardian of the East Gate at the Garden of Eden, but now I am on Earth. I perform miracles and I run a bookshop, with my dearest friend."

His eyes glanced over to the other man. He was handsome, tanned skin with fiery red hair slicked up and back over his head. Aziraphale might have called him a friend, but she wasn't stupid enough to believe that. It was more than that, maybe they didn't know it but she definitely did.

Another hand grasped hers, this one lean and long. He grasped her hand with a soft intensity she didn't know possible. "My name's Crowley. I'm a demon, you'd know me cause I was a, uh, let's call me a reptile."

She blinked rapidly, "you were the snake that tempted Eve?"

"Wow, she's a quick one," Crowley smiled widely.

"Wasn't he cursed to only use his belly?"

Crowley rolled his eyes, "it's complicated."

"You, both, are not human. You're an Angel and you're a demon. So Christianity is right."

"Yes, love. But God is actually a She, that bit got muddled," Aziraphale smiled. "Are you feeling better?"

"That doesn't explain, why- why do I know you? I recognize both of you, but I don't know why. Then you made that comment about having met me multiple times, for years, what does that mean?" She was getting a little riled but she tried to stay calm. This wasn't going to make any more sense by screaming at a literal demon. And Angel, but the demon was more infuriating at the moment. He stared at her with a mix of awe and shock, and she didn't want to think about any of it.

Aziraphale sighed, "before the current era, you know Roman times and what not, the Archangel Michael played with the idea of threads. It was similar in concept to the Greek idea of fate -"

"You happened to be alive when this was a thing. It means when a demon curses you and says the word 'eternally' a black thread'll appear to let everyone know you're damned forever. White thread with angels."

"I'm damned forever? Wait, you said Roman times - I was alive during the ancient roman era?"

"Well, darling, he blessed you and I cursed you at the same day. Meaning your soul is trapped with both Heaven and Hell," Crowley said softly. "We think your soul has been reincarnated since about 55BC. And it's because of us. This Golden shit you see is our connection."

"But white and black make grey?"

Crowley clapped and said "aha! She gets it!"

"Crowley," Aziraphale said, though his eyes were light with amusement. "We can't explain the color of the thread. But we believe it means you're connected to us. Both of us, we get this pull to you when you're around. As though we have to see you."

There was a moment of silence as they let her collect her thoughts. Unconsciously, she'd curled up into a ball on the comfy chair Aziraphale had miracled. She thought and thought, rolling over the idea that she's trapped here on earth. An accidental immortal being tied to these two.

She glanced at Aziraphale. She knew him, she has known him. She bit her lip, wishing to understand everything as it was.

"M-May I?" She asked, tentatively lifting a hand near his face. She needed to touch him, to feel him, to try and remember.

The Angel nodded. He was soft, his hair light and white, in short curls on top of his head. She liked the curls, they looked rather fetching on him. Her fingertips brushed lightly down his face, feeling his kind face. She liked his lips, they were pink and couldn't fight a smile. Then she glanced down and saw his hand in his lap. Running an hand down his shoulder to his hand, she lifted it and eyed the golden ring.

"Aziraphale..." she murmured. It all started to fall into place. The dancing, the food, the wine. He'd looked so out of place in pale clothing, so obviously finer than anyone else's. He'd tried to blend in with an outdated style, to balance the richness, but she could spot him through the crowd with ease. His cheeks had gotten pink, and he'd gone for a drink. She hadn't meant to spill on him, she just wanted a chat. "I gave you this ring. You didn't want it at first, but I gave it to you. It says Aziraphale on it."

He took a shaky breath, his eyes becoming glassy with tears. His lips trembled as he said, "you did."

Aziraphale slid the ring off his finger, turning it so she could see the inside. There enough his name was scrawled in haphazard writing. It had faded from the years, some of the details lost to time. But she remembered this ring when it was new. When William had gotten it in his shop and didn't know what to make of it. And she'd taken it, knew it would be special.

She pressed a soft kiss to the ring, then slid it back on Aziraphale's finger. She looked him in the eyes as she kissed the back of his hand, "I remember you."

The tears had actually fallen now, hitting his cheeks softly. He didn't try to hide it, and she wouldn't want him to. Perhaps it was this whole eternal blessing thing, but she was drawn to him.

Then she turned to the demon. Crowley. He sat high and mighty in his chair, looking away as though he were intruding on Aziraphale's private moment. He was handsome in a different way than Aziraphale. Where Aziraphale was soft and strong, Crowley was sharp and sweet. She smiled when she looked at him, knowing he was sweet without saying it.

She went to him to, lifting her hand then asking softly, "may I touch you?"

He swallowed, and nodded. She first touched his hair, it was softer then it looked. Her fingertips brushed it so it feel on his forehead, liking the contrast of his skin against the red. Then she traced along his tattoo, the way his cheekbone felt under her touch.

With gentle hands, she cupped his cheeks and turned his face so he had to look her in the eyes. She smiled. "I'd wondered if they were still yellow."

He closed his eyes, cringing. He'd always hated his eyes. "Sorry they're-"

"Beautiful." He opened his eyes quickly. "I remember your eyes. They've been in my dreams and I never knew why. The man with the yellow snake eyes. They are so, so beautiful. Like a sunflower."

"You're comparing s'demon eyes to a sunflower?"

She smiled and nodded, "you have the most beautiful eyes I've ever seen."

Crowley sucked in a breath, closing his eyes. It as though the attention itself would make him implode.

"Keep them closed," she said. Then he felt a pair of soft lips kiss one eyelid, then the other. "Absolutely beautiful. Don't you think so, Aziraphale?"

Crowley was shocked to hear Aziraphale agree. "I adore your eyes, dear. They've been my favorite for a long time."

The three didn't know what to do with themselves, time frozen around them. But however strange the situation, she wasn’t afraid. Not anymore. She wanted to get to know this Angel and demon, understand their pasts and more about their connection.

“Thank you, my dear, for your patience,” Aziraphale said kindly.

“I suppose I should be thanking you, you’ve waited hundreds of years.” She said with a dry laugh that made Crowley smile.

There weren’t any words that seemed to describe the moment the three of them shared, in a moment frozen in time knowing they had all the time in the world. But for now it was enough, and that was all it needed to be.

[bobby-r2d2-floyd]

The Nanny (Hangman x Reader)

authors note: so, hangman won by a long shot in the poll, but for the few that voted for the rest, they're still coming! i have to deal with the bs with my basement and i am a college student, so i have to deal with my coursework as well.

inspired by @roosterforme

this will be a mutli part series, im not sure how many parts though

pairing: jake "hangman" seresin x benjamin niece!reader; established mav x penny

warnings: some swear words and an inaccurate depiction of how social workers handle dropping a baby off to its living, absent father. also cyclone is a dad bc jon hamm if a dilf.

not proof or beta read, we die like men.

summary: Hangman wakes up one day to a social worker and an infant on his doorstep. the infant? his 3 month old daughter.

word count: 1.9k

-----------

It was the one day that the Dagger squad had a later morning (11am, per Maverick’s request), so when the pounding on Jake’s door woke him up at 8:45, he was a little pissed.

He stumbled out of bed and the arms of some red head whose name he definitely doesn’t remember, throwing on a shirt along the way to his front door where the pounding is originating from and reverberating through his skull. “I heard you the first fucking time,” he curses out, throwing the door open and preparing to unleash verbal hell on the person standing at his doorstep.

All the words die out though when he sees an older woman standing there with a sleeping baby in a car seat at her feet. “Jacob Seresin?” she asks and his eyes bounce between the infant and the woman.

“Yes?” he asks, voice cracking a bit as he looks back to the woman.

“Do you mind if I come in?” he nods and moves aside as she picks up the car seat and steps inside. “My name is Caroline Husband, I’m a social worker for the state of California.” she tells him as she sets the seat down on his coffee table, “and this is Avery. Your daughter.” 

Jake feels his heart stop as he looks down at the little girl, “what, what do you mean?” he sinks down to the floor on his knees, heart racing and Caroline gives him a small smile.

“Her mother-” she looks down at the paperwork she was holding, “Samantha Barnes, passed away from complications shortly after birth, you were listed as father on the birth certificate.” 

Samantha Barnes… Jake remembered her with a small smile. They were briefly exclusive before she had disappeared one night, leaving behind the memories and a note saying she needed to go back home to help with her ailing father, her last living relative that she still spoke to.

“H-how uh, how old is she?” he asks, taking her small, but definitely bigger than a newborn, hand in between his finger and thumb.

“She spent some time with a foster while the state was waiting for you to return stateside. She just turned 3 months old.” Caroline forms him, which makes sense as he was just in the middle of the ocean for the last five months. “I have some supplies in my car that her foster mom put together for you, should you choose to keep her.” 

“Choose to?” he asks, as if there was any other option for him. The second he found out Avery was his, there was never any other option.

“You can alway sign your parental rights away, there’s plenty of families looking to adopt babies.” she says and he shakes his head.

“No, she stays with me,” Jake says as he stands and Caroline smiles up at him.

“Well then, there’s all the information that you need. Her old foster mom made a list of information for you, her pediatrician, what formula she was feeding, how to prepare bottles...” she goes on to tell him more necessary information about Avery but tunes her out as he watches the little girl start to wake up and look around, well, as much as a 3 month old can, he supposed. “Here’s my card, it has my personal cell phone number on the back should you not be able to reach me at my office in the event of an emergency.” 

He takes it with a smile and a thank you before walking Caroline to the door to help her bring the items in from her car and as quickly as she was here, she was gone. Leaving Jake to sit on his couch as he stares into the eyes of his daughter. 

He kicks out his guest after 15 minutes of sitting there before he’s googling how to put a car seat base securely into the back seat of a F-150. After fighting for what felt like an hour (only 10 minutes) he has his daughter secured in his car before driving way under the speed limit to The Hard Deck, only 45 minutes late to meeting up with the rest of the Daggers but as soon as they see him walk into the bar with a car seat, all the teasing for being late blows out of there mind. 

“Do we need to call the police?” Bradley teases and Jake lets out a nervous laugh.

“No.. no police needed.” Jake says as he sets his daughter’s car seat and diaper bag in the middle of the pool table the team was surrounding.

“Well, then who is this?” 

Jake takes a deep breath before answering, “this is my daughter, Avery Seresin.”

Immediately the team has plenty of questions for the team’s resident playboy. He explains the situation as best he can with the information he got from Caroline.

“I never even knew Sam was pregnant. She never said anything and then she was gone.” Jake says softly as he looks down as his daughter in his arms, sleepily drinking from the bottle he made and Penny gives him a smile.

“You seem like a natural already.” she says, snapping a photo of the daddy-daughter moment and he smiles.

“Yeah, I was still around when my sisters started having their own kids, all girls too, ironically.” he responds with a small laugh and the movement of his chest startled Avery awake and she starts drinking more steadily again.

The squad takes the rest of the day before the bar opens with turns holding the newest member of the team. Aside from Jake, Bob and Natasha were the only other two who seemed comfortable enough to hold her without needing any instruction on support for her head. 

“Does Cyclone know you have a kid yet?” Mav asks as he takes his turn holding Avery, seasoned from when Bradley was a baby and he used to watch him while Carole and Goose needed alone time. 

“Fuck, no not yet.” Jake groans as he rubs his hands over his face. “I need to go see him.”

“Go see him now, between Penny being a mom and me dealing with Bradley as a baby there’s plenty of experience here to watch Avery for a bit while you try to get some time to adjust to dad-life.” Mav says and Jake looks over at him.

“You’re serious?” 

“Yeah, besides, Avery is already better at 3 months than Rooster ever was.” Mav teases and Bradley makes a couple of offended noises before being slapped in the chest by Natasha. 

Jake nods, “okay well here’s her-”

“Hangman, get out of here. I did all this with Amelia.” Penny says as she pushes him towards the door and Jake pulls her into a hug.

“Thank you so much, Pen.” he says, meaning it too since Penny is the closest thing to a mom that he has since he hasn’t talked to his real mom in years. 

The drive into base wasn’t a long one, but felt like it was with how often he was checking his backseat and not seeing his daughter before remembering she was safe with Penny and Maverick at the bar. 

Walking into Admiral Simpson’s office, Jake broke out into a nervous sweat. “Um, excuse me, sir.” he says as he knocks on the open door.

Both Admiral Simpson and Admiral Bates looked up at him from where they were sitting at the desk discussing some news that they received from higher ups. 

“Can I help you, Lieutenant?” Cyclone asks and Jake nods, taking that as an ‘okay’ to walk into the office.

“Yes actually, I uh.. I was wondering if I would be able to get leave, sir. I had a surprise visit from a social worker this morning and-and my infant daughter.” he says as he straightens out his back and rolls his shoulders back.

“You have a child?” Cyclone asks, closing the folder that he had open to focus more on Jake. “Since when?” 

“Well, as of 9am this morning, sir. Her mother passed away after she was born and no other living relatives so… She’s currently with me. Well, not with me Captain Mitchell and Penny Benjamin are currently watching her.. sir.” 

Warlock and Cyclone share a look and Jake stands there nervously, “I know that this is short notices but all I’m asking for is a week to figure things out, find a sitter, get some kind of a routine started for-”

“Okay.” Cyclone says and Jake looks at him instead of the spot that he had been looking at on the wall. “You only want just one week?”

“I can have more, sir?” Cyclone nods, having recently become a father himself and knows how important bonding is for parents. 

“Unless something urgent comes, how does three weeks sound?” he asks as he pulls something up on his computer and begins to type.

“I would greatly appreciate that.” Jake says with a small smile and Cyclone nods, ending the conversation and Jake starts to walk out of the office.

“Seresin?” Warlock calls out and Jake turns around, “congratulations.”

“Thank you, sirs.” 

Jake drives back to the bar already feeling lighter than he had in the last 6 hours, and upon walking back into the watering hole, he sees a red faced Avery and a panicked Rooster.

“Bradshaw what did you do to my daughter?” 

“What did I do? She threw up on me!” he says, holding the infant safely, and at an arm's length away. 

The rest of the team is laughing behind him and Jake just takes Avery and lays her against him so her head is on his shoulder, “well I’m sure you deserved it.” 

Bradley glares at him before wandering away to the bathroom to clean up. Jake smiles and rubs his daughters back as she babbles in his ear.

“How did talking to the boss go?” Penny asks and Jake smiles.

“Really good, actually. Said I can have three weeks as long as nothing urgent comes up that’ll need the full team's attention.” 

“Well, if you ever need a nanny so you can have a break and none of us are available, my niece just moved to the area and is looking for work.” Penny says with a small smile as Jake moves to sit next to her. “Plus she has a degree in early childhood and special education.” 

“Okay, yeah I’ll let you know.” he says with a nod.

“Well, you can meet her tonight, she’s supposed to come and help me out here for the night since Jimmy can’t make it in.” Jake just nods and Penny pats his shoulder that Avery isn’t sleeping on while she stands to start opening duties for the bar. 

Jake didn’t end up meeting Penny’s niece that night, or any time in the following week. In fact, it wasn’t until the last week of his leave that he met her. 

Jake was holding Avery as he walked into the bar before it opened, she was babbling up a storm and he took his sunglasses off to put on the top of his head when he saw someone new behind the bar, head thrown back and laughing at something that Bob had said. 

You look over at him and he swears his heart stopped, “Hi! I’m Y/N Benjamin, but you can call me Saturn.”

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next part

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taglist: if you want to join the taglist for all my future works, shoot me a message and i'll be happy to add you :)

@mandylove1000

[timetodecidedjo]

POOLVERINE NATION

i wrote it. i wrote the Friends fic.

i apologize in advance if it’s not as good as it could be, im a little rusty bc these 2 literally pulled me back into fic writing and i haven’t put anything out in years 🤣 it’s also not beta read so my apologies if it sounds jumbly and grammatically fucked up lmao.

if ya feel like reading some of my other work, you can read more on AO3, username xuaerduobb.

thank you for the motivation and for feeding into my fixation @greatsnakestintin and @avenging-captain ❤️💛

“Good morning!” Dopinder announced as he strolled into the apartment, a bit early to pick up Althea to take her to the grocery store. Logan typically did most of the since he was usually the one making all the meals, but every now and again, Al would want to get out of the apartment and do it herself. Al liked to hit the stores early in the morning before the crowds got to be too much, so Dopinder was instructed to be at the apartment for 7AM. He didn’t mind helping her out, and if anything, he really enjoyed the company.

Logan, just finishing making the three of them breakfast, sat down next to Wade at the kitchen table, his coffee now at an acceptable temperature. Wade was already suited up (sans the mask so he could eat) because he had a debriefing that morning at the Avengers Headquarters and was leaving right after he finished his breakfast. Logan took a sip of his black coffee from the Spice Girls mug he had found in the cupboard just as he felt Wade’s hand rest on his thigh underneath the table.The merc used his fingers to brush up against Logan’s blue flannel pajama bottoms, causing a shiver to roll up his leg. He took a deep breath as he soaked up Wade’s touch, trying his best to not arouse suspicion to the others.

You see, Wade and Logan, up until the last few months or so, had been at each other’s necks, bickering and squabbling at everything and nothing. Eventually, one magical night when they were both out working a small job over a few days in another city, it happened. After a long night of working a stakeout, they retreated back to the crummy motel they were staying in and had the talk. You know, the talk two people have when they’re both deeply in love with each other but won't admit it. It was the talk where you stay up all night just happy to be there to listen to what the other has to say, even if it’s mostly utter nonsense. Truthfully, both men had grown so tired of the constant fighting that was really just flirting in disguise. Logan had been the one to initiate the kiss that would turn into months of secret sex capades all the while they were falling more and more in love with each other. It had been absolutely perfect with no one else butting in on their developing relationship, and let’s face it, the sneaking around was a hell of a lot of fun too. They just wanted to keep it for themselves for a bit while it was still so new, so they couldn’t mess things up just yet.

“Punching the clock early this morning, DP?” Dopinder asked as he sat down on the old tattered couch in the living room. He turned his body to the side so that they could still talk from across the room.

Wade took a big bite of his scrambled eggs and swallowed them down with a sip of coffee made just the way he liked it. Logan always got it right.

“Crime doesn’t take a day off, Dopinder. Someone has to stay vigilant to protect the world against evil. You know, like wicked senators or money hungry Girl Scouts.”

“I truly admire your willingness to stand up for the little guy, Mr. Pool,” Dopinder grinned, stars practically shooting out of his eyes.

Logan rolled his eyes and groaned, looking over at their friend across the room.

“He’s going to a meeting, don’t feed into his bullshit.”

The merc glanced over at Logan and then at the imaginary audience in front of him.

“He’s just jealous because he’s basically my house husband now, but it’s fine. We’ll talk about it later in couple’s counseling, which we both desperately need, but not for our relationship. Mostly because of all the other life altering trauma.”

“Welp. Daddy’s off to work, kitten,” Wade said as he stood up from the table with his mask in his hand. The merc leaned down to plant a big juicy kiss on Logan’s lips, wanting to savor it as much as he could before having to leave for the day. When their eyes met, Logan looked at Wade with so much love and adoration… until both idiots finally realized what had just happened, and boy, did it hit them both like a ton of bricks. As far as everyone else knew, Wade and Logan didn’t kiss and they weren’t romantic with each other. Wade was no stranger to being touchy feely with pretty much everyone, but this wasn’t just being touchy feely and this wasn’t just anyone. This was Logan. This was Wade and Logan.

Wade, making an executive decision, walked around to the other side of the kitchen table and took Al’s chin into his hands, pressing a kiss to her lips.

“Have a great time at the supermarket, Althea. Make sure to grab some more French toast sticks. We’re running low.”

“What the fuck! What the hell was that about?!” Al screeched in her chair as she tossed her fork down onto the plate, causing a sharp pang in everyone’s ears.

Wade continued on his kissing rampage and planted a big one right onto Dopinder’s mouth, a total look of shock and horror plastered all over his face.

“Dopinder! Always a pleasure!” The merc chimed and walked away as he pulled his mask over his cancer ridden face. Logan stood up and followed Wade out of the door, keeping his cool as best as he could and trying to play all of this off as if it was nothing but Wade being Wade. He shut the door behind them and smacked his boyfriend on the shoulder.

“I understand why you did what you did and I appreciate it, but did you have to kiss Al? She’s fuckin’ blind, idiot!”

Wade just stood there and stared at his lover for a second, probably the longest he had ever gone without saying anything while he was conscious.

“Do you not remember when she almost caught us a few weeks ago? She hears everything, honey badger. Everything! The walls are paper thin. I had to cover my bases.”

Shaking his head in disbelief, The Wolverine sighed and smacked his hand to his face, knowing full well he was going to have to try to come up with some kind of story where he stabbed Wade in the hallway for kissing him.

“Please come home to me in one piece,” Logan pleaded when he looked up, using his best puppy dog eyes.

With one swift movement, the merc had pulledc his mask off to give Logan one final kiss until he could come home later in the day.

“Always, peanut.”

[scekrex]

Hi!! I love ur stories sm and im gonna ask anonymously for my first time cuz im lowkey shy LOL 🥲..

I was wondering maybe a Adam x Male reader where they had a huge argument, reader mentions something mean about Eve or Lillith to Adam after he says something petty, and Adam reacts without realizing and accidentally hits Reader. (by instinct) Then in shock, reader storms out and doesn’t come back home for a couple of days. (Or you can make it as long, or as short as you want!) You can make it as angst to your liking, and maybe add a makeup (fluff) at the end!! :)) I just think it would be interesting to see.

Thank you, and take care of yourself ! ❤️

Can do, the fluffy end is probably not as fluffy as it could've been but idk it just turned out the way it did ig

All this pain and the words that I cannot say, at least I'm trying

pairing: Adam x male!reader

warnings: language, hitting (without consent), low-key toxic relationship

note: not beta read bc fuck you

The air felt tense, the vibe wasn’t as happy and cheery as it had been only moments ago and your neighbors were complaining about the loud screams and yells that kept coming from your apartment and yet neither you nor Adam got it together to simply leave in order to calm down. To be fair, it was your apartment so if someone was in the position to leave it was Adam. The argument between the two of you wasn’t just a tiny thing, it might have been the biggest fight you ever had with him.

The screaming and yelling was loud, the arguments were weak - not only his but yours were too. And yet you both found yourself too prideful to actually admit that to that. Hell would freeze before you would give him the boost of being right by admitting you were wrong, no way you’d admit to that to someone like Adam. And then he said something that caused you to snap.

“Maybe if you wouldn’t be so fucking complicated it would be easier to love your bitchy ass,” Adam yelled at you, his voice already sounded raspy and broken, his body language told you that he was not the only one who was slowly growing tired from fighting - you were too. You clicked your tongue, then responded in a quiet yet annoyed tone, “At least I didn’t lose the fucking women God created for me and only me, you did. So be my fucking guest Adam, if it’s so hard to love me, break the fuck up.” The shock in Adam’s eyes was visible, it was paired with betrayal that he felt, the comment had hit exactly the right spot to actually hurt the brunette and while you regretted it immediately, you did not apologize for it. “Leave them out of this, this shit’s between you and me, bitch,” the first man growled angrily and suddenly the betrayal and shock were overplayed by anger - pure rage vibrated through his body and he made it obvious. You simply crossed your arms over your chest, why though? Why did he get to say mean things about you and you were not allowed to shoot queally mean things back at him? “It’s not my fucking fault you were a horrible person in Eden - horrible enough to make the devil seem nicer. Maybe I’ll go down and suck Lucifer’s dick-” you were not able to finish your sentence.

Adam raised his hand and slapped you across the face. It stung, the part of your cheek that he had hit turned red but worse than that was the fact that he hit you. He had never hurt you physically before, yes there had been fights, yes there had been arguments but never had he hurt you before in any form or way. Your mind was blank, your body felt numb except for your cheek and all you were able to do was to stare, stare at him, stare at his hand, stare at the wall behind him. Before Adam was able to apologize through the fog that had clouded your brain lifted and you stormed off, you grabbed your backpack on your way to the front door and just as the brunette you called your boyfriend was about to say something, you slammed the door shut. From the hallway you heard how one of the picture frames fell to the ground and broke, you couldn’t care any less.

-

Adam just stood there and watched because what else was he supposed to do? He knew it was too late to apologize, he knew he fucked up badly and that there was the possibility of you breaking up with him and if he was completely honest with himself he deserved it. He had never been the perfect boyfriend you deserved, he had always been out of line, loud and simply too much but you had always assured him that that was simply who he was and that you loved him for who he was - but was that still the case? Did you still love him after that? Because it was one thing to pick fights with each other far more often than other couples did but it was a different thing entirely to hit your partner, Adam was very aware of that. And yet he had still raised his hand against you, a thing he had sworn to himself to never do had been done and he wasn’t able to simply undo it. A weak apology wouldn’t do either, not after that.

He wanted to go after you but he knew you well enough to be aware of how stupid that idea was, the fight would only continue outside of the apartment and he would only cause things to escalate even more and that he really didn’t want. He wasn’t even sure why he hit you in the first place, it had just… kind of happened? He didn’t know. What he did know was that you were gone and that you’d surely spend the night at someone else’s place and while he hated the idea of it, he was smart enough to know that it was for the best to have a little distance between you and him for the night. Surely you’d come back the next day and you two could sort things out.

-

But you didn’t come back the next day. Or the day after. Or the day after that day.

Adam was freaked out to say the least, he was worried you might secretly dump his ass, stop by when you knew he wasn’t home to pick up your stuff and just disappear. His wives had left him and he was convinced you would leave him just like them. You weren’t his husband yet, you could simply disappear if you wanted to and that scared Adam, it scared him deeply. Because deep down he knew that afterlife without you wouldn’t make any sense, that he was simply a lost soul without you by his side.

He was sitting on the couch, waiting for you to come back, he had canceled all the appointments and band meetings to simply sit on the couch of your apartment and wait for you to come back home, that was all he wanted. He wanted to know you’re safe. But he didn’t know shit because you weren’t answering his calls or responding to his texts, you did read them though. It was driving him crazy to not be sure of anything despite the fact that you were gone.

Where were you?

When would you come back?

Would you come back to begin with?

The brunette jumped off the couch when he heard a key in the lock and his face reflected the relief he was feeling when he saw that you were the one opening the door. Without thinking twice he rushed over to where you stood, the front door still open behind you. The first man pulled you into a bone crushing hug, mumbling sweet nothings under his breath as his wings wrapped around your body in protection. “Fuck, you’re back,” he whispered, sounding so lost, so hurt, so scared. You weren’t hugging him back but you also didn’t try to push him away or get out of the hug in general.

What were you supposed to do? Hugging him back felt wrong after he hit you but pushing him away seemed even worse - yet you wanted an apology. An honest and emotional apology with an explanation of why he did what he did. But you got none of that, instead you listened to Adam who was brabbling everything that he had worked so hard on to bottle up inside of him. “Don’t fucking leave me, do what you want, punch me, scream at me, kick me out but don’t fucking leave me.” And if Adam would be more emotional than he was he would’ve cried, would’ve broken down in front of you while holding you. But he wasn’t emotional and therefore didn’t cry. What he did was that he made sure you understood how desperately he needed you in his life.

And while that was not what you wanted - an apology - it was okay for the moment.

[teddyeyeseddie]

To Hell I Go

If She Wants A Cowboy

✰ bull rider Steve x reader

masterlist

✰ cw: broken bones, an er visit, steve in a sling, an eddie debut, first kisses, straddling steve in a creek, smut, minors dni, oral (m rec), boot riding

✰ a/n: this series has been flopping but I am so in love with dandy and our boy that im gonna keep writing it bc they deserve to have their story told, thank you @lofaewrites for betaing :,)

now playing: If She Wants a Cowboy

Steve is rushed right back when he gets to the ER, grumbling an “I’m fine” when he sees the amount of sick kids in the waiting room. Despite his efforts to wait in the lobby, it only takes 30 minutes and he is sitting in a room awaiting his results.

Steve tears up at the news, knowing what this meant for his career. It came to an abrupt stop, throwing Steve forward into a mess of emotions. They did x rays to find that his shoulder was, in fact, broken. His coach eventually leaves, only able to offer so much reassurance and solace. 

He sits cooped up in the ER for what felt like hours, left alone to his devices, those emotions from earlier bubbling and breaching the surface now that he was alone. His dad was right, just like he always is. The job chewed him up and spit him out. Usually, a broken shoulder meant the gig was up, not many riders can recover from a serious injury like that. 

He wills away his spiraling, putting his head back in order to rest. When he’s about to fall asleep, a soft knock resonates through the room. 

“Hey cowboy,” the voice is like music in Steve’s ears, the sound flowing into the air and causing goosebumps to rise on his skin. 

“Dandy, they let you in here at this hour?” he questions, a small smirk on his face as he adjusts himself in bed, wincing when he disturbs his shoulder. 

“Jus’ had to tell them I was your wife,” she replies sheepishly, wincing slightly.

“I did give ya a ring, didn’t I darlin’?” he cracks a wide smile.

You settle yourself into a chair next to the bed, digging in your purse to find the small paper ring Steve had made you days prior. You slip it on your finger once you find it, flashing it at Steve causing him to let out a full-bellied laugh. 

“You kept it?” 

You offer a small nod, reaching your hand out to hold Steve’s free hand. The other slung up as the two of you waited to hear what the next steps are in Steve’s recovery. 

“What’s the verdict here?” you question softly, rubbing your thumb over Steve's calloused hand. 

“Shoulder’s broken. S’ a clean break but fuck if I know what that means,” he groans, throwing his head back as tears form in his eyes. 

“Shit Dandy- I’m sorry, don’t mean to turn into a mess while you’re here. It’s just this could be the end of the line for me,” he pulls his hand away from yours in order to wipe his eyes. 

He settles his hand back in yours, squeezing it as he stares forward at the wall in front of him. 

He didn’t ask you to come and the fact you did makes Steve’s heart flutter inside his chest. You came on your own, and that is more than Steve could ever wish for. 

“I’ll be right here with you, Steve,” you break the silence and lean up to kiss his cheek, the first time you had displayed any sort of affection aside from holding hands. 

He leans into your touch, relaxing and letting himself be loved on. 

The doctors come in moments later, setting his arm and immobilizing it with a fancy looking sling. 

Six weeks.

Six weeks of being rendered useless, Steve groans into the night air once he’s been released at the odd hour of 5 in the morning. Hand in yours as you guide him to your car, helping him get settled into the passenger seat. 

“I guess in the grand scheme of things, I’m lucky,” he says once you get situated. His head is leaned back, exposing the column of his neck as he turns to look at you. 

“How so?”

“A whole summer of being doted on by you? 

“Who said I was gonna dote on you?”

“Mmm I just gotta hunch, Dandelion,” 

Steve isn’t wrong, you are there every day you're off work, going on walks with him or helping his mother cook dinner. 

It’s been about 2 weeks of helping take care of Steve when you pull into his driveway at the early hour of 8am. You softly knock on the door, smiling when you hear a quiet, “come in” from the other side of the door. 

You and his mother, Donna you had come to learn, had become well acquainted, spending the evenings cooking dinner together giving you time to converse regularly. You got all the stories of Steve when he was younger, your favorite being the time he peed off the side of the pool when he was potty training. 

“Is he awake?” you question, setting the groceries Donna had requested you bring the night prior.

“He’s not, had a rough night last night. He said not to let him sleep in if you’re here though,” she says with a sly smirk on her face, like she knows something you don’t know. 

You ignore her look, not wanting to read much into it, trudging upstairs to wake Steve up. 

You smile when you see him, he’s propped up by some pillows, something his mom helps him do every night so he is more comfortable. 

You sit on the edge of his bed, extending your arm to caress his cheek. He stirs a little bit, waking with a small jolt when you begin to run your thumb across the expanse of his jaw. 

“Good morning, Dandelion,” he smiles, his voice thick with sleep, the groggy melody making your cheeks flush. 

“Good morning, Steve,” 

He sits up at the waist, using his free arm to push him up on the bed. He’s right beside you, free hand coming to rest on your thigh. His lips press a soft kiss to your temple.

“Didn’t think you’d be here this early, sorry I wasn’t up,” he mumbles, resting his chin on your shoulder. 

“S’ okay honey, liked getting to wake you up,”

You get up, turning back towards the bed to help him stand. His pajamas are slung low on his hips, soft hair traveling up his belly and to his navel. He looks peaceful like this, freshly woken up, sleep in his eyes and bed head- it makes your heart warm. 

He stretches once he’s standing, averting your eyes as his already impossibly low pants stoop even lower. 

“You gonna shower?” you question, picking at the comforter on Steve’s bed. 

He shakes his head, turning towards his closet and pulling out a pair of wranglers and a t-shirt. 

He turns away before dropping his pajama pants, your cheeks flushing at the sight of Steve in just his boxers. 

He grabs the clothes he laid out on the bed, shimmying his pants up his legs, frowning as he gets to the button. 

“C’mere,” You mumble, buttoning his wranglers, knuckles bumping into his soft belly. 

He smiles down at you, brushing a hair out of our face. 

“Gonna help me with the top now, dandy?” 

You nod, grabbing his top and sliding it up his hurt side, carefully threading his arm through  while it is still bent. He chuckles as he pokes his head through the top, easily pulling his other arm through. 

You wait on his bed after you get his sling back on his arm, Steve having perfected his one-handed bathroom routine. 

He peaks out of the bathroom once he is ready, padding across the room to grab his hat. 

“Ya ready?” 

You nod, following him downstairs. 

When you reach the living room, you’re surprised to see Charlotte and Eddie sitting on the couch. 

“Mudslinger! How ya been?” Eddie gets up, pulling Steve into a hug, Lottie shooting him daggers as he does so. 

“Careful with the man, Eds. He’s fragile,” Charlotte scolds, pulling Eddie away when he starts to get too rough. 

Eddie listens to the woman, settling in beside her with a protective hand on her thigh. 

“Wanted to come visit ya, see if there was anything you needed before I head down to the barn to get some lessons started,” 

The two of the men fall into easy conversation but you and Charlotte find yourselves stowed away in the kitchen, chatting about anything and everything. 

“So- You and Steve, huh? He’s never brought a girl around,” she says as she stirs her tea. 

“Yeah- He uh saved me from Billy Hargrove,” you take a sip from your mug, glancing into the living room to check on Steve. 

“Oof- Eddie used to work on Billy’s ranch breaking horses. Never got paid enough for the work he did, here though? He’s taken care of, Donna makes sure he is anyways,” 

You had learned that a lot of the ranch bonuses and raises used to come from Donna pestering Richard until he caved, that was until Steve came around and gave everyone their well deserved performance based raises.

“Steve’s running it right finally, taught his Daddy more things than he’s taught Steve probably, I can’t wait to see what happens when he finally takes over, maybe he will settle down now that he’s broke himself,” Charlotte rattles off, your stomach lurching at her words, remembering why you’re here.

Steve hurt himself. If he hadn’t been rendered useless in terms of bull riding he’d be off riding in other competitions and eventually nationals. He was kept at home by a broken shoulder, not by you. 

You shake the thoughts away, Steve would have wanted you wherever he was, you had to convince yourself. 

You and Charlotte continue conversing, finally steering the conversation away from you and Steve. 

“Dandy-” You hear Steve shout from the living room, you set down our mug and straighten out your skirt before making your way to him. 

“Whatcha need cowboy,” you question, smiling when you round the corner to see him standing, cowboy hat situated on his head. 

“Come to the creek with me?” he questions, smiling softly as he holds out his hand. 

You turn back towards Charlotte, who is now left alone now that Eddie has gone to the barn to start lessons for the day. She nods her head, shooing the two of you away and out into the summer sun. 

Steve laces your fingers with his, boots crunching on gravel as he makes his way to the stables.

“Wish we could take sonny today,” Steve says, frowning slightly when you pass them. You distract him with a kiss to the cheek, bumping into his hat causing him to let out a chuckle. 

“Tryna kiss me stupid here, honey?” he asks as he continues walking, dipping into some trees at the edge of the property.

“Just tryna kiss ya, cowboy,” he smiles back at you as he leads you through the trees, finally stopping and letting you settle in next to him once you reach the creek. 

You release his hand, kicking off your shoes in order to step in the creek, turning to Steve who is still on the bank.

“Comin’ in?” you grin, looking up at him. He scratches at the scruff that is forming on his chin, contemplating kicking off his boots and joining you.

“I dunno, Dandy,” 

“C’mon, don’t make me enjoy this all alone,”

With that, he toes off his boots as you step forward in the water in order to roll up his jeans for him. You hold your hand out, Steve taking it and stepping into the water with you. The two of you wade in the shallow creek, your back to Steve when you feel a splash of water hit the bend of your knees. 

You whip around, scowling at Steve who has a wide grin on his face. You bend over, skimming your hand in the water in order to splash him back. Steve walks backwards, tripping over his feet, sending him tumbling, falling on his ass. 

You rush to him, dropping to your knees in the shallow water next to him.

“Are you okay?” you question, looking him over as if you’ll see any physical damage. 

He simply smiles at you, on your knees-so close to his lap. He wishes he could pull you onto him and kiss you breathless.

That’s when he realizes there’s nothing stopping him.

He hooks his arm around your waist, pulling you towards him. He mumbles a soft, “C’mere,” as he motions with his head for you to get on.

You swing your leg over his lap, heartbeat high in your throat as you look down at him. It’s a little awkward, his sling taking up much of the room between the two of you, but it doesn’t matter.

Steve’s eyes travel to your lips, a smile forming on them as your hand raises to pet the hairs adorning the nape of Steve’s neck.

“I think you’re the one that’s trying to kiss me stupid,” you breathe.

“Just tryna kiss ya,” 

With that, he leans in, capturing your lips in a firm kiss. It’s slow–calculated, each movement well thought out as he guides you. You eventually crack a smile while kissing him, teeth knocking together as Steve begins to smile too. You finally pull away when it’s time to catch your breath. 

“Why’d you wait so long, cowboy?” you ask, hand still petting at his hair. 

“Kinda thought you deserved more, Dandy,” he breaths out, thumb rubbing at your hip as his eyes flash back towards your lips. 

“Well- why don’t you let me worry about that, mudslinger” you lean back down, kissing him sweetly before pulling away and getting off his lap. He looks up at you in a daze, lips pink and full as he cracks a smile. 

You help him up and out of the creek, using your now half soaked cardigan to dry your legs off before slipping back into your shoes. Steve gets along fine with getting his boots back on, but you can't help but giggle when you turn to see his jeans still rolled up. You bend down to fix them, Steve mumbling a soft thank you. 

You walk hand in hand back to the house, offering Eddie a small wave when you pass by the stables.

You’re both still sopping wet when you make it to the front porch, Steve groaning when he’s intercepted by Donna at the door. 

“I know you are not about to come in here with those sopping wet jeans on,” She scolds the two of you. 

Steve playfully rolls his eyes, nudging past her and making his way inside. 

“I’ll clean it Mama,” she playfully smacks his good shoulder before retreating back to the kitchen to continue cooking lunch for the Saturday workers. 

Steve opens the door to his room, closing the door after you. 

“Skirt’s pretty soaked, do you want some shorts and a new shirt?” he questions, turning towards his closet to grab himself a change of clothes. You squeak out a small “yes” as you kick off your shoes. He hands you a pair of sweatpants and a shirt, turning back towards the closet. 

In a surge of courage and confidence, your hands find the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head while Steve’s back is to you. 

When Steve turns around, he feels like he’s been punched in the gut. His lungs are void of air as his eyes rake over your frame, drinking you in. He swears he sees stars when your fingers dip into the waistband of your skirt, dropping it to the floor with a wet thud. 

You stalk towards him, fingers hooking in his belt loops as you guide him to the chair sitting in the corner of his room. 

“Dandelion- sweetheart what are you doing?” Steve asks as you drop to your knees in front of him, eyeing him sweetly. 

“Just let me take care of you, Cowboy,” you push him back by his hip, satisfied once you force him to sit in the chair. 

Fingers come to unbutton his damp wranglers, cock already straining against the rough fabric. You pop the button, slowly unzipping his pants, tapping his thighs so he will lift his hips. 

He’s looking at you with glassy eyes, pupils blown wide as he watches your hand sneak into his boxers and pull out his hard member. 

“Fuck, darlin you don’t have to do this,” his hand reaches down to caress the your flushed cheek. 

“Want to,” your hand strokes him, the drag causing Steve to throw his head back, loud groans leaving his lips as he indulges in the feeling of you taking care of him. 

You suck the head of his cock, tongue swirling around the tip. Steve’s hand comes to thread through your hair, grabbing a fistful and pulling just hard enough to get you off of him. 

“You wanna feel good too?” Steve questions, free hand coming to stroke himself. You nod your head, pleading eyes meeting Steve’s. 

“Ride me then,”

“S-steve your shoulder,” He laughs, the hand that was stroking his cock now caressing your face. His boot begins tapping on the floor beneath you. 

Tap-Tap-Tap

You look up at him through hooded eyes, biting your lip as you lower yourself onto his boot. You let out a soft mewl when the rough leather catches on your clothed clit. You begin to rock back and forth, riding his boot as you take him back into your mouth. 

You take him to the back of your throat, nose bumping into the soft pudge of his tummy, being tickled by the pubic hair that adorns the area. 

He groans, the deep growl echoing off the walls causing you to pull back and shush him. Steve chuckles as he guides his cock back towards your lips, you greedily sucking him in. 

Your hands come to rest on his hairy thighs, your own shaking from the impending orgasm, the coil in your tummy tightening as you use his boot to get off. 

“Jesus, Honey. I’m gonna come if you keep takin’ me so deep like that,” he moans as you release his member with a soft pop, a giddy smile on your face as you look up at him. 

“Kinda the point, Honey,” you begin to stroke him, hand slippery with your spit and his precum.  

“Gonna come,” he grits out, your mouth enveloping him as his hips stutter and his cock twitches in your mouth, hot cum running down your throat. 

You pull off him once he winces at the overstimulation. Your hips are still moving, your sopping cunt still dragging across the ridges of Steve’s boots. 

“You close honey?” Steve asks, a little hint of pity lacing his tone. You whine when he begins to mock you.

Three more thrusts of your hips and you’re coming undone, panties now soaked with your release and seeping onto his cowboy boot. You slump forward when you’ve finished riding out your high, face resting on his thigh mere inches from his now softening cock. His hand pets your hair, letting you rest there for a while before breaking the silence.

“These pants are still wet darlin, need to change,” he taps your cheek, causing you to rise from the spot in his lap and pull yourself off of his boot. You wince when you disconnect from him, blushing when you see the wet spot you left on the leather. Steve however, props his foot up on the ottoman that you were just wedged between and admires the slick spot on his boot-proud of what you’d done to him.

“Might keep it there,” You whine at his words, embarrassed you’d just come undone so easily for him.

“Hey- don’t pout,” he says as he gets up, a soft grunt leaving his lips as he does so. Tall frame towering over yours, his hand coming to brush your unkempt hair out of your face. 

He presses a soft kiss to your forehead, pushing down his pants and stepping out of them. He digs around for a pair of boxers before turning and offering you a pair. 

“Figured you’d soaked your-uh,”

“Panties?”

“You just had me ride your boot, now you’re shy about my wet panties?” you question, a small smirk forming on your lips as you take the pair of boxers from him. 

Now he turns bright red, cheeks flushing at the mere talk of your underwear. 

“I’m a gentleman, Dandy,” you roll your eyes, mumbling a soft, “not in the sheets” as you walk by him. 

“Come on mudslinger, let's get dressed. I’ll make us some lunch once we get downstairs,” 

[jr-acrux101]

Okay Im rusty with my writing, and ive only seen like 512 episodes of one piece, but I do know some of the spoliers pls go easy on me 😭

NSFW/ 18+ ONLY

MINORS PLS DO NOT INTERACT-

Aokiji has been on my mind lately. ngl mans is fine as hell. The characters are not as canon as I would like, but 🤷🏻‍♀️ I am working on a 2nd chapter pls lmk if you guys want it.

Not beta read- hope you enjoy!

*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*

You sighed as the man you love started to freeze you. The past memories came back.

-

You started off as his subordinate. On your first meeting with the rest of your crew that was transferred, he waved and left to take a nap. He infuriated you. To you he was lazy.

Somehow that same day you bumped into you falling as the 7ft man towered over you.

"Arara, my bad Miss …"

You glared at him and started to pick up the paperwork, "Last name is _ Admiral Aokiji." He hummed and picked up 2 documents by his feet.

He handed them to you and gave a quick wave. By the grace of god you were promoted to Vice Admiral. Picking up his slack, which was almost always.

The relationship between you turned teasing somehow. It started with sarcastic remarks under your breath and him smirking when he heard them.

He would sleep at his desk while you did his paperwork, something that was the normal routine for the two of you.

Kizaru always jokes when he invites you for a night cap, that there was more between you two, which you would laugh off. "The thought couldn't be more unfathomable." Was your reply. He shrugged and muttered to himself, "Wouldn't be surprising." His wife and him would share a look but left it at that.

Kuzan would be little more in your presence when he caught wind every time you went to Kizaru. Clingy in a way but you never thought much of it.

"So Dove let's go have a nightcap together." Oh that infuriating nickname got on your nerves but you kept calm. Moreover you were shocked, but nodded yes.

Well Kizaru wasn't wrong about that there was something more you felt you never would have imagined that Kuzan liked you back.

Aokiji was lazy, a smartass, and so fucking hot. His sarcastic remarks and playful banter, when he would have energy, made you fall for him a little more. When he had a shit eating grin leaving his work to you to leave and nap made you tingle.

"Arara you're so wet for me already F/N." He looked you over with lust filled eyes. You bit your lip and looked away with your cheeks stained. He grabbed your chin and kissed you. He kissed your neck and trailed down. He cooled tongue and battled against your heat slicked pussy. You groaned and bucked your hips.

"Ad- Admiral-"

"None of that now, no need for titles in bed Dove."

"Aokiji! Please."

"Hmm Kuzan my little dove. You're so desperate to have my cock inside you huh?" You nodded feverishly.

"I want you to fuck me Kuzan."

"Arara there's the spitfire I know. So demanding."

You gave a grin at that. He picked you up easily and leaned on the headboard. "I want you to work for it."

You rolled your eyes, "You're just too lazy to continue." He huffed out a laugh.

You slowly eased on his cock. He watched you hungrily as you inch by inch took him. He groaned once you bottomed out. "Fuck tight." Was all he was able to utter and you rose up and slammed down. You fucked yourself on his dick, feeling the the pressure in you lower stomach. Your pace quickened but he held you still.

"So impatient F/N. Enjoy the ride a little more." You looked down at him through half lidded eyes.

"Please Kuzan, make me cum. Then fill me up with yours." In the moment Aokiji wanted to have you face down and ass up as he rearranged your guts. He kept cool though, his dick twitched inside you.

"Hmm you sure know how to make a man weak." You gigled.

The time you two fought after fighting with the white beard. Unbeknownst to him, you had encountered the strawhats before him, letting them go but you were close to one particular straw hat before joining the marines.

"It was wrong!" You hissed.

"It is my job."

"Your job is to help maintain justice! Not make up rules of what you think is justice."

"You should know better than anyone that that is what we do."

"Like killing your best friend for trying to save a child? Or killing an entire island because of ancient text reading abilities?"

He froze, his aloofness gone. "How do you know that?"

You turned away. "The fight was gruesome and all the casualties were unnecessary. And you wanted it to continue to catch straw hat."

You had agreed with Coby, it was too much death and the "justice" was out of control.

"I'm an Admiral L/N." You stiffen at the usage of your last name.

"Of course, your duty comes before actual justice." With that you slammed the door of his office and left, to hell with the rest of work. What were they gonna do? Demote you? Good riddance.

Your relationship was tense after that. It started to thaw and blossom again until the fight with Admiral Akuinu. When he awoke you cried in relief. That night he wanted you to ride him in his hospital bed. You were, of course, appalled but complied nonetheless when everyone went home.

The week after that he was gone. He left a letter saying he couldn't do it anymore, your relationship, the new fleet Admiral, and his wayward justice.

Kizaru was there to help you pick up the pieces. Him and his wife would check on you on your days off, she would constantly fuzz over you. You and Kizaru had a friendship of silence and understanding.

Coby was there for you too. He was a sweet boy who would do great things. You hoped that his sense of justice and understanding never changed.

When you gave birth 9 months later you gave birth to a beautiful little girl. She has light brown skin and light brown curly hair. She was perfect.

You requested more time off and raised her, with the help of Kizaru's wife and Kizaru of course. Coby was her uncle. And Robin knew who her father was upon seeing her. But she did not cast her fathers sins upon her. You had helped Robin as a young girl running. Giving her a place to stay and eat before she got up and left again, it was too dangerous.

By some miracle you met again again as a rookie in the marines. You were off duty. You talked and talked. It was nice to hear she was alive.

By that time you kept in frequent touch.

You were appointed to the new world for a mission. It was quick, to get intel and after that it would be your last mission.

Smoker called you into his office. "Kuzan will be the enemy for this mission F/N. He saved me during the Doflamingo incident, he's still alive and with the Black Beard pirates." Your heart stopped.

You were silent. But nodded your head.

"Be careful please. Kiki still needs at least one parent."

"I have the calm calm fruit. I'll be quick and silent. Not engaging Smoker." He nodded. You two grew closer in the past months.

"Be careful F/N."

You gave a small smile and left.

"You shouldn't have come."

"You got this Aokiji?" Black beard laughed. He nodded and his "crew" started to leave. "Hurry up, we'll be on the ship."

The two of you were left on the snowy island.

-

"Her name is Kiki." He slowed down the ice. He saw the tears streaming down. "Goodbye Aokiji Kuzan." She accepted her fate. And the ice fully enclosed her.

He cursed. He got her transponder snail. "Smoker."

"Kuzan?"

"I have F/N here frozen. She took too many injuries so I froze her to stop the bleeding. Thaw her out and have a doctor on stand by."

"YOU COWARD! YOU MIGHT HAVE SAVED MY ASS BACK THEN BUT I SWEAR- TASHIGI HEAD BACK TO THE ISLAND F/N ON."

The responder clicked. He left it on her shoulder and froze it. He replayed one of last words. 'Kiki. Well fuck.'

You gasped as you woke up. "F/N." Koby was there with Kiki who was fast asleep. Koby's yelling did nothing to wake her. Your head was pounding and your body ached. You fell right back to an unconscious state.

After a month-long recovery, you resigned. You had enough money saved since you were just taking care of yourself till recently. All you did was save.

You went and bought a home for you and your daughter. Kizaru and his wife Takako would often come on by, as well as Koby, and Smoker, with Tashigi every now and then.

Two years had passed after. Kuzan spotted the light blue house on the shore. There were blue salvias around the house, kind of like a fence.

He saw a little girl running outside with her doll. He slowly walked up the hill. The little girl had her into 2 little puffs. She looked up at the man walking on the road towards their house.

She furrowed her eyebrows and ran inside. "Mama ! There's a man on the road to the house!"

She ran up to you, who was on the phone with Kizaru.

She faintly heard him say "time."

"I gotta go Kizaru, you and Takako can come visit whenever."

You rushed to Kili, "Stay here sweetie. I'll be back." The three year old nodded. You rushed to the door, only to be met with the man that broke your heart, the father of your child, your former Admiral, Aokiji Kuzan.

You activated your bubble. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

He rubbed the back of his neck. "You think after making me fall in love with you, breaking my heart and leaving me, breaking my heart again and almost KILLING ME you get to waltz over here as if it didn't happen?"

He hung his head. You were fuming. Upon looking at him you noticed he had a black eye and his arm was in a cast. You furrowed your eyebrows, who was strong enough to kick his ass?

"F/n. I know. I am sorry. I left to protect you. I had to do this mission my own way with my own sense of justice, and in order for me to do that I had to leave everything, in-including you, the person I loved."

Your eyes watered but you didn't want to waste anymore tears on this man.

"So that makes it okay?"

"No, of course not."

"Why are you here?"

"To apologize. To see our daughter."

"Our daughter? The one you left before she was born?"

"I didn't know she existed Dove."

"Oh don't you fucking call me that Aokiji." You said his name mockingly. He winced, wrong move.

"F/n. Please, I didn't-I know I fucked up. But I came to you to beg for forgiveness. You are the love of my life and we made a child together. I needed to do this, to keep you safe."

You felt like you were shaking with anger, you probably were. "Aokiji Kuzan you are a heartless man incapable of loving. You left me and then you almost killed me. I will not let you near my child. You have shown your goals were more important and I will not have my daughter be second to a fucking construct. Leave."

"No."

"Excuse me?"

"I am not going to leave a second time."

The bubble around you started to harden. Kuzan stepped back to be met to the end of your bubble. You stepped back and the bubble let you out. Kuzan on the other hand was stuck.

He tried to freeze the bubble to break it, but it seemed like that just made it more durable.

You went and picked up the responder snail. "Mama who is that?" You stiffened. You scooped her up and took her to her bedroom.

"Stay right here little Dovey I'll be right back. That's mamas old friend."

"Okay mama."

You gave her a kiss on her head. And walked down to the end of the stairs. You sat on them and you realized Kuzan gave up and was laying down.

Fucking typical.

"Moshi moshi!"

"Why the fucking is Kuzan at my door step?"

Kuzan winced, he gave a weak chuckle. "While after I broke the arm that he used to freeze you with and then after Smoker suckered punch him. We um gave him your address."

"Why?"

You could hear his shrug,"He wanted to apologize, and with him weakened by us we knew he wouldn't try anything. Plus Smoker is on your island just in case." You went to the window and saw him and someone else on the shore.

"So you broke his arm for me?"

"Of course. I would've broken the other one too but the man is also down a leg if you haven't noticed so…"

You huffed out an inappropriate laugh. "Well thanks, I'll call you later. Oh and I'm calling Takako to kill you." You heard the groan and hung up. You sighed.

The bubble popped and Kuzan fell on his back. He hit it with a soft thud and grunted.

"Okay you've apologized can you leave." You've made the bubble again.

"No."

"Oh you stubborn, lazy, jackass!" He wanted to grin, you riled up was always so cute and sexy. But he knew if he did you would somehow kill him.

"I know."

"Oh you know? And yet here you are still lazy, stubborn, and a spoiled pain in my ass!"

He just nodded. "Ugh say something you asshat!"

He huffed out a laugh, "Asshat?"

You gave him a blank stare. "Sorry, never heard it like that. It was quite funny "

You rolled your eyes. "Yeah I'm quite the fucking comedian."

Okay, this could go either 2 ways for Kuzan. Him on the floor dead or him on the floor close to death as you ride him and suxk the life out of him.

He was jack shit wrong, but he could dream.

"Did you finish whatever goal that was so important to leave everything and everyone behind?"

"Yes."

You hummed.

"How old is she?"

"3 years and 3 months."

"What's her favorite color?"

You glared at him, "Blue."

"Does-does she know about me?"

"Yes. You have your glasses and a different bandanna so it didn't register to her since she's only seen pictures."

"I'm sorry."

"I'm sure you are."

You grabbed the responder snail again. "F/n."

"You and Tashigi can leave now Smokes. I'm fine."

"Are you sure you want him around? Say the word F/n, and Tashigi and I will kill him for you."

A laugh came out of you as Tashigi agreed. "Thank you for that generosity but I'm fine."

"Okay just checking. Call us when you want us over with Barsalino and Takako."

"Will do."

Silence hung in the bubble before you heard a soft knocking to your left. Kiki was there. It finally clicked for her. "I'm going to keep you in the bubble." Before he could protest, you stepped out of the bubble.

She signaled up. Which you obliged. "Is that him?" She whispered.

You smiled as she still had a hard time understanding your devil fruit. "Yes, that's him."

"Can I meet him?"

"Do you want to?"

Kiki stared into Kuzans eyes,and slowly nodded her head. You let the bubble burst. You stood in front of Kuzan.

"Kuzan, this is our daughter Kiki. Kiki, this is your father."

[brighteyes-things]

Deadpool/ wolverine as thing's me and my friends have said or heard

💛❤️💛❤️💛❤️💛❤️💛❤️

So it's been a while since I've written anything, and me and my friends now have the poolverine, dead claws.... wolverine and Deadpool itch

So in honor of our collected brain rot, these are some random things that we've heard/said that we think Deadpool or wolverine would say. Yes this will be updated as more things are said

WARNING: cursing, somewhat sexual jokes, mention of alcohol

Wade Wilson (Deadpool) ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

"I wasn't expecting to get turned on by a shirtless Hugh Jackman but God damn I'm not complaining"

"I don't feel fem boy enough, I need more eyeliner"

"I'm not a furry, but I'd fuck a man with cat ears"

*While sipping something* "you think I can use my boobs to hold this?"

"he's giving emo babygirl"

"you must FIRMLY grasp the booty"

"I can't just leave the house, I have to get my big boots on"

"you can't just slap my ass and leave"

"IM A MAN" *buys the pink strawberry skin care set from bath and body*

"I'm very gay and not afraid to kiss the movie poster to prove it"

"you ever think Slenderman is trying to recruit us for something"

"NO, no more black veil bride music, I'm not suffering through your emo phase again"

*mocking twilight* "WHY WOULD HE IMPRINT ON THE BABY, THAT'S FUCKED UP"

"I swear Batman only owns an adoption center just in case someone dies and he needs another mentally ill orphan"

*breaks a cabinet door just for gummy bears* (yes this happened by accident)

"I'd rob hot topic for those lollipop razor blade earrings"

"I know I'm mentally ill, I watch bluey and cry"

"I have to beat the fem boi allegations"

"I don't know why but I feel like I give off beta vibes"

"you'll never believe the ABO fic I just read"

"she's becoming an animae obsessed fan girl, it's a canon event I can't stop it, OH GOD SHE DISCOVERED WATTPAD"

*while watching crime TV* "this man needs to be put to death, he didn't eat the chocolate frosting on the cupcakes"

*while looking in the mirror* " I love my slutty man hips"

This dress doesn't scream "fuck me" enough

*talking about cosmic brownies* THE GIRTH

Logan (wolverine) 💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛

"I've become the caretaker to everyone, and I don't know how to feel"

"Ryan Reynolds could run me over with a truck and I'd apologize after I curse him out because...I GOT RAN OVER STILL"

*sees an animal on the side of the road* "poor kitty"

"fanart definitely scares me sometimes"

*gets kissed on the cheek* "that's GAY"

"you can't just eat the cup to get to the last drop of coffee"

"just how long is your simp list now, and why am I on it"

"that's unamerican, un-lawful, and downright not patriotic"

"no I don't wanna know the details of what you and your partner did, I'm trying to eat"

"stop trying to throw stuff in my boobs, it's annoying when I find crumbs of cookies in there"

"how did the least qualified of us, somehow graduate first AND have a baby in the span of a year"

"how'd I get rejected from Hooters?"

"you're an omega and you know it"

"your the reason they started bagging the peaches at Aldi's"

"how the hell did you burn yourself with a candy cane?!"

"it's only alcohol abuse if you spill anything"

"You're not a god, you're just dehydrated and read too much fanfiction"

"it's only gay if you don't have socks"

*staring at a pet rabbit* "that little demon is purposely chewing up my shit and you know it"

"did you just John Cena the clothes"

"I hope you know that I don't trust you with cleaning the dishes properly"

"did you seriously just compare little Debbie brownies by girth?"

[vctrvn-ls]

Being Sick |Beta Squad|

yeah im sick, v sad but #not3ambutsickthoughts

nice and short

「 ✦ Chunkz✦ 」

Would pull out any and every trick his mom did in his youth when he was sick. He’d tell you all about Somalian herbs, plants and how they’re good for you. For example Pelargonium and the boost it gives to your immune system. I don’t really see Chunkz as the “I’ll get off work just to take care of you” typa guy, like don’t get me wrong he’d be worried as hell but he’s too much of a busy man to drop everything, and you’d respect that because as soon as he got home all of his attention would be on you and you only, baby. Besides he believes that the best cure is a good rest (I feel like I know that for a fact)

「 ✦AJ ✦ 」

Now AJ thinks the best cure is laughter. He knows how boring it could be, staying at home for a week and lying in bed all day, so he’d try and make your days less miserable. He wouldn’t change too much, he’d still violate you and bully you, saying stuff like “you’re the only one who got sick, loser” but at the same time he’d be bringing you your medicine, food and whatever else you needed. He’d definitely feel bad at first, but as soon as you start getting better he will not hesitate to annoy you again. Honestly AJ would be around you so much that your body would fight off the disease faster just so you could get out of the house. Lovingly tho cause AJ is the best <3

「 ✦Kenny ✦ 」

Gosh where do I start? The fuss this guy would make!! First when he finds out that you’re sick he’d lecture you like a mom. “Didn’t I tell you to dress warmer?” , “Why’d you have ice cold drinks if you already had a sore throat?” , “Why didn’t you tell me straight away that you were sick?” He’d walk up and down the room waving his hands around while you sat there with a guilty look on your face. But you know he’s mad only because he cares that much for you, and it’s not long before he apologizes for acting pissed and starts running around you, bringing every type of medicine he could think of. He’d order your favorite take out, get you a warm beverage and turn on a movie for the two of you to enjoy before you dozed off to sleep on his shoulder.

「 ✦Niko ✦ 」

Yeah he’d drop everything he’s doing for you and make sure you are well before continuing on with his life. First thing he’d do is call in a nurse, and after that buy everything the nurse suggests. He might even go a little over the top with the buying. Medicine aside, he’d make sure youre happy and aware that he’s ready to do anything you need. Like cmon Niko is the most SELFLESS man on this planet, he’d actually be ready to do anything!! He’d sleep next to you, just in case you woke up at night feeling unwell, but he wouldnt sleep too close since he wouldn’t want to get sick as well, which would result in him not being able to help you get well as much as he would want to.

「 ✦ Sharky ✦ 」

Girl he’d do the opposite of Niko and literally have you in his embrace every second (unless you feeling like you need some alone time) He’d make chicken soup and as shitty as it might actually taste, you’d still eat it because he made it with aaallll his love. When you’re napping, he’d be beside you editing his videos (in headphones of course) or he’d be replying to emails and whatever else work related. Would he care that your sick? NO! KISSES EVERY DAY AND NIGHT!

“Sharks you’re gonna get sick!” You giggle and try push him away from you. “Nahh.” He’d shake his head before sprinkling your face with kisses. With all his love and support, you’ll be getting well in no time.

[conron]

leon & ashley fic

hi hi! i love you leon kennedy thank god for him amirite? this is a platonic fic which i feel like tumblr needs more of lol (u guys r lowk freaks haha....) i see their relationship very brother sister coded so thats how i will write them.

tags: OG RE4 ASHLEY AND LEON!, although it probably wont change much if youve only seen the remake, dont let that stop you!, post re4, ashley is a cutie, re6 section at the end, I RETCONNED IT A BIT, the president in re6 is graham here, dont judge me, i didnt realize ok, out of character im sure, typos, bit of a character study on leon, religion mention!, hugs !!!, villain and violent, infant and innocent

not beta read we die like....... resident evil side charracters....?

...

Her hands have a box in between her manicured nails. They’re clear but groomed to perfection and he looks from the box to her face. He’s…. a little confused. 

“It’s not my birthday,” He chimes in with a light smirk tugging at his lips. Brown eyes roll at him and his shitty one liner before she takes one of his hands in hers. They’re soft to the touch against his rough and calloused ones. Untouched and the scars from being kidnapped slowly fading to the back of her mind. He can see the metal banded bracelet adorning her wrist that he had to see every time he pulled her along when she was too scared to move. Turning his wrist so his palm faced up, she placed the box in his hand. 

“I don’t even know when your birthday is,” Her voice is unamused and it makes a grin be pulled to his lips. And she sure as hell won’t be finding out now. 

It was something that seemed a little too delicate for his hands that held grenade launchers and rifles. A box from plush hands that have scraped by with death from the minds of evil people. 

“It’s a gift,” Her voice says with a small smile. The same one she’d give when grinning at him when he shot down another B.O.W, “for saving me.” 

It makes his eyes widen as he looks down at the box. It’s black and wrapped in velvet on every facet of it. Her hand leaves his and the warmth of someone who’s less scarred than he is leaves his touch. He looks back up at her with something growing in his chest. 

“You… you really didn’t have to, Ashley.” Muttering under his breath as the wind blows past them. The leaves from the trees are changing seasons and falling around them. He can hear the sound of other people her age conversing about college and he finds that he can’t remember how it feels to be that young anymore. 

“It’s my job. Getting you home safe is the only thing that matters.” He continues as he tries to give back the gift. She’s the president’s daughter, of course he had to save her. So she doesn’t need to repay him because that already came in his paycheck. The repayance was bucking her off the jetski for a little laugh when he knew they were safe. 

Of course, she doesn’t accept this. Because this is Ashley Graham. Brown eyes and short platinum blonde hair. Invisible freckles across her cheeks and nose. The girl who would yell out his name every time something went wrong. Who never failed to comply with his orders so she stayed alive. Who wrapped her arms around him every time they found one another again. 

Of course, because she’s a young woman who’s so stubborn that she got kidnapped again when he saved her. 

“Come on, Leon.” A sigh leaves her lips and he quirks a small grin at her annoyance. “You saved my life like 3 times.” 

… 

That was very true. Actually, he’d argue that it was more times than that. But he doesn’t speak these thoughts to the woman, lest she start to strangle him in aggravation. His eyes look back from hers and stare down at the box again. His fingertips slowly grazing the felt, she laughed and said-

“Well at least open it. I’m making you take it no matter what.”

He scoffs slightly to the air, a little laugh hiding under it. His fingerless gloves cover most of his hand but he can still feel the soft felt. Creasing underneath the pressure as he slowly opens the box. His eyes are greeted with a necklace. Glittering shiny to his eyes and he already knows it has to be the most expensive thing he owns now. 

That isn’t the only thing that catches his eye. Planted in the box, the base holding it as if it was shaped for it. It was a shining cross. The actual cross was a bit small, about the size of half his pinky. It was encrusted with white gems that he’s sure, individually, would be enough to buy a house in this economy. The chain is secure and if he pulled, even with all his strength, he knew it wouldn't break. 

His head turns back up to meet Ashley's smiling face. She stands in her school uniform, her sweater vest pulled taut around her body. An orange scarf adoring her neck as well. 

“Well? What do you think, Leon?”

…

He stays quiet as he looks back down at the necklace. The cross adorns the corner of his eye as the gems glitter secrets into his ears. 

“I’m sorry, I’m not religious.”

Ashley’s eyes turn to ones of confusion before her hands place on her hips. She seems annoyed with him, something he was accustomed to for the few grueling days in Spain. 

“That is not what it’s about, Leon.”

“Then what’s the summary? Two sticks and a chain?”

She rolls her eyes again. It’s not that religion is really a problem, he mostly just wants to mess with her a little. Although, after being kidnapped by a religious group and infected with a virus that made her cough up blood; he’s surprised she’s still religious. 

From under her scarf, she holds up her own necklace. Glimmering under her soft smile at him. 

“Look, we’re matching.” 

She flashes a toothy smile at him as the necklace that is almost one to one with his swings from side to side. And suddenly he feels oddly shy. He was used to orders he had to follow and guns that made his hands shake when he held them for too long.  A little out of his depth for a gift that obviously had a lot of thought put into it. 

(And a lot of money…)

“C’mon Ashley, I can’t accept this…” He mutters as he closes the box, hiding away the innocent gift that he knows he doesn’t really deserve. Not really. Not when it was just his job that he saved her. Not when she got hurt under his watch, snatched away from his grasp over and over again. Forced to be kept away in cramped spaces with eyes of disgusting people staring at her. 

He doesn’t deserve this when she went through all of that. 

He doesn’t deserve a lot of things anymore. 

Not really. 

But her dainty hands cover his. Warmth blooming from her fingertips and watering his cold and rough ones. He looks from the box to her face and the way she smiled softly looking at his gloved hands. Something very soft in front of him. Something he’s afraid he doesn’t understand anymore. 

“When I was kidnapped, I prayed for God to save me. I’m pretty sure my nails made my hands bleed because of how hard I was praying.” The light wind carries her voice to his attentive ears. And her hands may be smaller than his and softer, but they grip his tightly. Sure of herself.

“And God didn’t save me.” She mutters, a little bitterly. Her smile turned downward at her own words. Gritting her teeth before she remembers something. As if something quelled the frustration at her disillusion with her own religion. A smile replaced her lips as she looked up at him. 

“But you did.” 

He feels his heart tremble and shake in the hands of a woman who was 7 years younger than him. Eyes who have not seen the extent of bioterrorism nightmares. Eyes that have been kidnapped and traumatized in their own way. Her smile, he feels, is undeserved. Something so grateful and sweet. HIs eyes widen slightly and he can’t even open his mouth to say a retort. 

“You did… and like-! I get how stupid that sounds…” She trails off as she looks away, her hands start shaking with the same tremor his heart is feeling and he feels a sudden urge to wrap her in his arms. 

“But I was so scared, Leon… I thought… I was gonna die alone. Or you know…” Her voice leaves empty to the possibilities that could have happened. The possibility that every woman was afraid of happening to her. She didn’t know she was supposed to be released back to America like some lab experiment. She didn’t know anything. 

The brown in her eyes swirl with tears before she stares at their hands that are on top of one another. Her lips not moving as she’s sure she doesn’t need to say more. Not needing to. Not when he understands so thoroughly. Those big brown eyes softening as she slowly descends to one knee. Bowing her head down with a little giggle. His lips cannot muster a smile at her. Only stares with a certain sadness in his eyes. 

“Thank you, Leon.” 

Her voice says through the wind and the blowing leaves. They blow past her face and get a little tangled in her short platinum blonde hair. Her smile makes her eyes crinkle, her teeth flashing white up at him. She looks younger than she really is, childish and grinning up at him as if she was a little kid. His lips purse a frown. 

“You’re my hero.” 

Her hand clutches his as he stands before her, forcing his fingers to curl around the box. On her knee as if she was a knight bowing to the royalty she was sent to protect. Switching the roles they were in when they were trapped in Spain. The setting sun glowing a brilliant golden on her visible freckles as he stares down at her. His own eyes drowning in a feeling that makes his chest ache and ache. 

When she stands, she rubs the back of her neck and laughs about how that was a little embarrassing. The moment has passed but it leaves a dull ache in his body that he hides with a cross of his arms. Rolling his eyes as he mutters, “think about how I feel…” 

This makes her roll her eyes as well as she knocks her hand against his arm. He hides his mixed emotions behind a small snarky smile as they walk next to the trees at her university. Their shoes crunching on the grass and leaves as her voice complains about menial things. He listens, of course he does. With his gloved fingers tucked within his pockets and small comments replying to her words. 

And when it’s been long enough, they stop and she smiles at him. A smile he’s familiar with. They hug and she smells like apples and cinnamon sugar. Her hair smells like the season as the strands tickle the side of his face.

He smells like mint and sweat, a small lingering scent of alcohol that she smells. It’s inevitable as she buries her face in his chest where he’s wearing his jacket. She laughs, looks up at him and says he's nasty, that he reeks of sweat and alcohol. An over exaggeration of course. This rolls right off of him as he reminds her that she jumped down a trash chute with him. 

And they laugh, carefree with no looming threat of death over them. Not concerned with saving their lives. He messes with her hair and he knocks away the hand that tries to mess up his. He bids her goodbye when she sees her friends. Her face glowing as she gives him one more hug and he smiles ruefully as she runs to her friends in the same big brown boots she was wearing when he saved her. 

For a moment, he allows himself to watch her walk away. Surrounded by people who care about her and that are making her roll her eyes at the moment. She gives one last look to him before she grins and gives a little wave at him.

He stands alone, the wind blowing through his hair as his own hand raises to give his own half hearted wave at her. Her friends sneak glances at him, poking at her side. She rolls her eyes as she turns away and walks away from where he can protect her. They disappear and he lets out a sigh as he stares up at the swirling colors of the sky. The small velvet box tucked away safely in his jacket pocket. 

When he gets home and sits at his desk, it is only then he really looks at the necklace. Sinking into the plush material as his fingers hold up the cross. Matching with hers. His, now that he really looks at it, is a bit darker. Has a bit more intricate designs around the cross. A little bigger than hers. His eyebrows furrow as he holds it in his hand and wonders what to do. 

He wonders if he should give it back or maybe donate it, it would definitely be a great idea for his financial situation. But then he thinks back to her grinning up at him and he feels a sharp pain in his chest. She decided to get him this and he was thinking about throwing it away? She got him this to show how grateful she was for him. Something he was not used to at all. 

(And he cares about her.) 

So he takes it with grace because Ashley Graham is one of the only people he can really really care about. He lost contact with Manuela a long time ago and Sherry is lost to the years, he can’t afford thinking about her. He took that risk to protect her, working with the government. 

Putting himself through that torture that he despised so heavily.

His job was too unforgiving for such luxuries to think about such things though. To love people he can’t even lay eyes upon. To focus on people who are no longer in his life. 

So he clasps the reliable chain around his neck and he feels the responsibility he feels materialize on his neck. It does not pull him down or drown him though, secure around his neck. Settling on his chest as he sighs once again and clutches at the cross. Closing his eyes as he fingers with the diamonds and gems that cover it. Encrusting it with magic that suffices to drive his every movement. 

He treats it gently at first, taking it off to shower and leaving it at home when he’s assigned missions. Though, he ends up just wearing it everywhere. Too exhausted to remove it one day and it stays when he showers. He’s worried it will rust but it doesn’t even when he wears it multiple times in the shower or when he works out. 

He texts her about it and she replies a few hours later, “that’s what you get when you’re the president’s daughter!” with a touch too many emoticons. He smiles down at his phone as his other hand fidgets with the necklace. Okay, he’ll wear it everywhere if he can then. 

So he does. 

Tucked under his shirt on assignment, away from hands that will rip it off of him. Out in the open when he goes to work, even being asked by one of his co-workers if he’s religious. His eyes are pulled down to the necklace that he received two years before. By a woman who’s 22 now, who’s going to graduate college soon and threatened him if he didn’t attend. He lamely shrugs at the co-worker he cannot even remember the name of and replies that he isn’t, turning away and leaving the office. 

The president sometimes sees the necklace when Leon forgets to tuck it away and Leon schools his poker face when the president is staring at him. His hands getting clammy from being folded in front of him, assigned to bodyguard during a dinner party the aging man was at. 

“My daughter has a similar one.” The man says with a kind smile as he looks at Leon and his stony expression. His eyes crinkle with understanding and Leon feels the suspicion crawling up his back that he knows who really paid for it. Finally, the president turned away from the man who was standing still behind his chair at the dinner party. Leon lets out a silent relieved breath as he carefully reaches up to tuck the necklace away from view. 

More years pass and he drinks more, keeping a flask in his jacket pocket for emergencies. Ashley sees him sneak a sip at her graduation and she pulls on his cheek with her manicured nails. She’s unimpressed and the regular look, concerned for him. He quirks up a smile as he puts it away. His eyes seeing her in her graduation gown and cap, her face seems to have aged a little more. Still baby faced though and its something that has him let out a little laugh. 

He’s 29 now, a little more jaded. A little more tired. She eyes the bags under his eyes as she waves over her photographer. He scoffs a little at the fact she has her own photographer at the graduation and raises his eyebrow.

His hands resting inside the new leather jacket he bought, sweating a little because of the sun above them. Spring seems to suit Ashley just as well as fall did. Her face gleaming as she tells the photographer to take a picture of them. 

She passes her diploma to one of her other bodyguards and gives Leon a mischievous smile. Before he can quip at her, she unzips his jacket and reaches over the collar of his button up. Her fingers pulling a cross necklace from under his shirt, something that glitters under the sun. Her laugh is overpowering as she smiles up at him. 

“You’re wearing it!” She says, as if she was surprised. He doesn’t know why she is. Of course he has it on.

(He doesn’t tell her that he wears it everyday. That he fidgets with it when he’s nervous. That when everything gets a little difficult, he clasps onto it tight and remembers every reason to do what he does.) 

“Don’t have any other jewelry,” He says with an easy going smirk, hiding the emotional attachment he has for the gift given to him two years before. Although it was true, he really doesn’t have any other jewelry. This makes her roll her eyes as she turns to the camera and reaches under the collar of her own gown. Pulling out the matching piece to his as his eyes widen. 

“Hold it up,” Her voice says as she turns to meet his eyes. Life in her eyes and a future head of her. His mind goes blank as he can only see Ashley in her gown and cap. Flickering to an orange sleeveless sweater and teary brown eyes. 

“Let’s take a picture!” She says before she mouths something to the photographer. But he doesn’t focus on that, a realization dawning on him as he watches her. Reaching up to clutch at the cross before bringing it up robotically. 

This is the life he saved. 

This is the future he protected. 

He has no other time to relent on this before she tells him to smile. So they stand side by side, her fingers holding hers up to the camera. He copies her before quirking up a lazy smile at the camera. A smile he’s practiced to perfection. 

The photographer takes the picture but for some reason doesn’t stop. His eyes swirl in confusion before he feels arms wrapped around him. Ashley’s cap has fallen to the ground as his eyes adjust to the weight on him. Her face buried in his chest as his eyes see the overgrown brunette roots of her platinum blonde hair he was used to. 

His arms automatically wrap around her as he scoffs out a smile. Genuine as Ashley stands wrapped around her. He doesn’t hear the flash and sound of the camera, too focused on the woman before him. Chuckling as he ruffles her hair, messing her hair up on the day of her graduation in the name of affection only he can give to her. 

A gasp resounds as she looks up at him, her face offended but her eyes relaxed and satisfied. He quickly steps out of her grasp before she can mess up his hair. He realizes he’s laughing as he picks up her cap and throws it lazily back on her head. She huffs as if she’s annoyed. 

They smile at each other as other graduates bustle around them, looking for their families. Loud as joy is in the air and the sun shines down on them. Eventually, she goes back to her friends and father. He follows behind as he is tasked with protecting the president and his daughter at this event. 

He doesn’t smile when he’s mailed blown up pictures of himself and Ashley a few weeks later. Definitely doesn’t clutch tight onto his matching cross when he sees the genuine smile on his face when the photographer captures her impromptu hug. He doesn’t frame them, why would he? 

And another thing, he does not cry when he comes home from an awful mission to clutch tight onto a framed picture of himself and a blonde woman holding up matching necklaces. 

So even if he’s not religious, he carries the worn out cross. Wearing it everywhere. Even though it’s lost precious gems and diamonds over the years because of overuse. Because Ashley got him it.

It was his one physical representation of his efforts. Medals meant nothing. Handshakes and fake smiles at ceremonies don't matter. Something he fiddles with in his down time means more than grandiose speeches stroking his ego. 

Something that reminds him of why he’s doing any of this.

I want to save people. 

He remembers his younger self saying as he curled up in a ball at his parent's funeral. 

He remembers being carried away by a man in a blue uniform, clinging onto the material. Hushed whispers trying to be kept from his ears and a strong voice telling him it’ll be okay. 

He thinks of people who have been in his arms. Smiling at him with tears and gratitude. Battered and having lost the air of innocence in their eyes.

He feels his heart constrict and want to wrap around these people. Holding tight to the only reality he knows and it’s protecting the not so innocent light in their eyes. 

Sure, people love to tell him that he likes playing the hero. They assume he loves feeling the praise of saving another human life.  He can only think of someone shivering and terrified. Scared that something out there will harm them.

It’s a cross that gives him solace in the neverending hardships of his career. To give him something to touch other than the cool material of another pistol. 

He may not believe in God but he believes in the lives that he saves. 

And when Helena and him stare down at the president’s dead body, her eyes turn to him as his breath picks up. His hand reaching into his shirt and clutching onto something she cannot see. His other hand searches for his phone as he clumsily clicks on it, the only words from his mouth come out ragged. Repeating a name that she’s heard before. 

He sounds terrified. 

(The only thing Helena can compare it to is when her sister got lost when she was younger. Helena searched for hours through tears, desperation seeped into every bone.) 

Ashley, Ashley, Ashley-

[cowboydisaster]

The Fire In Your Eyes

part XI: Horseshoe Overlook vii

pairing: Arthur Morgan x fem!reader

word count: 10.2k

summary: Arthur has to break Micah out of jail, leaving you to work a livestock job with John. Hell breaks loose in Valentine, and once again you're forced to leave or die.

a/n: I love this chapter, angst, fluff, a fight, shootouts!! AH. Also if you speak german, I'm so sorry if I butchered the translations. I tried my best. Also tumblr formatting is a pain in the ass, so im sorry for that too lol

warnings: violence, graphic depictions of violence

beta read by @margowritesthings

series extras

SERIES MASTERPOST

The red, cotton sheets are soft against your skin as you wake up, blinking away the fog of sleep. Sunlight shines in through the french doors, making the room almost too bright as your eyes adjust to the light. But, the most important thing that you notice is the absence of that familiar, solid, warmth beside you. Your head pops up from the pillow, squinting as you scan the room. 

“Sorry I didn’t mean to wake ya.” Arthur mumbles, morning voice deep in his chest. Your eyes flicker up to him, buttoning the cuff buttons of his shirt. He glances down at you from his position by the dresser, smiling at your messy hair. The sheets are wrapped around you, leaving your shoulders and back bare, and he runs his eyes over the skin he’d spent all night kissing. 

“You were right.” He nods to you, and you sit up on the plush bed, looking down at yourself. 

“What?” You ask, looking down over your skin until you see exactly what he means.

“Left a mark or two, like you said.”

“Shit, Arthur.” You sigh, tossing the blankets off of you as you stand and move to the mirror. There's a few off-colored splotches on your neck and collarbone, love bites that Arthur has left you. You inspect them in the mirror, pulling your hair around to see if it will cover the marks. You hear Arthur’s boots against the floor as he walks up behind your bare form. 

“To remember me, just till I'm back.” Arthur chuckles, hands finding your waist as he stares at your reflection in the full length mirror. You frown, remembering that today Arthur has to break Micah out of jail. You’ve been enjoying the absence of his loud, foul mouth and stench that follows him like a bad shadow.

"Be careful. Don't do nothin' heroic for that bastard." You say, turning around in his arms to face him.

"For Micah? Course not." Arthur chuckles, leaning down to press a slow, bittersweet kiss to your lips. You know he can handle his own, but the idea of a jail spring in West Elizabeth unnerves you. You lean into him, lips locking for a moment before you pull away. 

Your hands rest on his shoulders, and then you slide them to his neckline to straighten the collar of his shirt. 

"Be careful, mister." You whisper to him, sighing as he pulls away from you. 

“Always am.” He says, and then he’s out the door, on his way to Strawberry for goddamn Micah. It gets under your skin that Dutch is sending him, but you know better than to openly question his decisions. 

After the door clicks shut, you take your time getting ready. You put the same clothes on from the previous day, and despite a few wrinkles, they’re good as new. You grab your satchel, gunbelt, and hat, putting yourself together before checking once more over the room and heading out. The stairs creak under your feet as you walk down into the check in area, finding that the familiar hotel clerk is waiting behind the desk. 

“Good mornin’ miss, I hope you’ll stay again!” He greets, and you chuckle. Just yesterday he was begging you not to beat anyone to death in his hotel, now he’s asking for you to come back. 

“Sure will!” You lie, knowing that you’ll be moving soon, hopefully. You’d like to come back, last night was definitely one of the best in your life, thanks to Arthur and the All Saints Hotel, a deceiving name, you think. 

It's warmer than usual when you open the door, and the sun shines down from between the clouds, casting the town in a mix of light and shadows. You stay on the sidewalk, smiling softly at the people you walk past on the way to the gunsmith’s. 

It’s nostalgic, going into the gunsmith’s shop. It reminds you of your father, and when you open the door, the smell of freshly polished oak and gun oil mix together, bringing back memories from years ago.

“Ah, your guns are ready, miss!” The smith greets when he hears the bell on the door knob jingle. You step towards the counter, waiting as he puts both pointer fingers in the air before dipping behind an open door into the backroom. 

“William did fine work with these, miss! I think you’ll be impressed. He’s damn quick too, they’re ready for ya.” The man yells from behind the wall, and you tap your fingers on the counter in anticipation. After a few moments, he steps around the corner. He places your carbine and revolver down on the counter carefully, and you nearly gasp in awe. 

Firstly, the sight of them together, clean, with improved sights, stocks, and barrels is something to admire. They look like a proper set, and you can’t wait to see what they’ll look like on your hip and shoulder. 

Your attention goes to your carbine first, and the dark leather stock wrap that beautifully contrasts the silver-colored gun. Stars, large and small, connected by thin dotted lines pattern your gun, engraved into the barrel.

“Wow.” You exhale, tracing your hand over the constellations. The gunsmith smiles, eyes crinkling in the corners. 

Then you flicker your eyes to your revolver, and your jaw nearly drops. The same constellations pattern the gun, but on the grip is a howling wolf, head thrown back in a howl amongst the stars. It’s perfect. You clear your throat, realizing you’ve been gawking and stuck in your head. 

“Sorry- it’s just that they’re so beautiful…” You say, blushing before reaching into your satchel, “How much do I owe you?” You ask, grabbing a wad of cash out. The gunsmith shakes his head, placing his hand up to stop you. 

“These have already been paid for, you’re good to go, miss.”

Your eyebrows pull together in confusion, and the gunsmith speaks up to clarify. 

“The feller you came in with yesterday, he stopped by about…” He glances at the clock on the wall, “twenty minutes ago and paid in full.”

Your confused look falls into a huff, and you chew on your cheek, 

“Course he did.” You smile. You’ll get Arthur back for this. He does not need to spend any more money on you, let alone something this expensive. 

“Looks like it’s your lucky day.” The gunsmith says as you holster your revolver and swing your carbine strap over your shoulder. 

“Sure seems to be. Thank you, mister.” You say, turning back towards the door.

He waves as you exit the store, walking back down the street to grab Athena from the hitching post.

— — — —

It’s fairly quiet when you get back to camp, as most of the boys are out working. Charles is out hunting bison, and Javier found some abandoned house up north filled with hillbillies and gold. Arthur has gone to get Micah, and most of the other boys are out on odd jobs and the like. 

You hop down from Athena in search of a task to keep yourself busy. Your stomach was flipping the whole ride home, thinking about Micah coming back to camp. It’s been peaceful without him, and you know that as soon as he returns, he’ll break the little balance that the camp has been keeping. 

You walk to the campfire, finding a seat on a wolf pelt covered log. It’s plush under you, but nowhere near as soft as the hotel’s bed, and you blush, getting caught up in memories. Hosea sits opposite of you on a wooden folding chair. He’s grinding some herbs together with a mortar and pestle, making a health tonic for his cough, you’re sure.

You blink, startled back to the present as Jack runs past you, giggling loudly with two horseshoes in hand. With a smile, your eyes follow him to where Kieran has hammered a piece of rebar into the ground for the young boy to play horseshoes. You chuckle, eyes returning in front of you. Hosea looks up, eyeing you over quickly. 

“Where have you been, dear girl? I’ve missed you in camp.” Hosea says, leaning down to add some water to his mortar. 

“Valentine.” You answer, avoiding some of the details. Hosea smirks, eyes stuck on his hands as he works the herbs down.

“And Arthur?” Hosea asks, arching an eyebrow as he focuses. You can see where this is going, and you know Hosea won’t take to any lies, so you don’t even bother.

“He’s in Strawberry, left this morning to get Micah out of jail.” You explain to him. Hosea nods, and he hums as if questioning you. 

“What?” You huff, knowing that he has something to say, some odd cents to throw in. Hosea chuckles at your tone, shaking his head. 

“Nothing at all, just observing… Neither of you came back last night.” He points out with a knowing look. He’s not chastising or judging you, solely pointing out something he’s noticed. Of course he’s noticed, if anyone were to figure it out, it’d be Hosea.

“C’mon Hosea… leave it be.” You say, voice hushed as to not reach the ears of any lurking gang members. 

“Oh, I’m only pickin’. But you know I notice these things.” He says, and you nod. He always notices the little things. Your eyes flicker up to the older man, the softness in his eyes. In the time you’ve been with the gang, he’s treated you with nothing but kindness and respect. He’s treated you like a daughter in a way, and you know you can trust him with conversations like these ones. 

“It’s just… after the train, when I thought he was gone, it opened my eyes.” You admit to Hosea, head in your hands. He looks at you with a sparkle in his eyes, a word on his lips. 

“The pair of you are a lot like Bessie and I.” Hosea smiles, and you glance up to him. 

“You love him.” Hosea states plainly, “It’s clear as day on your face, that worrying after him, that longing. You love him.”

“I– It’s only been-” You begin, but Hosea doesn’t let you stumble out of this one, instead, he speaks up again. 

“I'm happy for you two, really, I am. That boy hasn’t had someone takin’ care of him in many a year, I reckon. I reckon you haven’t either.” Hoea says, and you put your head in your hands. 

“Is it really all that obvious?” You ask. 

“To an old soul like me? Yes.” Hosea smiles, groaning as he stands up from his seat at the fire. He leaves his mortar and pestle on the ground, coming around the campfire to walk towards you. 

“My lips are sealed, dear girl. Now go on, John was looking for you. There’s work to be done if we’re gonna get out of here before the law catches our tails.” 

“Thanks, Hosea.” You offer as he pats your shoulder lightly.

He sits back down on his chair, taking in the camp’s state before watching you stand up. John is sharpening his knife at the table sometimes used for poker, and you walk towards him with your hands resting on your gun belt, hoping that this job will go better than your last two.

“You were lookin’  for me?” You ask, pulling one of the chairs out and sitting down across from John. 

“Yeah you and Arthur. Don’t sit down, we’re goin’ out.” John says, standing up as he sheathes his knife. You can hear the metallic clink of Jack’s horseshoes hitting their pole, alongside Swanson’s drunken rambling as you push the chair back in. 

“Arthur’s breakin’ Micah out of jail right now, do you think the two of us can handle it? Whatever it is that we’re doin’.” You say, sighing as you follow John towards the hitching posts. 

“Sure we can handle it, we’re only stealin’ sheep.” John chuckles, and you jog after him, confused. 

“Sheep? I don’t know about you, but I’m no rancher, John.” You huff, looking at your thoroughbred. She’s not bred to work livestock, and even if she was, you haven’t a clue on how to. 

“It can’t be that hard. Wait, shit- we need a rifle with good sights, do you have one?” John asks,  and you stop in your tracks, sighing. 

“No I don’t have one– Are you sure you have this job planned out right?” You question him, drawing your eyebrows together with some attitude.

“Yes I’m sure, now grab one from Arthur’s weapon’s box. He won’t mind.”

“He definitely will, but I’ll make sure he knows this was your idea.” You bite, stomping off towards Arthur’s wagon. Another job with John, another underprepared mission that’ll likely get someone hurt. 

You sigh, going to Arthur’s wagon. You kneel on the ground in front of his weapons box, opening the creaky, rusted lid. Your eyes flicker down to the box, and you sift through it, searching for his rifle. You find the rolling block rifle easily enough before meeting John back over by the horses. He’s already mounted up, waiting for you to get on Athena. 

—- —- —-- —

"Come on then, where are we getting these damn sheep?" You ask, mounting up. John canters out of Horseshoe as you follow. 

"Should be comin' through the Heartlands sometime in the hour, probably led by a couple of ranch hands. I reckon we get those ranch hands dealt with and we have the herd for ourselves." John explains, racing over the train tracks toward the rocky Heartlands. You ride on for a while, galloping past herds of bison and deer. 

"What happened with Arthur by the way? It's like he came back and then left again. I barely saw him before he ran off." John yells back to you, and you stumble for an answer. 

"Well, he hid out in Strawberry till the law got away and then made his way back to the bridge. I guess there were a lot of eyes on him when we came back home, so he went to Valentine." 

"I thought he was dead." John admits, "Did you go with him? To Valentine? I didn't see you in camp either…" John recalls. 

"I did." Is all you say, leaving the conversation at that as you canter up the path to the top of a cliff. It's a rocky trail, but eventually you make it to the top. You can look down over and see for miles in both directions. 

"They'll be comin' from Emerald Ranch." John explains, pulling a pair of binoculars out. He looks through them towards the east, waiting for some movement. After a few minutes of him watching, and you toying with your hands, he speaks up. 

"I see somethin', might be them." John whispers, crouching down. You follow suit, kneeling on the rocks as you pull Arthur's rolling block rifle from around your shoulder. You hold up the heavy gun, glancing through the sight. 

You see three men on horses, and about thirty head of sheep in between them. 

"That's them, alright." You whisper back, lowering the barrel of the gun. 

"What's the plan?" You ask, looking over to John as he lowers his binoculars. 

"Wait until they get close, then shoot at their feet. Close enough to scare 'em, but don't actually shoot anyone." 

"I'm not gonna shoot anyone." You bite, lifting the sight back up to your eye. You center the rifle against your shoulder, aiming it towards the herd. You zero in on a spot between the rancher’s, but you hesitate, looking back at John. 

“Won’t this scare the sheep away?” You ask. John waves you off, pointing back to the herd. 

“No– you're just overthinkin’ it. They’re gettin’ close now, shoot at ‘em.” John tells you, and you cock your head, going back to your sights. 

“If you say so…” You hum, and John rolls his eyes. 

You aim back at the ranchers’ feet, squeezing the trigger. The chamber fires, and the bullet lodges into the dirt between the three men. Their horses spook, rearing up and growing skittish, but they keep the herd tight together, not budging. 

“One more shot, make it closer this time.” John says, looking back through his binoculars. 

You aim again, closer this time. Your hands sweat from anxiety and the weight of the gun, and when your trembling fingers squeeze the trigger, you slip just a hair. The bullet lodges into one of the rancher’s shoulders, and you wince as he screams, falling from his horse. 

“Shit, Star!” John hisses, “I told you not to hit anyone!” 

“Clearly, that was an accident- shit.” You wince. Luckily he seems to be okay, save for the wound, and he clambers back up onto his horse before galloping off with the other two. 

“Oops.” You whisper.

John rolls his eyes, running towards the horses. With the gunshot, and the absence of the ranchers, the sheep have scattered, running in opposite directions and bleating loudly in fear. You follow, quickly running towards Athena to catch up to John. You jump onto Athena from behind, and she starts running before you’ve even scooched up into the saddle. 

“You get the east side, I’ll grab the west, get as many back as you can!” John hollers to you, running after the sheep that have run off towards the west. You run towards Emerald Ranch, gathering up as many as you can and pushing them in the direction of Valentine. You have no idea how to herd, but you try your best, shielding them from the wrong way, while encouraging them towards Valentine. It’s a mess, and you barely get them together before taking up the side of the herd opposite of John. 

“We got 'em all?” You holler over, and John shrugs.  

“I don't know, but we got enough.”He yells back. You trot forward, slapping your saddle every once in a while to encourage the sheep forward. It's a messy group, but it works as you push them on.

— — — —

"What in the hell are you two doin'?" A familiar voice calls out, and you glance up to meet Arthur's green eyes. He's trotting towards you on his scarred shire, eyes darting around at the herd of sheep you're barely keeping together. 

"Stealin' sheep!" John hollers over the noise as the animals run amongst themselves, bleating, “Star over here is shootin’ farmers.” John jokes, and you sigh. 

“I told you that was an accident, and I feel real bad for it, so leave it be.” You say. John chuckles, and Arthur raises an eyebrow at you, but you wave it off. 

Seeing the mess of a herd, Arthur flanks the sheep, leaving you pushing them from the back, and John on their other side. It forms a perfect chute to push them along, and you fall into a steady trot, pushing the sheep forward.

"Those guns turned out real fine!" Arthur yells back to you, and you nod, glancing down at your hip. 

"They did, thank you by the way. You didn't have to do that." You yell up, referring to him buying your guns. 

"Ah, I wanted to." Arthur says. John glances between the two of you with a confused look on his face, but keeps quiet other than an occasional cluck or curse at the sheep. 

"How'd it go with Micah?" You ask Arthur, and you see him shake his head. One of the sheep breaks away from the herd, and you canter to the side, cutting it off and forcing it back as Arthur speaks. 

"It was a goddamn disaster. He killed half the town lookin' for a pair of guns, killed a woman he knew, it was real bad." Arthur grits, distaste on his tongue as he spits the words out.

"He go back to camp?" John asks, spurring Old Boy forward, keeping the herd in tight formation as you trot around Citadel Rock. 

"No," Arthur shakes his head, scratching his chin, "He wants to make it up Dutch. He said bringin' home a take would get him forgiven, asked me if I had any leads or jobs." Arthur huffs. 

Your blood runs cold for a moment. You think of the debtor Arthur was supposed to go after yesterday, and you hope he didn't send Micah. 

"Where did you send him?" You ask, voice steady. Arthur doesn't respond, and the only noise is the pounding of hooves as your eyebrows pop up, waiting for an answer. 

"Where did you send him?" You bite, louder and more aggressively this time. John is lost, looking between the two of you. 

"I sent him after Downes." 

You huff, shocked, though you shouldn't be. Athena tosses her head up a few times, picking up on the fact that you're upset. 

"So it's okay to beat a man as long as your hands are clean?" You snap, "Sending goddamn Micah after him. Do you think that makes it okay–? You're not giving the beating, but you can pass it off on someone else and walk away with a clean conscience?" 

John whistles under his breath, keeping his eyes on the sheep and the trail ahead. Meanwhile, Arthur scoffs, as if you're being outrageous.

"I didn't go after Downes, but I can’t stop Micah from goin'." He defends, and you squint at his poor excuse, growing more upset and angry. It's one thing to take from people who deserve it, but the poor? It takes a different type of person to rob and beat the desperate. Only someone with no honor could do that, and looking at Arthur, you wonder where his head's at when it comes to morality. 

"Maybe not, but you told him to go!" You yell over the bleating sheep. They grow more antsy from you and Arthur's yelling, and everyone works harder to keep them in tight formation. 

"Strauss would have just sent one of the other boys anyway! Micah needed work and I gave him some. I'm sorry we don't always have the benefit of pickin' and choosin' what jobs we go on. We need money to get out of this damn place, you should know! You're itchin' to get out of here more than anyone- so no, I didn't question it!" Arthur yells, his face is hot with anger, and as much as your mind barks at you to scream back, you can't find it in your heart to yell at him. 

"Strauss's line of 'work' hurts more than just the debtor. I should know." You say, quieter than you were yelling just seconds ago. Arthur turns in his saddle, sees the tears in your eyes and realizes what a piece of shit he's being. He wonders if he's any different than the bastard who killed your father, and if you see him that way. 

"You ought to figure out who you wanna be, Arthur, a good man or a bad one, cause you can't be both… Good luck with the sheep." You bid goodbye, reining Athena away from the herd. 

"Star, wait." Arthur says as you kiss to Athena, cueing her into a canter past the sheep and the boys, towards Valentine. 

"Star!" Arthur yells after you, but his voice gets quieter as you keep running towards Valentine. A few tears drip down your cheeks, but you wipe them away quickly. You've had a lot of reminders of your family today, and Arthur sending Micah after a debtor sure didn't help. 

You don't even have to steer her, Athena rides you right into Valentine, straight to Keane's saloon, as if she knows you need it. When you pull alongside the hitching post, you spot a pearly white Arabian hitched across the road and you scowl. Great. 

Your need for a drink outgrows your annoyance with Dutch, and you slide down from Athena before walking up to the saloon door. With a hand on either door, you push them open.

Your eyes immediately land on Dutch, and sitting beside him is that little rat, Strauss. Your frown deepens, of course he's here. His beady eyes scan the room, and land on you as you walk forward. The scowl you send him is heated, and he immediately averts his eyes. 

"Star, we were looking for you. Where's John?" Dutch yells out, his booming voice tugging at the scowl on your lips. 

"With Arthur, working." You offer. 

"Come sit, have a drink with us, miss." Dutch smiles, inviting you over. You glance at the bar, then to the square table that they're sitting at. There's an expensive bottle of whiskey on the table, and you decide it's worth the pain of sitting by the bastards. You nod, walking towards their table before pulling a chair out and sitting down. 

Dutch waves the bartender over, calling him to bring you a glass. As soon as the crystal glass hits the table, you're pouring the golden liquid into it. Dutch chuckles, watching as you take a long swig.

"I just wanted to–" Strauss begins to speak, but you glare at him. 

"Shut the hell up." You snap at him, and immediately he goes quiet. 

Dutch on the other hand, laughs boisterously. His hand rests on his manspreading knee as he tips his chair back on its back legs. 

"Feisty thing, isn't she?" Dutch chuckles, and you squint at him dangerously. He places his hands in the air in surrender as you down the rest of your whiskey and pour yourself another one. 

"What job are Arthur and John running? I told them to meet me here…" Dutch asks, swirling his glass. 

"Stealin' sheep and sendin' them to auction. I'm sure they'll be here any minute." You say with a hint of distaste on your lips. You drink your glass of whiskey in one long swig before placing the glass back down gently. 

"I better be heading out, have some debtors to attend to." Strauss smiles, but neither you or Dutch smile back as the man stands up and leaves. 

"I never liked that man's line of work. It seems… worse, stealing from the poor like that." Dutch grumbles, shaking his head. You look over at him surprised. 

"Something we agree on." You huff. You drink the last of your whiskey, pouring another. You watch as Dutch gets lost in his head, and he smiles at some old memory. 

"You know, Arthur, Hosea and I used to steal from the rich and give to the poor… Our first bank robbery, we handed gold and cash out in the slums, gave it all except what we needed." Dutch says, and you lean back in your chair, seeing him in a new light. 

"Hosea thinks we've changed, but we're still chasin' that same dream– freedom from the confines of civilization, paradise in the west." He says, eyes far away as he imagines a future for the gang. You bring your glass up to your lips, thinking over his words. 

"Is that where we're headed then? West?" You ask, and Dutch nods deeply. 

"That's the plan." 

You drink your whiskey before placing your glass down, not knowing if it's your second or third. The old bottle is halfway gone though. 

"Here they come." Dutch smiles, and you turn to see Arthur and John trotting down the road, wearing matching scowls. You can see Arthur bickering with the younger outlaw, in a sour mood. 

"I'm gonna step out for a smoke." You tell Dutch, sliding your chair out as you stand. He tips his hat as you walk out the back door. 

You don't want to say anything you'll regret, so stepping out proves to be your safest option. You lean your back against the outer wall of the saloon, reaching into your satchel to grab your box of cigarettes. You pull one out, striking a match against your boot to light it. Pulling the match to the cigarette between your lips, you watch as it begins to burn, orange and black ashes falling from your smoke when you tap it. 

You inhale deeply, slipping your eyes shut as the tobacco works its way into your system. You feel a little better already, and you take a few steps forward, looking up at the cliffs above you. You watch on for a while, hearing Arthur and John bickering on the other side of the building, and then you hear a shuffle behind you. With your eyebrows pulled together, you start to turn. A rifle hits the back of your head, and a dull pain shoots through your head as you blackout, falling to the floor. 

 — — — —

Your eyes begin to flicker open, and you squint as the bright white daylight blinds you. Your head throbs, and the arms holding you up are gripping onto you too tightly. Muffled voices are yelling, but you can't make out what they're saying until you finally come to. 

"Get up, we're walkin." A man grits at you, and when your eyes adjust to the light, you're met with a Pinkerton Agent. Your eyes pop open widely, and you go to yell, but there's a gag wrapped tightly in your mouth, tied behind your head. 

You panic, thinking they're going to torture you for information. If they wanted to kill you they would have already. You try to grab for your holster, but your hands are tied behind your back, and your guns have been stripped from you. The Agent smirks as it all dawns on you, and he grabs your arm, pulling you with him. 

"Move." He bites, pushing you forward. You stumble ahead, breathing hotly through your gag, struggling as he pushes you into the street. Two big, armed men grab onto your arms, holding you tightly. The barrel of a rifle presses up against your temple as you tremble, assessing the situation. Keane's saloon is in front of you, and you can faintly see the silhouette of Arthur and Dutch drinking inside. When you glance to your side, you see that they have Strauss with you, but he is trembling and tears slip down his cheeks. You have no weapons, your hands are literally bound, your best option is to wait. 

A large man comes forward with a thick white beard. He's neatly dressed and neatly trimmed, clearly a man of money. He has a shining revolver in his hand, pointed up in the air. 

"Van der Linde!" The man screams, voice booming as he roars, pacing up and down the street in front of you. You glance around, seeing that Pinkerton Agents surround the building and the shops in the town. Your breathing quickens as you glance back to the window. 

"Get out here! Get out here now!" The man yells again, growing irritated and impatient. 

"You don't know me, but you keep robbing me!" He screams, and all his men ready their guns at the saloon door. Your heart pounds in your chest. You're outnumbered by a lot. 

"My name is Leviticus Cornwall, I am not a man to be messed with by the likes of you!" Cornwall screams, and your blood runs cold at the name. The wagon, the train, you've been stealing from Cornwall all this time, of course he was bound to retaliate. You watch as the silhouettes behind the windows move, and you know they must be coming up with a plan. 

"Get out here! Before I kill them both!" Cornwall screams, and the man at your back shoves you down hard until your knees hit the mud. You yelp in pain from his shove, and the barrel of his rifle pushes hard against the back of your head for it. 

The saloon door opens, and slowly Dutch, Arthur and John file out with their hands raised. Dutch stands in the middle of the porch, John and Arthur flanking him. Arthur's eyes are glued to you, and his heart pounds as he worriedly scans over you. The sight of you on your knees with a gun to your head is surely burned into his memory. 

"Gentleman, this is a terrible case of mistaken identity…What is worse than admonishing a man for the sins of another?" Dutch begins, and you nervously watch as Arthur waits for an opportune moment. 

"Now, I don't know who this 'van der Linde' is, but surely we can negotiate–" 

Arthur unholsters his revolver and takes out the man at your back in a quick movement. All hell breaks loose, and Arthur finds cover as the three boys start shooting. Cornwall mounts up and runs off quickly, ducking like a coward as he gallops off. Strauss lands a bullet in the leg, and screams out in pain. You duck, running behind a wagon to seek cover as bullets whiz past your head. 

"I gotta go help Star!" Arthur yells, firing multiple times before darting across the street towards you. When he comes around the corner, he skids to his knees in the mud, holstering his gun. His hands pry the gag out of your mouth and you cough, taking a deep breath upon its release. 

He pulls out his knife, reaching behind you to free your hands as you gasp. 

"Y'alright?" Arthur yells over the bullets, and you nod. 

"I'm sorry-" he begins. 

"We'll talk later, we're getting shot at." You yell, running towards the corpse of the man who was holding you hostage. You take your guns off him, and immediately jump in to help. 

"There's more comin' in!" John yells firing into three men in quick succession. You glance at the road from the post office to see a group of men riding in on fine, bay Morgans. Your heart rate picks up as you and Arthur aim and fire, taking down all the men with your smoking carbines. 

"Dutch?! What are we doin' here?" Arthur yells out, jogging up the road towards the jail, you follow him, shooting down men that peak around the gunsmith's.

"We'll get Strauss in the wagon and push it. Arthur, shoot somethin! Star, get in the wagon with Strauss, you can use it as cover!" Dutch yells, and you run and jump into the wagon. You duck behind the wall of the wagon, peeking up enough to fire at the Pinkertons lining the street. Arthur cuts Strauss free, picks him up and tosses him in the horseless wagon. He cries out in pain, gripping his leg tightly.

"I think something is wrong, I believe I severed an artery or- or nicked a nerve–" Strauss begins. 

"Shut up before I put another bullet in you. You're fine." You yell. The wagon starts moving, and you glance back to see Dutch and John pushing it. 

Arthur is using the wagon as cover, running beside it, while shooting men down from the balconies. 

Bullets lodge into the wagon, and you gasp loudly as one hits the wood just centimeters from you. You turn around to see a man fall from the balcony behind you, dead on account of Arthur's smoking revolver. He looks over at you, terrified, until he realizes it missed you. 

You nod to him, letting him know you're fine, before taking your position back and firing into as many men as you can. They pop out from everywhere, with seemingly no end to their numbers. Pinkertons come from around the jail, the doctor's, the saloon, gunsmith, everywhere. They're on roofs, balconies and porches, shooting out of damn windows. Cornwall has hired a goddamn militia. 

Dutch and John are pushing the wagon down the main street, past the saloon as you near the end of the road. 

"There's not many left, just keep shooting!" Dutch yells out, straining as he pushes the wagon. You and Arthur continue firing, and you stop momentarily to reload. 

"I'm low on ammo!" You holler, ducking behind the wall of the wagon as you reload your gun. Once the bullets are loaded, you cock the gun to resume your shooting. When you pop up from your cover, bullets whiz past you. You take down one man from the roof of the stables, and another from the porch of Nils' shop. 

The Pinkertons begin to dwindle down, until Dutch and John push the wagon to the end of the main road, and there are no more. 

"Is everyone alive?!" Dutch hollers out, turning around to count everyone. 

"There could be more comin' we gotta go now." You say, swinging your carbine over your shoulder as you jump down from the wagon. You jog over towards Arthur, noticing a red stain on the arm of his shirt. He sees your eyes flicker to the blood, and you grab his bicep to get a better look at it.

"Just a graze, I'm fine." Arthur reassures you, hand squeezing your elbow lightly as you nod.

Dutch grabs a whining Strauss from the wagon, whistling as the horses come running down the street.

"John, take Strauss on your horse. I'll get Grimshaw to start packing up. You two, make sure they don't follow us." Dutch orders, setting Strauss up on the back of Old Boy. 

"Sure." Arthur answers. 

"We can't stay here after this." Dutch admits out loud, mounting up on The Count who rears and bucks lightly in fear.

"No, we can't." Arthur sighs. 

John mounts up onto Old Boy, and they all run off towards home. You stand next to Arthur in shock, glancing over the bodies that line the streets. 

"You're okay?" Arthur asks, coming towards you. You nod, eyes slipping closed. 

"This was a massacre, Arthur. He hired a militia." You whisper, "And he'll hire another one."

Arthur nods, hands on his gun belt. 

"We'll be okay, and we'll talk about earlier, let's just get home first. Cmon, no one's followin' us." Arthur says, whistling for your horses to come closer. You mount up on Athena, glancing once more over the town. The main street is littered with corpses, destroying the sweet little livestock town. You frown deeply, pushing Athena towards home. 

Upon your arrival, tents are already being torn down and stuffed into wagons. Your tent is gone, and Arthur's wagon is being taken apart and filled with items. You frown at the sight of your home being destroyed, again. 

Arthur jumps down from Balius and walks straight up to Dutch's tent with you in toe. Hosea is in the tent, bickering and finger-pointing at Dutch while you wait outside. 

"This is lying low? We've turned into a bunch of killers, Dutch, I mean it! We ain't even got the delusion of being nothing but a bunch of killers!" Hosea snaps, pointing his finger in Dutch's face. Dutch sits on his cot, calm as ever as he takes in Hosea's words. 

"We are just trying to survive, Hosea. We don't have a choice. This will end soon." Dutch reassures. 

"Damn right, it will!" Hosea yells before backing away and stomping out of the tent. 

"Constipated as usual…" Dutch hums, shaking his head as Arthur steps inside. 

"Where are we headed, Dutch?" Arthur asks, voice quiet, worried. 

"Micah told me of a place, a while back before we came down here. Dewberry Creek." 

Your eyebrows draw together as you look at Dutch, shaking your head. 

"I've been there with John, it ain't gonna work. It's open and it'll be mud when it rains." You explain, thinking back to when you stole the wagon with John. 

"I trust Micah. It will work. Arthur, take Charles and scout it out." Dutch growls at you. You glare at him, stepping forward. 

"It ain't gonna w-"

"I said you and Charles go take a look. Clear off anyone you find before the whole lot of us move in there looking so conspicuous." Dutch interrupts you as you fume. 

"And how are we gonna do that?" Arthur sighs. Dutch shakes his head. 

"I don't know, start dancin'?" 

Arthur looks at Dutch with as much anger as you. He's being sent on errands, when you know it's a waste of time. 

"What am I now, just your goddamn errand boy?" Arthur hisses, stepping out of the tent with you. His hand is on the small of your back as he urges you outside, away from Dutch and the mess he's creating. 

"You're not my errand boy, you are my son. You worry because I worry, we are just the same, you and I." Dutch says, and Arthur walks away from him with a scowl. 

"I swear, he's turnin' into a goddamn lunatic, Star." Arthur whispers hotly, stomping towards Charles' bedroll.

"I know it." You sigh, following Arthur. When you glance over your shoulder you see Abigail sitting on the ground with Jack, tears streaming down his cheeks as Karen and Tilly pack up his bags. You frown, watching on as they take his books and file them away in a chest. 

"But he'll pull through for us. He always does." Arthur adds, and you nod, not saying anything. You don't have to tell Arthur that you disagree. 

Charles is rolling up his bedroll, and adding it to a bag of his things when you both come upon him. 

"Charles, ride with us?" Arthur asks, and Charles stands up, eyebrows pulled together. 

"Of course. Where to?" He asks, grabbing his shotgun from a crate before following you towards the horses. 

"Some dried up river that ain't gonna work as a camp." You bite, aggression not pointed at either of the two boys. 

"She's talkin' about Dewberry Creek." Arthur corrects you with a smirk. 

It's a longer ride, and by the end you're exhausted. It's been a shit day so far, and this part is no exception. Your body aches from rocking in the saddle, and from the hyperextension of your hands being tied behind your back, not to mention your throbbing head from the butt of a rifle earlier.

"Y'okay?" Arthur asks, seeing you stretch your shoulders and crack your neck for the third time in the past ten minutes. 

"Yeah, just hurtin' a little." You admit. Dewberry Creek is just over the hill, and you all lope over it. 

"They hurt you bad?" Arthur asks, suddenly worried. He didn't have time to check over you back after the shootout, he was too worried about getting you out of there. And then immediately getting swooped into a job, he never asked. 

"I'm okay." You admit, reaching over to squeeze Arthur’s hand. He nods, squeezing yours back lightly before you let go and continue riding. 

Charles curiously eyes the motion, making his own assumptions, but he keeps quiet. 

"Creek’s just up here." You call out, pushing Athena a little faster down the hill. Arthur and Charles follow as you come upon the dried up creek bed You slow Athena into a sliding stop, letting the boys take in the spot for what it's worth.

The creek bed is muddy. There are sinking wet spots that make it unlivable, not to mention the fact that it's in the middle of the plains, completely in the open. There are a few tents pitched in the creekbed, a hundred or more feet down. 

“This is worse than I thought… Why would Micah even consider this?” Charles asks. Arthur pushes Balius forward into the creek bed, seemingly eyeing the same tents as you. 

“Are there people living here now?” Arthur asks, riding forward. You follow him, squinting to look for any motion down by the tents. You see none, but ride forward anyway. 

“It looks abandoned.” You say, trotting past Arthur. You scan the creekbed, stopping when you see an unmoving lump of fabric in the distance. As you get closer, you wince, realizing it’s a corpse, face down in the mud. It appears that he was shot in the back while running away. You look back up at the tents, a feeling of unease sweeping over you. 

“I found a body!” You yell back to the boys, and both of them ride up to you, “There’s a camp ahead too.” You add, getting down from Athena. You move towards the body, feeling sorry for the feller as you look him over.

“Stay alert. Any issues, shoot first n’ debate second.” Arthur says, and you huff a humorless laugh. 

“What is with you today?” You hiss, and Charles nods his head, also picking up on Arthur’s sour mood and aggression. 

“I'm not gonna shoot for the sake of it.” Charles bites back, following Arthur towards the camp.

“Survivals for the sake of it, quit talkin.” Arthur snaps, and you roll your eyes, glancing at Charles. 

You come upon the camp, hand resting near your holster as you check it out. You walk through the entrance of a white, A frame tent, finding it to be left untouched. Cans of food sit out, blankets and books are left behind. It's as if whoever was here just got up and left. Arthur and Charles search the tents up ahead, finding the same thing. 

“Looks empty.” Arthur calls out, and you jog up to where he’s at. The only thing left to search is a large wagon, and you set your eyes on it as you walk past the men. 

“Let's make sure.” You say, walking towards the wagon. You peek in the back, finding an opened, empty chest. When you step down, you hear the cock of a shotgun, and you pause, putting your hands in the air. 

Arthur and Charles notice this, and they step forward slowly, pulling a few crates away from under the wagon. You’re taken aback at the sight of a woman and two children, cowering, under the wagon. The mother holds up a shotgun, shielding her son and daughter behind her.

“You can come out of there.” Charles says, holstering his sawed off shotgun as he backs away with his hands raised. You and Arthur follow, surrendering as you give them space to step out. 

“Are you okay?” You ask, shocked at the sight of them. They look terrified, and Charles gestures for them to come out from underneath the wagon. 

“We don’t mean you no harm.” Arthur whispers. 

The woman comes out, with her gun raised up at you three, alternating between you all. Her children follow her, and she keeps them behind her skirt as she stands across from you three. 

“The lady said, are you okay?” Arthur says, gesturing to you. The woman shakes her head as if she doesn’t understand. 

“Sprechen sie Deutsch? G-German?” She asks, translating her words as best as she can. Arthur sighs, tossing his hands up into the air. 

“No.” He says curtly. Much to your surprise, he attempts to shoo them off with his hands as he yells, “Now go on, get outta here! We need the land, go!” He yells, and you step in front of him, stopping him. 

“You’re gonna leave these people to themselves after this?” You ask, gesturing to the body and abandoned camp. Arthur has a grumpy look on his face, a threatening demeanor that works on just about everyone but you. 

“We need this land, Star– we got our own prob–” Arthur begins, but the woman’s young daughter jumps out from behind her, tears in her eyes as she yells in the best English she can. 

“They took our father!!” She yells, crying. Her accent is heavy, but you understand her well enough. Charles steps forward, and the mother raises her gun up again. 

“Who did?” Charles asks, and Arthur shakes his head in disapproval. 

“Men, last night.” The girl adds, watching the three of you. 

“Where?” You ask, but Arthur grabs your arm, pulling you back to look at him. Angrily, you pull your arm back. 

“Ain’t no business of ours. I don’t even speak their language!” Arthur hisses. Charles steps forward, a mean look on his face. 

“You ain't as tough and dense as all that. Come on, Star.” Charles says, and you sigh before following him. 

“Arthur, stay or don’t, but I’m goin.” You say, whistling for Athena. You mount up quickly, following the direction that the young girl had pointed to. 

“We’ll see if we can pick up a trail, c’mon.” Charles says, and Arthur sighs before mounting onto Balius.

Charles starts out the mouth of the trail, picking up a canter. Before he gets to the main road, he points to the ground. 

“A trail, right here.” Charles says, cueing Taima faster. 

“I don't see nothin’.” Arthur pouts, looking at the dirt and seeing… nothing but dirt. You point to the hoof prints on the ground, and the trail that they make along the main road. 

“Hoof prints this way.” You explain, racing faster along the road. The trail dips into the woods, and you follow Charles in a single file line, racing through the trees. 

“So what's goin’ on with you?” Charles asks, glancing back at Arthur. He keeps a steady pace with Taima, dodging turkeys and trees as he follows the tracks, 

“Whatchu mean?” Arthur asks.

“You were just gonna send that woman and her children on their way?” Charles asks. Arthur slings his carbine off of his shoulder, sliding it down the holster on Balius’s saddle. 

“We’re wanted men. We got the Pinkertons breathing down our necks. Star was nearly executed in front of us today, Charles...  We should be moving camp, not runnin’ off on some wild goose chase.” Arthur explains, and you pick up on the reason for his upset. 

“That's why you’re upset. Arthur, I'm okay.” You offer, but it doesn’t ease his worry. He won’t feel better until you’re far away from this mess. 

“Maybe now, but that Pinkerton was seconds away from putting a bullet in you, and don’t think I didn't see that goddamn mark on your head.” Arthur hisses, and you instinctively run your hand up to the back of your head where a welt resides from the butt of that bastard’s carbine. It grows quiet as Charles breaches the woods, coming upon Flat Iron Lake. 

“This way.” He says quietly, cantering along the shore. You follow, and after a while of running alongside horse tracks, you come to a grassy opening. It must be the right place, as crates and a few bedrolls lie around scattered. It's a beautiful spot, and the golden evening light shines brilliantly across the lake, cascading around you. 

“This is a better camp spot than back there.” You say, looking over the large, old oak tree in the center of the camp. The lake laps at the shore of the little peninsula, calmingly. 

“This looks like our feller.” Arthur hollers from ahead of you, and your head snaps in his direction to where a man is hogtied on the grass, yelling through a gag. Arthur jumps down from Balius, jogging over to the man. He slips the man’s gag off, and immediately the German man begins to scream. 

“Vorsichtig!! Vorsichtig!!” 

<careful! careful!> The man screams, and bullets begin to whiz around past you.

“Take cover!” Arthur yells, and you leap down from Athena, sliding behind a crate as the horses run off. Men come from behind the trees, shooting at you. You fill your carbine, popping up from the cover to fire into three men’s chests. There aren’t many of them, and you take out as many as you can. 

“Watch! They’re comin’ in on horses!” Charles yells from behind the tree, and you glance towards the trail leading in where four men on horses ride in. 

You take down one, and Arthur and Charles take down the rest. 

“Are there any more of them?” You pant, lowering your constellation-patterned weapon. 

“No.” Arthur mumbles, holstering his revolver. 

You look behind you, past Arthur to the hogtied man. He's writhing on the ground, clearly in pain from being tied up so long. You jog over to him quickly, unsheathing your knife before cutting his ties free. Arthur and Charles whistle for your horses, walking towards you as the man clambers up, rubbing at his raw wrists. 

"Danke! Danke!!" 

<thank you! thank you!> The man smiles, turning around in both ways as if he's lost, searching for a familiar way out. 

"We'll take you back to your family, mister." You say slowly, wondering if he understands any English at all. 

"Star–" Arthur begins to protest, but you're not having any of it. You won't let him protect you if it leads to others getting hurt. 

"Charles, go back to Horseshoe and bring the caravan here. It's a good spot." You address Charles before turning to the man, "We will take you back to your family." You say, waving him towards your horse. He follows you, looking mighty confused as you mount up into Athena. But when you extend your hand to him, he takes it, hopping up into the mare's croup. 

"Was tun wir jetzt"

 <what are we doing now?> The man says, and not understanding, you keep on riding. 

"Also komme ich dann mit?" 

<so I'm coming with you then?> He asks again, and you sigh. 

"I'm sorry, I have no clue what you're sayin', mister." You sigh, following the trail back towards Dewberry Creek. 

"Wo bringst du hich min?" 

<where are you taking me?>  He asks again. You don't respond, but Arthur does. 

"What in the hell did you do to those fellers back there?" Arthur asks, following beside you on his shire. 

"Was hast du gesagt."

<what did you say?> 

Arthur sighs, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose as he rides along.

"Those men back there. Why- did- they- take- you?" Arthur asks, pronouncing each word slower, as if it'll help the man understand. 

"Geld. Money." The German husband says. You glance over your shoulder at him, wondering what trouble he's in over money with fellers like those. He's well dressed, and his family was too. You doubt he's a debtor. 

"Meine Familie hat ein Goldminen Geschäft. Sie wollten ein Lösegeld schicken." 

<my family owns a gold mining business. they wanted to send a ransom.>  He explains, and you try to decipher the German words. 

"How did someone even come up with them words?" Arthur sighs as you try to understand.

"G-gold minin'?" You attempt to say the word in German, "Your family owns a gold mine?" You say, glancing at Arthur with wide eyes. 

"Ja, yes!" The German man exclaims, and your eyes boggle. 

“Ihr beide bringt mich zu meiner Familie? Oh danke. Wie haben sie euch beide gefunden?”

<you’re taking me to my family? oh, thank you. how did they find you two?>

“Sorry partner, I can barely speak english.” Arthur huffs as you ride up on the Dewberry Creek bank. When you come over the hill, the man’s family is waiting for them. They’ve readied their wagon, and two draft horses are tethered to the front of it. 

“There they are.” You whisper back to the man with a smile on your face as the children point and smile. 

“Oh, Gott sei Dank!”

<oh, thank god!> He calls out, jumping down from Athena. He runs to his family, and catches his wife in a tight hug as the children run and wrap their arms around him. 

“Schatz!” 

<darling!> He exhales, releasing a held breath when he sees and feels his family. 

“Andreas!” His wife cries, kissing his cheek. 

“Ich dachte du wärst tot.” 

<I thought you were dead.> She says, tears slipping down her cheeks. 

“Ich war es fast.”

<I nearly was.>  Andreas admits before looking down and greeting his children. You watch on as Arthur dismounts, going towards the little reunited family.

“Wir sind gesegnet, euch beide kennengelernt zu haben.” 

<we are blessed to have known you both.> The wife cries to you and Arthur as her husband helps her up into the wagon. You’re not sure what she’s said, but you’re sure it’s some form of gratitude. 

Arthur steps forward, shooing the family on. 

“Get outta here, this place ain’t safe.” Arthur tells them, but no one moves. 

“Get outta here! Vamos! Vamos!” Arthur yells, in a sad excuse for spanish while talking to german folks. You snort as the children clamber up into the wagon. The man points his fingers into the air as if he has an idea before digging through a compartment in his wagon. 

“Ich habe etwas für dich, Augenblick." 

<i have something for you, one moment.> He says, digging through the wagon as Arthur huffs, impatient. You only watch on from Athena, amused by Arthur’s easily frustrated state. Andreas turns around, holding two heavy, shimmering bars of gold in his hands. Your eyes boggle as he hands one to Arthur, and then comes forward to offer the other up to you.

“Danke aus tiefstem herzen”

<thank you from the bottom of my heart.> He whispers, glancing between you and Arthur. 

Arthur stares at the gold bar for a moment before glancing back up at the man as he climbs into his wagon, slapping the reins over the horses’ backs. 

“Guess it was a pleasure…” Arthur mumbles under his breath, sliding the gold bar into his satchel. You place your own in your saddle bag, saying nothing as he climbs on to Balius before you both make the trip back to the opening by the lake. You don’t have to say anything, he knows what you’re thinking. This is what happens when you help people. 

— — — —

When you’d arrived at the new camp, called Clemens Point, you found out, Grimshaw had already pitched your tent up next to Arthur’s wagon. You didn’t have the heart to tell her it was a waste, so you said nothing. Your tent is on the east side of the camp, not far from the lake. If it’s quiet, you can hear it lapping against the shore quietly. It’s a little warmer down in Lemoyne, something you’re grateful for. 

After helping everyone unpack, setting up the rest of the tents, grooming and untacking the horses, unloading the wagons, and cooking dinner, it’s nearly one in the morning. Absolutely exhausted, you begin pulling your gun belt off before you even enter your tent. You push the white canvas open, stepping inside and dropping your belt onto the ground. You strip down your clothes, feeling freer with every shed item until you’re left in just your underthings and a loose-fitting shirt. You take your hair out of its tie, scratching at your scalp before stepping towards the bed. 

A light knock sounds out on the front beam of your tent, and you smirk as Arthur steps in. He’s already dressed down, wearing nothing but his union suit and a comfortable pair of jeans. 

“Figured you’d want me in here.” He says with a smile, stepping forward and wrapping his arms around your waist. 

“I’m glad you came.” You hum, leaning up on your tiptoes to kiss him. Your lips meet in a sweet, slow kiss. It’s been a long, hard day and you’re both exhausted. Your lips part as you grip his arm and drag him to bed with you. You lay on your side, and Arthur’s chest lines your back tightly. One of his arms is under your head, and the other is draped over your waist. 

“I'm sorry about this mornin’.” Arthur whispers, and your lips fall into a small frown. You knew this was coming.

“It’s okay...  Just, choose who you wanna be. You can’t be a good man and a bad one, you gotta pick.” You say, turning around in his arms. His hands are warm on your body as you look up to his terrified eyes.

“Do you think I’m a bad man?” He asks, eyes searching yours for any hint of an answer. You shake your head. 

“No. I think you’re a good man, one of the best. But I think that can change, if you keep goin’ down this path.” You tell him truthfully, and he nods.

“Thanks, darlin’. I’ll be tryin, for you.” Arthur whispers, pressing a slow, sweet kiss to your temple while releasing a breath. 

“Get some sleep now, okay?” Arthur says quietly, pulling the blanket further up over you. You hum, content, nuzzling into his chest until you’re fast asleep. It doesn’t take long with how exhausted you are. 

Back in Arthur’s wagon, sitting on his bedside table is his journal, with one new entry scribbled onto the white pages: 

She sees the good in me. I don’t know how or why, and yet she does. She looks at me like I’m the sunshine, brightening up her day. I fear I’m the opposite, but I’m trying everyday to be better for her. It’s an uphill battle. One step forward, two steps back, but I’m trying to be the man she deserves. She deserves so much, a family, a real home. I’d like to give her that one day. God– I’m sweeter on her than honey itself, I reckon. ♡

taglist: @margofiore @mrsarthurmorgan7 @woman-with-no-name @tillith @luvliewriting @pine4pple-b0i @photo1030 @dudsparrow

series taglist: @catnotbread @chxosangxl @globetrotter28 @justalittlerayofpitchblack @fruittiest-of-loops @randomidk-123 @heyworld-whatsup @btsiguess-kpop @how-the-heck-would-i-know @rratman @eyelovie @mykneeshurt

[la-gotica-fantasma]

let me do it

characters - minho x gn!reader

setting - the safe haven

word count - 670

warnings - sad minho :,( + talk of eating disorder-like behavior, trauma reaction, mention of astraphobia (fear of storms), compulsive exercise

summary - minho has a trauma response and you notice

authors notes - this is a draft. i started hating my writing so bad but like we thugachugalug on, now im gonna work on it. NO beta, we are dying like Winston, 'kay?

Peaceful rest was new to you. That's why you awoke at 6 in the morning, a nervous feeling like there was something else to do enveloping you. Turning to your side you expected to find Minho laying there with you, but he wasn't there. You knew he'd been acting weird of recent. Not eating as much as he should (Although he loves food), exercising anytime he could, hiding during storms, and overall being more on edge than someone who just made it to a Safe Haven often would be. He didn't trust this place.

And as much as you'd love to sit on the uncomfortable rickety cot and think about your boyfriends sporadic behavior, you had a new incentive. Find him.

Once you left the hut it wasn't much time before you spotted the man. Correction: - your man - running around the place. He seemed frantic, but attentive. Like he was searching, memorizing, labeling. Doing anything he could.

He noticed you rather quick, you'd already taken note of the behavior, but he wasn't sure of that, and he wanted to save you from seeing him so disheveled.

He started walking towards you, a bit of fear in his eyes and a lopsided smile on his lips. "Hi, hon -" You knew where this was going, he was trying to change the subject before you could even get to it. "You shouldn't be out of bed so early, s'not good for you-" He continued speaking. You knew you had to cut him off, no way HE was talking? "No," The words were fierce, an earnest sigh leaving you right after. You didn't want to be forceful, that's the last thing he needed. "Just, come on. Back to the hut. We need to talk." You kept speaking before Minho let himself have an overthinking playtime with those words. "I'm not breaking up with you, I still love you, you're not in trouble." You turned and gave a reassuring smile, he just nodded and followed along.

You both sat on the cot, turned towards eachother. "Minho, you can't keep doing this to yourself." You sounded a little fed up, but from a place of care. The look on his face was pure sadness, he didn't know how to handle this. Minho was always strong, he was always doing something, and he was rarely able to give himself the grace he deserved due to his job back in the glade. Minho has been through hell and you have yet to see him break. You've yet to see him cry and let his emotions out. "You're not treating yourself right, you're constantly moving. And not to mention - I haven't seen you eat proper portions in almost all the time we've been here. - You disappear during storms, and I know you're scared, it's okay to be scared. And I get scared too, when you see a dark cloud and decide to leave without saying a goodbye, not letting me know where you are, or where you plan to be, when you plan to come back." You want to shove your face in your hands the whole time you speak. "I'm not asking you to take your guard down and trust this place we know nothing about. I'm asking you to take care of yourself, or at least let me do it." You're done voicing your thoughts. "I do take care of myself - that's what all of this is; me taking care of myself." Don't get defensive on me, not right now. "I just- I just haven't gotten used to this place yet." The frown on his lips illuminated by the lit candle in the corner. "I'm not asking you to. I'm asking you to get used to yourself, and I'll be here with ya." you said, a bright smirk on your lips while you wrapped your arms around his torso.

Minutes later, he lay asleep with your arms still around his torso, and one of his sprawled over your back. He'll be okay. You'll make sure of it.

[rosypenguins]

would you like to dump all your thoughts, headcanons, rambles, and yaps about dom? (i luv letting people yap and i love dom)

Y-yeah I’d like that.

Most of my headcanons and rambles have already been drafted into future posts, so I’m just gonna yap about them for a lil bit lol.

I genuinely did not expect to get as attached to these twins as I did. Hell, I remember when their beta designs dropped, I thought they looked lame. But then the spin-off came out and I was like ‘oh, they’re alright actually’ and then I kept rewatching the episode because I’m cripplingly addicted to this show and slowly I just grew more and more fond of them. Dom specifically. (Faye’s amazing too but Dom hits different.)

And then the second episode came out, and I started thinking more and more about them, which spiraled into a million headcanons and a whole damn backstory and my gallery looking like this-

And I basically did to them what I did to Drew: I took all the pieces canon gave me and filled in the rest with my imagination to make two little scrimblos I can more easily write about and analyze. (Normal things hot girls do.✨)

And I find it funny how Dom has managed to capture my attention just as much as Drew has, when he’s probably a character Drew would bully like RELENTLESSLY. (I have two scenarios of this: one being Drew calling Dom’s sweater stupid and childish while Dom’s like “At least mines not all plain and basic!” and then they argue for like two minutes OR Drew actually gets to something Dom’s insecure about or says something like “Oh my God, could you shut up for once in your life? No one fucking cares what you have to say. You’re annoying and if you spent the rest of life with your mouth glued shut I doubt anyone would care. It’d be better off for everyone.” And Dom actually goes silent and then he’s like REALLY hesitant about saying anything for two weeks- wait I made myself sad writing that FUCK.)

ANYWAYS I genuinely don’t really know WHY I’m so attached to Dom right now. He’s literally just a carrot, with about 5 minutes of screen time. Half of his lines are about squirrels and birds, and yet I’d trade my DAMN SOUL for him. HE’S SO FUCKING CUTE. (Maybe it’s because of the lack of backstory and relative mystery. I love me a character I gotta piece together like a puzzle. Or maybe it’s his voice Ireallylikehisvoice-)

But yeah, I’m obsessed with him and it makes me really sad how I’ve barely been able to find any content of him. Like there’s literally no fanfiction, and barely any art. Which I guess makes sense, they’re supporting characters with not much to them, but still, it makes me sad. (BUT IM WORKING TO CHANGE THAT WITH MY FANFIC WIPS AND DRAWING DRAFTS!)

And it sucks too, because I doubt they’re gonna play much of a role in S2. They’re probably gonna fade into obscurity, and I’ll never be able to learn about their backstories or potential mental issues. (Which I ALSO HAVE A POST ABOUT-)

I think going forward, I’m gonna try and post a little more about Dom and Faye, at least for now. I’m still Drew blog obviously, Drew’s still my personality unfortunately, but I really want to try and use my blog to sort of promote them, I guess? I want to share what I see in them, and I want to feed the Dom and Faye fans that are just as starved as me.

Anyways TLDR: I just like Dom a lot. He deserves the world. (I say as I discreetly shove him into the blender of suffering turn it onto high.)

[quillkiller]

not you ranting 💀 it’s misogynistic to make Harry regulus child when Lily is the mom not regulus GODDAMN.

bro..,.. they’re not real. go touch some grass

listen ive seen people being misogynistic towards lily in order to favor jegulus. it does happen and i wont deny it, however i will simply just stay away from it and not interact. im way more interested in evolving lilys character and give her her own narrative instead of just using her to hate a mlm ship and claim to be feminist about it. like it’s fandom. make your own goddamn peace and create a space that you fucking enjoy. yall are not trying to defend lily when yall do this you’re just trying to be anti jegulus and using her to do it

no one is saying that regulus is ’the mom’ but like. people can do whatever the fuck they want. if people dont want to write lily but they want to write jegulus being harrys parents then by fucking god let them. who CARES. i wont interact with it and it doesnt interest me but oh my fucking god it’s fandom. people are out here writing mpreg and a/b/o and tentacle porn and incest and whatever the fuck else. this is simply not a problem. none of it is. its fandom and its free and its for fun

(i never see any of you complaining about tonks glaring absence in wolfstar teddy fics……..)

just don’t interact if it bothers you. i have things i wont interact with and topics i find problematic, so i stay the fuck away from it. no one is profiting and no one has to fucking read it. its not being advertised and its not being goddamn taught in schools

i will always defend lily and my priority is simply evolving her characters and giving her a narrative that just simply isn’t being a mom or a wife. like bro im in the middle of writing a lily character study canon divergence fic where she simply wasnt home when voldemort came and she doesnt save harry with the power of ’motherly love’. it will be morally grey and highly disturbing and a lot of people wont want to read it. however i want to write it to rebel against her doomed narrative in canon as a dead wife and mother. she wont necessarily be likeable or someone to root for but thats what i want to explore in my goddamn fanfiction

yall are acting as if some people writing regulus being harrys parent actually has a broad negative impact on the political climate or some shit as if its not just a silly little thing people do online bc it makes them happy. GO OUTSIDE…. TURN OFF YOUR PHONE…..????

and as i said. i simply wont interact with lily bashing but that’s just me. that’s my preference. i will consider interacting with this trope if lily just simply isnt involved. HOWEVER. THATS JUST ME. PEOPLE DO WHATEVER THE HELL THEY WANT.

it’s fandom. it’s not real. no one is profiting. there are no editors involved except for lovely people who will sometimes beta. it’s not professionally done. it’s free. it’s an outlet to be silly and fun and explore dynamics. these are fictional characters that do not exist