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return-of-a-space-cowboy · 11 months

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You're just like an angel p1 (Yandere Miguel O'Hara X female reader)

I was not immune to the simping, different to my usual but I hope you guys enjoy

Warning: slight nsfw

"Hey I'm sorry but I'm gonna be stuck on a late shift at the scrapyard tonight. I have some noodle packets in the cupboard you can use to cook dinner tonight" you messaged your siblings as you got onto your scooter.

"Hope you have a good night (Y/n)" one of your colleagues said as they walked past you.

"You too" you replied as you put your phone away and started your scooter.

You hated lying to your siblings but you had to do this tonight, a shipment like this from Alchemex wasn't going to happen again in a long time. You had to get your hand on more of their materials to further the inventions you were working on. Perhaps you'd even try to improve that suit of yours. You'd have to at some point, the rumors of 'The Vulture' were going around now as well as a new superhero called Spiderman, he'd certainly be an issue if he got in your way now.

You drove all the way to a storage house. You got off your scooter and hopped off before heading inside.

"Good evening Maggie" he greeted you by the fake name you'd given him when you rented out the storage room.

"Afternoon Thompson" you replied as you made your way to the front desk. He handed you your key and you made your way to your designated storage room.

You unlocked the padlock and pulled the roller door up. A single duffle bag and a Jerry can were inside. You kneeled and opened the duffle bag and pulled out your gear and inspected it. You hissed at the dents in your armor plating. You knew this was inevitable with aluminum but you had no lightweight alternative you could afford.

You tried it on and all the mechanisms seemed to work well so you packed it back up except for the lucky green pilot jacket that you'd received from your grandfather before he passed away. You put that on before grabbing the bag and Jerry can before leaving.

"I don't understand why you don't just keep that stuff at home, you always seem to need it," Thompson said as you handed back the key.

"I'm just afraid one day my granddad's air force memorabilia will get damaged or stolen at the apartment I and my family live in, so I leave them here until I go out to the veterans' gatherings," you explained.

"Well that makes sense, you must love your granddad a lot" he replied.

"Yeah, he was my role model. Having these helps keep his memory alive" you explained, it was a partial lie, the jacket was a treasured piece from your grandfather and he was the person who sparked your love of engineering.

"Have a good night" you said before leaving. Your next stop was a gas station to fill the jerry and your scooter before driving out to New Jersey along Route 95. Alchemex had cut a fair chunk of the road off so they could drive safely as well as a fair amount of security from what you heard. You put on your armor, and heavy-duty gloves and filled the jetpack with petrol, and wiped it down putting it on. Then you put on the makeshift gas mask you had made with an aluminum cover in the shape of a beak before putting your earplugs in and grabbing your binoculars and keeping an eye on the road.

Eventually, you saw the headlights in the distance and you put on your goggles and grabbed your bag with some tools before pulling the wire to start the engine and pulling another to open the wings. You ran in the direction of the wind and soon took off. You flicked a lever on the back to put it to a higher power.

You used the wire for your wings to steer you forward until you were above the truck. You hovered above it, determining the best spot to land. If you were too close to the front or back the security drivers would see you so you had to be meticulous. You managed to land in the middle of the trailer, turned your jetpack off, pulled in the wings, and quickly grabbed the blowtorch from your bag to burn a hole into the metal. Once done you stood up and slammed your foot in the middle causing it to fall.

You jumped in and put your blowtorch to the side as you started going through the various boxes of equipment. You took some motherboards, some strange-looking cells that you assumed were batteries, a few miniature glass computer monitors, and a speedometer. You had just grabbed your blow torch and put it in your bag when you heard a screech and a smash just seconds before the truck violently shook before it began to roll. You were tossed around and into the walls before blacking out.

🕷🕷🕷

You woke up with a pounding headache. You sat up and kept your eyes closed as you tried to ride your headache out. Once it started to fade you opened your eyes to see you were in a plain white place that seemed like a warehouse. You looked around for your bag but couldn't find it.

"Where the hell am I?" You asked yourself.

"Somewhere you don't belong" a deep voice responded that made you freeze up for a moment. You looked around for the source only to see a bright red light heading towards you. You luckily dodged and looked towards where the light had come from to see a figure dressed in a suit of blue and red. Your mind thought it was that supposed Spiderman but it wasn't the same suit. It was very similar though, a copycat maybe?

"Hey Spiderman, I don't know where I am. I'll just leave and we can just forget about this right?" You asked. Something else was thrown towards you and you sprinted behind one of the shelves. You looked back at what he threw, it seemed like some kind of forcefield cage. Something straight out of science fiction.

"Ok, so I'll take that as a no?" You muttered as you put your earplugs back in and pulled the wires hoping to God it didn't get damaged in the crash. It started and you tried to fly through the top shelves to avoid whatever he was using but another red light was launched your way, this time you weren't so lucky. That red line managed to stick to your jetpack lever and turned it off. You screamed as you fell but were stopped last second by another red line. Another removed the earplugs.

You looked up at him now noticing his suit was glowing almost as if it were a screen. What kind of tech did this man have?

"You're quite the amateur," the man said as he pulled you up. This was definitely not the same Spiderman the news had been talking about. That was for certain, they made the one on the news seem like a novice.

Once he pulled you up you were quick to throw a punch to his face. He didn't even try to avoid it, he didn't even react to it.

You threw another, this time however he caught your fist.

"Why don't you just give up?" He asked you slightly amused by your attempt to hurt him.

"No! I know you're going to take me to the police! I can't get locked up!" You screamed in desperation, there was something so pathetic in your desperation yet at the same time he found it a little admirable that you'd even try to fight back against him.

You kicked and punched as hard as you could but nothing seemed to affect him. Within a blink of an eye, he returned a punch to your stomach and you collapsed In front of him as all the air left your body. You were gasping for air as he dropped another cage thing onto you.

"I'm not taking you to the police," he told you, you should have felt relieved but you didn't, surely he wouldn't let you go so easily. You tried to get up but then you felt the worst feeling imaginable, like your entire body was being stretched and stabbed at the same time. You screamed out in pure agony before passing out from the pain.

🕷🕷🕷

You woke up again, this time you were in a dark room, and the only light was from the platform. You looked down at yourself to see you had been tied to a chair with only your undergarments on.

"Hey, where the hell are my clothes!" You screamed. The platform began to lower and you saw that Spiderman again, this time he wasn't wearing the mask. Olivey skin, dark eyes, and brunette hair all with a well-sculpted face to match. However, it was apparent that he was quite a bit older than you were.

"They're folded in the corner, had to make sure you didn't have any other devices on you" he explained in a neutral tone as he made his way towards you. His accent made his words roll pleasantly but you still could not trust him.

"So why am I here? don't you think I'm a little below your league to be wherever this is?" You asked.

"I just have a few questions to ask you" he replied as he stood just a few feet away and observed you with a scrutinizing gaze. You tried to keep calm but he could see how nervous you were. You certainly weren't like any of the anomalies he'd met before, you were far less confrontational.

"If I can go home then I'll answer them," you said.

"It all depends on how you answer them" he replied

"Name?"

"(Y/n) (L/n)"

"Where are you from?"

"Brooklyn"

"Occupation?"

"Working at a scrapyard, is that all? These questions don't seem important enough for you to know" You asked him after the first few rapid-fire questions. You could have lied but you were not in the position to do so, he could very well have all the answers and is just testing your honesty.

"Do you use The Vulture as an alias?" He continued as he disregarded your question.

"Well, I don't personally however that has become something the public has begun to use for my crimes" you explained. It was clear to him you weren't a real villain, at least not yet. You weren't without flaws but in comparison to the Vulture from his universe you were a Saint. At this point, he was genuinely intrigued by you.

"What about your past?" He asked.

"Nothing remarkable, I just lived in a low-income family for all of my life" you replied.

"Really… I don't think an average crook would go to the effort you have, what made you?" He asked.

"You want to know?" You questioned.

"I need to know as much as I can" he replied.

"Well… my family has always been rough, my father didn't want a baby but my mum insisted on keeping me so my father left her before I was born. I ended up being the eldest of three with my siblings from different fathers. From a young age, I was fascinated by machines and wanted to be an engineer. I pretty much studied my ass off, especially after my mum's late fiance died in that car accident. At that point, I knew I had to get a scholarship if I had any chance of helping my family, so I tried to ace pretty much everything I could to get a scholarship from high school. I was told by all my teachers that I'd get that scholarship…" you explained as you felt your blood boil and heart race from anger.

"but on graduation day that scholarship was awarded to none other than the principal's own son. He could have easily afforded to send his son on his own dime but no, he had to take my one chance… my one chance to help my family get out of all the poverty we'd been living in!" You Hissed as your knuckles turned white from how hard you clenched them.

"Getting a job after high school was a struggle but I managed to find one at a scrapyard. It didn't come without its obstacles but I persevered. Eventually, I realized that nothing was going to get better from just perseverance and a smile on my face like I'd been told all my life. Clearly, I had to do things the dirty way if I ever wanted to get out of my situation. That's when I turned to stealing in an attempt to make my inventions, however, I could only get so many materials from scrap so I had to figure out how to get my hands on better materials. That's when I made that" you explained as you pointed to your jetpack that had been placed on the floor. However, you noticed that a similarly designed flight harness was on display along with other pieces of tech on the wall.

"I guess my design wasn't as original as I thought…" you nervously chuckled, you were a little disheartened at the discovery. You sighed as you turned your head to the other side to look at the ground.

Miguel had tried his best to avert his gaze from your body. He really shouldn't have been thinking of what he was but the thought of those lush legs wrapped around his hips or his cock sandwiched between those subtle breasts. He was cursing himself, you were someone he had only just met, and a villain at that.

He was only brought back when he heard you scream as you glitched.

"What was that?" You asked between panting.

"You're glitching, it's because you ended up in a dimension you don't belong in" he explained.

"Dimension?!" You exclaimed. This really was some science fiction stuff you got yourself in.

"Yes and this is where the main questions begin," he told you.

"How did you discover a portal?" He asked.

"I have no idea, the last thing I remember is the truck I was in rolling" you explained.

"You didn't see anyone different at all?" He asked.

"Nope, not at all" you replied.

"Can I leave now?" You asked. Sure he could have let you go, you didn't have any information on the anomaly that entered your dimension. However, you were still a personal interest of his.

"I can't right now, I still have my suspicions about you," he told you in a stern tone.

"Please, I gotta look after my siblings and I'll lose my job if I don't get back soon" you tried to reason.

"I'll let you go in a few days," he said before your restraints were removed. You quickly hurried to your clothes to put them back on.

Once you were back in your clothes he handed you something, a wristband.

"What's this for?" He asked.

"It'll stop you from glitching for the day" he explained before another cage surrounded you. You placed the wristband on and inspected it.

Now you wait, hopefully, you'll be sent home soon.

#yandere #yandere miguel o'hara #miguel o'hare x reader #spiderman 2099 x reader #x reader #yandere miguel o'hara x reader

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joels-shitty-puns · 5 months

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The Key To Your Heart - Track 9

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x Musician!Reader

Series Summary: After writing your feelings for Pedro into a song, it gains a lot more popularity than expected. Ultimately it brings both criticism and support, with new possibilities around the corner.

Series Warnings: 18+ only (MDNI). Panic/Anxiety attack. Alluding to sexual scenarios. Kissing. Fat shaming, name calling. Mentions of food, weight loss, weight gain, dieting, weighing, potential eating disorder, food guilt. Potential for puns/dad jokes (name of my blog, and the fic) should give that away. This is my first fic which should be its own warning, lol. Also some cursing. Mentions of masturbation (f) maybe more smut later idk. Sadness, reader is pretty depressed. Poor body image. Rude people. Bullying-ish and just lack of support? Anxiety. Age gap! Reader is in her mid 20's, Pedro is current age (48).

Other stuff: Reader is plus sized. AFAB. Inexperienced. Also has a dog, but you can pretend it is another creature probably. Further, in case it isn't clear, italics almost always are the reader's inner thoughts!

Word Count: 2.7K

Series List: Here!

Miss Chapter 8? Here!

Hi everyone!! I really don't feel great about this chapter, I'm sorry if it sucks. I kinda just want to get it out there though because I don't see my brain thinking up anything better. A lot of writer's block surrounding this scene. Anywho, hopefully next chapter will be better, but I still hope you like it. Although we allude to a little bit of sexual situations now that they are together, I likely will avoid explicit smut being that Pedro is a real human and I am a guilty, guilty human for writing any smut at all. I don't want to offend Pedro (not that he'd ever see it anyway, I am delusional), but I also know people find real person fiction uncomfy as a whole. That being said, I think this story may be coming to a close pretty soon. I plan to have maybe one more full storyline chapter, and at least one little side bonus chapter :) Please let me know what you think in the comments, or DM me if you wanna chat! I love hearing all your thoughts. Thank you for reading and hanging in here with me.

Before the screen even had a chance to load, you canceled the request. Nervously looking at Pedro, he held your hand under the table. “What is it?” he asked gently.

“I just realized,” you replied. “What if they ask about us? About those pictures? What should I say?”

Pedro answered with a gentle stroke of his thumb on your cheek. “Whatever you feel comfortable with. I'm sure I'll be fine with whatever you say, baby. I know your privacy is important to you, and I trust you. I'm all in with you.”

“Okay.” You took a deep breath and once again began the stream.

“Live in 3…”

“2…”

“1…”

The fans began to file in, and before you knew it, you had thousands of viewers. Opting to start with your screen covered, you wanted to give an intro first before the big reveal.

It wasn't long before the comments flowed across the screen.

You took a deep breath, squeezing Pedro’s hand, and jumping in. “Hi everyone! It's me… a lot has been happening lately and I decided it might be time to show a little more of myself.”

-“First!”

-“Did she mean to start a live video ??"

-"Hiii! I'm a big fan"

-“Is she there??”

-“Do you guys see anything?”

“So… Here's me.” You turned on your camera, waving at the screen, your stomach twisting in deeper knots.

-“No fucking way.”

-“!?!!!!!”

-“SCREAMING”

“Hi… Some of you might know me, some might be surprised. But this is me. This is the girl behind the music.”

The comments flooded in, entirely too fast for you to read.

“I want to thank all of you for being fans and listening to my songs. It really means a lot and I hope you liked the album. Your support blows me away, especially with what little information about myself I've given.”

More comments.

“Well, I uh… guess I should read some of these comments and answer some questions. I'm sure there’s a lot you all are wondering about,” you stated nervously, starting to read.

-“Why did you hide your identity?”

“Why did I hide my identity… I hid my identity mostly based on poor self image. I never expected my music to gain popularity, never expected celebrities to know it. Never expected any of it, and it certainly brought its share of criticism. I was scared to be in the spotlight and I didn't feel like I looked good enough to be someone famous. You know? I'm not skinny, I have flaws, and that doesn't always sit well with the Internet. I guess I was mainly scared of how I would be perceived. I'm just a normal girl who had her whole life flipped upside down when I wrote my feelings down,” you laughed anxiously.

Choosing to ignore the storm brewing in the comments below, you addressed the earlier comment. “Thank you for your kind words. I'm glad I can make you feel more accepted by seeing more plus-sized people in the entertainment business. Everyone should feel seen and have a place at the table, no matter what you look like, or who you are.”

-“I think it's nice to have more celebrities that look kinda like me.”

-“You're so humble!!”

-“You should've stayed hidden lmao”

-“Shut up, asshole. Why are you here if you're going to be rude?”

-“I'm sure you're a real supermodel behind that keyboard bravery.. smh”

You weren't expecting someone to actually feel like you were representing them and making them feel seen. You didn't think you had enough of an impact for that. You certainly weren't treated that way when you weren't famous. Nobody really even noticed you before.

You could feel Pedro’s eyes on your face, his thumb swirling circles and hearts over the space of skin on the top of your hand, below your thumb. The place where his bullseye resides on his own. Does he trace that tattoo when he's nervous, the same way he is with me? Perhaps his tracing of your hand is calming himself as much as it is for you.

Desperately, you wanted to look over at him and be comforted by his deep brown eyes, but doing so would cause people to wonder who you made eye contact with and smiled at. So instead, you gave a gentle squeeze and a smile towards the screen, hoping he would understand.

-“Hi, I'm a big fan of yours. Can I ask… is what you said on your album true? You've never been kissed before? I haven't either and I was starting to feel like I'm just a freak.”

“Oh, honey, you aren't a freak. Everyone has things happen at different times in their life. But yes, everything I wrote in my album at the time I wrote it was true. And don't worry, I have felt the same way. Seeing others be kissed, falling in love… having the things I wasn't, it really hurts. But it'll be okay.. nothing is wrong with you. You're deserving of love.”

You hoped they wouldn't pick up on your usage of past-tense wording. Pedro, still holding your hand, rubbed his other hand over your arm gently.

-“Wait… at the time you wrote it? What about now?”

The comments were going wild.

Welp…

Your hands shook, and you used your opposite hand to place on top of Pedro’s that gripped yours. He squeezed gently, feeling the nervous tremors pass through your body, continuing to rub gentle strokes over your arm with his opposite hand.

“Uhm…” your cheeks heated and your stomach sank.

“I've changed a lot since this album was first written. Experienced new things. But I'm still the same person.”

Shit.

-“Who did you kiss?! Is it the guy in your song?”

-“Will you tell us who the song is about?”

-“Wait a second… you're that girl aren't you!?!!!! The one in the pictures with Pedro Pascal!!!!”

-“OMG IT IS”

-“!!!!!!!”

-“IS HE THE GUY!?!”

-“ARE YOU DATING!?!”

The nervous tremors continued, now threatening to cause your teeth to chatter. A full panic attack was brewing. Pedro squeezed your hand again, touching your knee and trying to do his best to ground you without speaking up on your live video. Skipper could feel the waves of anxiousness pooling off of you as well and crawled forward to settle his body across your feet. You took a few calming breaths, but when you went to speak, your voice still betrayed you.

“I..” your voice cracked, shakiness evident as you could feel tears starting to edge their way towards your vision.

I can't do this. I can't do this. I need to shut it off.

You shut your eyes, taking deep breaths, trying to ease your nausea and stress.

Keeping your eyes closed, you spoke. “Yes.”

You took another deep breath. “Yes it was me, yes the song was about him. Yes.”

You opened your eyes to read the comments, tears pooling down your cheeks as you couldn't hold back your emotion anymore.

This is so embarrassing. The first time I show my face I'm crying and having an anxiety attack in front of the whole world.

You swallowed, choking back the full sobs that your body wanted to let loose. Wiping your face with the back of your hand, you began to read the comments, expecting laughter, criticism, and bullying. Instead, you were met with kindness.

Coming back to your senses, you gave a shaky smile. “Thank you guys. I'm sorry for my emotions.” You sniffled. Pedro was still rubbing your hands and arms, comforting you, having never stopped. His eyes still bore into the side of your head, and you knew he was struggling to not speak up or grab you fully.

-“Oh my God, are you okay?”

-“I didn't mean to make you cry I'm so sorry”

-“You and Pedro make a cute couple”

-“Oh no, please don't cry”

-“Idk if you guys are dating but you seem cute”

-“I'm so glad you guys are spending time together when he's the guy in your song”

-“It'll be okay, please don't be upset”

-“You're amazing, we love you”

“Yes, Pedro and I have been spending a lot of time talking after he publicly commented on my song a few months ago. The party was the first time we met in person and we're still figuring things out,” you let go of your worries and broke eye contact with the camera, looking to your side to meet Pedro’s gaze. “But… we're happy.” You smiled at him. He smiled back gently, squeezing your hand, worry and sadness plaguing his face over your well-being. Breaking eye contact, you looked back at the screen.

You giggled before answering “well, I think that's all we have time for today. Thank you all for joining me!” You silently clicked off the stream, closing the browser, turning off the computer, and turning to Pedro. He grabbed your other hand in his, now holding both. “Are you okay?” He asked, concern etched in his face.

-“AAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!!!”

-“IS HE THERE WITH YOU!?!”

-“whaaaaat”

-“SCREAMING”

-“Shut. Up. This is insane.”

-“YOU GUYS ARE SO CUTE I CAN'T TAKE IT”

“I think so,” you nodded.

“Seeing you panic and not being able to do anything without potentially making it worse… It killed me. I'm so sorry. I just wanted to pull you into my arms and end that video myself. I hated seeing you so upset.” He stared down at your intertwined hands, rubbing his thumb over them again.

“I appreciate you being here for me,” you let go of his hand to stroke his cheek. “I couldn't have done that without you.” You met his eyes, leaning forward to rest against his forehead. He let out a shaky breath. “I love you. I'm so proud of you.”

“I love you too,” you replied with a smile. “Let's move to the couch, huh?” You asked, pulling him up from the chair. He stood, just as your phone rang, a call from Rose. You quickly answered.

“I saw the live stream. You did wonderful! Don't worry about any of the negative comments you saw or any stories that come out of this. I'll handle it all.”

“Thanks, Rose.”

“Anytime. Take care.” She hung up.

You updated Pedro as the two of you walked towards the couch. “Do you want breakfast?” He asked.

“Maybe in a minute. Can I just hold onto you for a few minutes?”

“I would love nothing more.”

He sat on the couch, you sitting next to him, before he gave you a look. “What?” you laughed. He patted his leg.

“Let me hold you.”

“I'm too heavy for that Pedro, don't be ridiculous,” you shook your head.

“You're the one being ridiculous.” He reached over, pulling you into his lap. “I'm too heavy! You're going to hurt yourself,” you whined.

“You're not too heavy. You're the perfect size, baby. Come here,” he pulled you forward, your body sliding down his thighs as he wrapped his arms around you. You straddled his lap, knees on either side of his hips while he rubbed your back gently. You placed your arms around him, nuzzling into his neck and closing your eyes. You both sighed, and he grabbed a blanket next to him to pull over your bodies. “I could stay like this for hours, wrapped in your arms” you sighed comfortably.

“Why don't you?” He turned his head to kiss your lips. You lifted your face up, taking your head off his shoulder to kiss him deeper. The kisses were lazy and comfortable, holding each other and enjoying the warmth of being in each other's arms.

Finally the two of you broke the kiss, settling back on his shoulder, him tilting his head to lean against yours. His hands sprawled over your back, pulling you forward a bit to adjust in his lap. You let out a soft whimper at the contact, fully aware of the location your bodies connected at the moment. “Feel how much you mean to me?” He asked, his breath ghosting your ear as he pulled your hips forward again. You whined. “Yes..” you answered breathlessly. The temptation to keep doing that was overwhelming. But he once again wrapped his arms around you, rubbing your back as the two of you comfortably dozed off, finally relaxed after so much stress of the morning.

Hours later, you stirred, feeling Pedro still underneath you. At the feel of you moving, he stretched a bit before settling with his arms around you again. “Morning, baby” he hummed. “Guess we fell asleep,” you smiled.

“Some of the best sleep I've had in a while, here with you.”

“Same here.” You blinked your eyes open, kissing him on the lips with a peck. “What time is it?”

He turned his head to look at the clock on your TV. “5 o’clock” he laughed. “Guess we both needed some rest.”

“Mmmm, I guess so,” you hummed, settling into him more.

“Good thing I brought nonperishables. Are you hungry?”

You pondered. “Yeah, I am,” you looked into his deep brown eyes. “Breakfast for dinner?” You smiled at him.

“Sounds perfect.” He pecked your lips before you slid off his lap, the two of you standing to stretch. It wasn't long that you two stood apart before you leapt forward again to give him a hug. He laughed, hugging you back. “I'll never get tired of being in your arms,” you smiled into his chest, breathing in his scent.

“I'll never get tired of holding you in mine,” he pulled his face back to look at you.

“Now let's eat! I'm starved,” you scampered towards the kitchen, him giving a gentle pat to your butt before hugging you from behind as you grabbed the breakfast foods. You giggled, setting food on plates as he kissed your neck, still wrapped around you from behind. “I'm starving too,” he replied back to your earlier statement with a growl, biting your ear.

“Pedro!” You giggled, smacking his arm gently. He chuckled, pulling away and grabbing his plate as you both headed to the table.

The two of you ate, filling the space with light conversation, both of you occasionally sneaking Skipper some bites under the table. He could get used to having two humans spoiling him.

The chatter came to a natural pause, eating in silence and smiling at each other across the table. Pedro stopped eating, wiping his hands and continuing to stare at you. You laughed, asking him what was up. Suddenly, he looked nervous.

“I, uh…” he rubbed his neck. “I was going to wait until after we had at least a first date to say this, but…” he trailed off, and your mind spiraled. Is he breaking up with me? Is he not interested anymore? What's wrong?

“I was wondering if… you'd be my girlfriend? Exclusively?” His cheeks flushed.

You stammered, dropping your fork on the plate. “You… you want… me to be your girlfriend?” You smiled.

He nodded. “If… you'll have me.”

“You want to be my boyfriend?” He nodded again, looking down at the table.

“Yes. Yes, are you kidding? Please! I'd love nothing more.” You grinned, jumping out of your chair to move to him.

He stood, pulling you into a hug. “Really?” He smiled at you.

“Really,” you nodded. “Now kiss me,” you held his face.

“Gladly,” he pulled you closer, kissing you deeply, his tongue asking for entrance to your mouth. You squealed, surprised, but letting him in. You'd never experienced this sensation before. But it was… incredible.

He licked your lips, the two of you exploring the inside of each other's mouths, tongues dancing together. The kiss was heated and deeper than ever before, both of you finally pulling away for air, him coming back in to peck your lips a few times, sucking your lip between his own. You sighed shakily. “Wow.”

“I love kissing you,” he smiled against your lips.

“I love kissing you. You're a good kisser,” you smiled back.

“So are you,” he smirked. “My beautiful girlfriend.” He gave a kiss. “How about that date tomorrow?” He pulled away to look at you, letting his hand rub across your lower back, just above your butt.

“I'd love to,” you stroked his face. “My handsome boyfriend.” You wrapped your arms around him again, blissfully.

“Tomorrow,” you two sighed in unison.

@pedrotonin @starcrossed02 @lightupsketchersperson @cartoon-garbage04 @tyferbebe @maryfanson @gwendibley84 @faithfullyyours2000 @brilliantopposite187 @hc-geralt-23 @jenniferpendragon @winchestergypsy90 @red-red-rogue @theendwhereibegin @lottieellz101 @oliversaurus @kyga01 @milly-louise @titabel @taz-97 @stefanibear003 @marantha @fandomoniumflurry @ilovemybrown-eyedbabygirl @leiadjarin @hmneighbors

Thank you for reading!!! Let me know what you think ❤️

Taglist: (Want in? Let me know!)

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfic #a! wrote a fic #pedro pascal fluff #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal x afab!reader #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x plus sized! reader #pedro pascal x y/n #pedro pascal x musician!reader #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal rpf #rpf #key to your heart

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theflashesoflove · 9 months

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break it to me

Jan Stevens x f!reader (nsfw)

summary: Jan Stevens and one of her female residents kept dancing around each other for too long. At one particular afternoon the resident couldn’t take it anymore and recorded a voice message to put Jan Stevens in her place.

a/n: watching this film was (not) a mistake. i can’t stop thinking about her. so here’s a quick and rather simple (?) one-shot since i’m pretty spent after writing the previous piece and needed to relax my brain (yes i’m weak and fragile like that when it comes to writing even if i enjoy it). but i had to release this off my head, ahhh!!!

warnings/tags: mentions of smoking, sub!jan and dom!reader dynamics, dirty talk, (dicta)phone sex

word count: 2.5k

One of the things that accompanied your residence at the Sonic Catering Institute was interviews with Stones, Jan Stevens’ documenter. It all consisted of rather simple questions about your background, about the relationship within the band and about your stay at the institution.

You never really felt that someone would want to listen about your life, so usually you kept silent, not being shy, just keeping your thoughts to yourself. And there were quite a lot of them. So these interviews were a breath of fresh air, having the ability to prattle on about stuff because someone asked about it. A good conversation always made you so talkative it was almost impossible for you to stop. In a nice company, you felt comfortable to talk more, and Stones seemed like a decent man, though a bit manipulative with his questions on rather sensitive topics regarding your band.

He asked you about the quarrel among your bandmates that you didn’t participate in, about what you would like to do after the program was over, about your relationship with your family and about your personal interests, apart from sonic catering. You answered the questions with a certain lightness in your chest, happy to be listened to for once.

“And for my last question,” Stones started, his attention entirely on the notebook in his hands. “How do you feel- uh,” it seemed as though he was searching for words in his notes, “about the hostess of the institute? Do you like her?”

Oh, that. You and Jan Stevens had a certain dynamic since the first day you arrived. She seemed drawn to you, and you never really protested. She was friendly and helpful, generous and all that stuff. But sometimes she was also playful and tactile, and certainly chattier with you more than with the other members of the band. And did you like her? That would be an understatement. She ignited a fire within you that could never be put out. It was obvious that she felt pretty much the same.

“Who’s asking?” you smirked and took a drag on your cigarette.

“W- well, I am asking. So, do you like her?” Stones replied, suddenly very nervous.

Why would that information be necessary anyway? It was obvious that you liked her. But maybe not to Jan Stevens herself? Even after you kissed?

Yeah, that happened, too. What a strange encounter it was. Jan Stevens caught you in the backrooms and initiated a conversation that didn’t last very long. At some point, she gave you one last praise about your performance and, as if pulled by an invisible force, leaned down and kissed you. You were startled with such straightforwardness, but you liked it. It was a quick, softest kiss, you didn’t even have the time to wrap your arms around her. She pulled away, a somewhat terrified look on her face. For some reason she felt the urge to apologise and after muttering a soft 'I’m so sorry', she disappeared.

Ever since that day she tried distancing herself from you, it was very obvious that she fought a battle in her head every time she looked at you during late night dinners and midday meetings with your band. Nothing could hide her yearning hungry gaze and how she squirmed in her seat every time you entered the room. You never asked her about that kiss, you never told her how much you wanted her. And sometimes it felt even enraging, how she decided for both of you to end something that didn’t even begin. She could come and get it, after all. If only she had the guts to do it.

“Jan Stevens reads your notes, doesn’t she?” Of course, she did. That was the whole point of the interviews. Stones nodded. “I don’t think my bandmates received that question, huh?”

Stones’ expression gave out that no, none of them did. Your lips curled into a grin, and you looked at the dictaphone on the coffee table.

“Are you recording all of this? On this thing?” you asked. Stones nodded once again and you grounded the cigarette out in the ashtray. “I am very grateful for the hostess’ support. And yes, I like her. I like her very, very much. Can I ask you for a favour?”

“Yes, why?”

“Can you leave me to it? There are some things I want to say to Jan Stevens in private.” At first Stones wanted to protest but in the end he didn’t really care.

“Alright, I need to go to the bathroom anyway.” And he left.

You looked at the clock on the wall: 3:20 p.m. Oh, this is going to be a long message. Jan Stevens had no idea what she got herself into.

“So instead of talking to me directly you send Stones off to me to talk about us? I have to admit, I am a bit angry. You really got under my skin, huh,” you started, grabbing the dictaphone from the table.

“I… I meant it. I like you. And I know that you like me. Why did you run away that night? I see how you look at me. I see it all. And I could give you everything, if only you had asked. You could have just invited me to your house and I would rush to slip out of my bed and come see you. And you could personally ask me if I like you.

“I have something in mind, though. Please, if you don’t want to listen to all of this, you can turn it off. But maybe you need this. Maybe I need this. I just- I want you to know that I not just like you, I want you. And I never told you otherwise, so I don’t understand- okay. We can talk about it later. I hope we will. Now, If you allow me by listening further, I could indulge you in something.”

Closing your eyes, you took a deep breath and thought about it for a second. You had to just start. It would come to you naturally.

Then, you started your monologue. Slowly, in airy voice, building up necessary tension and separating your words with languid pauses.

﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉

“Please, make yourself comfortable. I am not used to performing with my voice, but I think I know a thing or two. And are you in your office right now? I hope not. If you are, I want you to press pause and go to your bed. If you are already in bed, just lay down and rest the dictaphone on your pillow. Good.

“Now, be a good girl and undress yourself, don’t worry, I’ll wait for you, but don’t make me wait for too long. I want you completely bare for this… Did you start undressing yourself? You better hurry up. I’m growing impatient, dear. And I don’t want to sit here for too long and make Stones nervous, after all. Yes, slide these knickers down your legs. I wonder what colour they are. Oh, how I wish to be there right now and take them off myself. You have absolutely no idea. Keep undressing if you didn’t finish already. I’ll give you a few more seconds…

“Very well. Lie back down on your pillows. Hmm… Close your eyes. Bring your fingers to your mouth, two is enough. Good, good. Make them nice and wet, push them as deep as they can go. I want you to push in and out, in… and out. Yes. A few more times just for me? Aren’t you a sweet thing, Jan Stevens? I wonder what you taste like. I wonder how it would feel to have your lips wrapped around my fingers. Now, you can take them out. Make sure they are really wet, don’t cheat. Alright, slide them down your body, slowly! Yes, yes, right between your breasts. When you reach your belly button, stop.

“I want you to touch your breasts. Don’t rush, just nice and gentle, just like that. Just like I would do. Play with your nipples, hmm, yes, you can rub them, you can wet your fingers once again and circle. You can pinch yourself, if you’d like. Yes, yes, I knew you would like that.

“I can just imagine you laying there, are your legs spread? Yes, make sure you make yourself open for me, and no, don’t stop touching your breasts. Be patient. Oh, what a mistake you had made. You thought you could fool me with this stupid interview, but now I am the one in charge. And you will do as I say. Right, where was I? You can slide your hands down your sides, but don’t you dare touch that pussy. Just across your stomach, yes, yes, and you can stroke your thighs as well. It’s a Thursday afternoon, by the way. Half past three, I think? But you already know when that was recorded. I hope you’ll listen to it tonight. Don’t make me wait. You are the one who should be waiting like a good girl, spread on your bed just for me. And I will be sitting here and guiding you through it. You are so hot, dear. Feel how warm and soft your skin is under your fingers. Don’t stop until I tell you so. Oh, Jan. Can I call you Jan? I think formalities are long forgotten anyway. Jan, Jan, Jan. I like how that sounds. I would like to call you my mistress, but I feel like a good girl title suits you better. For now, at least. Now, say my name. Mhm.. you know I can’t hear it, but I can vividly imagine how it sounds on your lips right now. Louder… I. said. Louder.

“Imagine me sitting right between your legs and ask me nicely. Say ‘please’. I like how polite you are. Yes, yes, what is it? What do you need? Are you still following me? Oh, I can’t do anything with you if you don’t tell me what it is that you want. Do you want me to kiss you? Do you want me to fuck you? I am afraid you have to deal with it on your own. No, I didn’t tell you to touch yourself yet. Are you getting wet? I hope so, or I must be terrible at this, huh. Now, roll to your side. Left or right, I don’t care. But since you are right handed I would suggest rolling to your left. Are you settled? Good. Good girl, so good at following my orders. Grab your ass with your hand. Just like that. Mhm, I can imagine how soft that is. Squeeze it for me, Jan. I want your nails to leave prints…

“Now, I need you to slap it. Yes, you heard me. Just a light slap, oh, yes, feel how it wiggles? That’s what I like. That’s what I would want to see if I was there. Such a pity. Slap again. You deserve it. Harder. Yes, harder. Even harder. I do hope you behave and follow my orders. Yes, bury that pretty face in your pillow. One more time. One more. And one last time for me. Hmm… good. Stroke your skin, I’m sure it hurts. Softly and slowly, yeah. You can turn on your back.

“Don’t forget to spread your legs again. Are you panting already? I barely did anything. Well, I did nothing, it was all your doing. Open your pussy with two fingers for me. Careful, don’t touch your clit yet. You can move your fingers up and down your lips, yes, nice and slow-“

Tum, tum, tum.

“What is it?” you turned your attention to the door.

“Are you finishing there?” Stones asked.

“No, she’s nowhere near finishing. Now leave me alone,” you snapped and continued speaking into the dictaphone. “Oh dear, sorry. We wouldn’t be interrupted if you just invited me to your house. Now, what are you doing there? I hope you keep following my orders. Move your fingers lower. Mhm, feel how slick you are. Perfect. Make your fingers wet and touch your clit. Don’t rush. Never rush until I tell you to go faster. Circle it for me, right, just touch yourself like you always do. Like you do when you lay in your bed and imagine my head between your thighs. Do you do this every night? Every night since we’ve met? I wouldn’t be surprised if you did. Are you squirming already? Go slowly, my love, and don’t apply much pressure. Lightly, yes, such a good girl. My mouth is tired of speaking already, you know, I usually don’t talk much. But when it comes to you, the only way to shut me up… yeah, you guessed it. Fuck, I’m so wet for you right now. The picture of you in my head drives me insane…

“Stop touching yourself. I hope I don’t have to repeat myself. Don’t be upset, dear. Just push your fingers inside, it’s all I want. Very well. I’m sure it slipped in easily. Patience, patience, and push gently. Deeper. That’s what I would do to you. Do you like it? Is there something else that you need, Jan Stevens? So insatiable. I adore you for it. Keep fucking yourself and listen to me…

“Imagine me fucking you with a strap, thrusting painfully slowly. Deep. Making you grow impatient with every second of it. I would pound into you, gaining speed just to pull out and push inside of you again, and you would moan and beg for me to go harder. Don’t worry, I think of it every night myself. It puts me to sleep, thinking of all the things I could do to you. Or do you want me to fuck you with my tongue? To bring you to orgasm after an orgasm with my mouth. Or is it only my fingers that you need? I would stroke them up and down your needy cunt and taste you on my fingers before pushing them inside, but still. I would go so slow, I would make your legs tremble under me. And you would look so beautiful, just like you always do. I can imagine that pretty mouth of yours open. I bet you sound divine. Are you still listening? If you are, pay special attention right now,” and with that, your tone changed, growing even lower and hotter.

“Pull your fingers out of yourself. I need you to call me right now and tell me to come see you. Yes, you heard me. If you have listened up to this point, you know what I will do to you. Call me. I am waiting. And I am impatient.”

You ended the recording and breathed out. If Stones wouldn’t deliver this to Jan Stevens, you would kill him with your bare hands.

﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉

The night of the same day, Jan Stevens was lying on her sheets, absolutely ruined, desperate. A voice recorder on her pillow. Her chest rose up and fell back down in heavy breaths. She cleaned off her fingers and stood up from her bed, whimpering when her tights pressed together. She reached the stationary phone and pressed it to her hot cheek, panting, waiting for you to answer.

#jan stevens x reader #jan stevens x y/n #jan stevens #flux gourmet #gwendoline christie

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oddballwriter · 2 months

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🙏 gn/fem reader who has a tattoo of an ahnk on her chest and arm tattoos of astrological symbols or like more egyptian tattoos who visits the museum with a group of friends and steven just drools at her existence lol

Living Art

Summary: Working in the gift shop doesn't really earn you any points in talking to people, that's something that Steven's learned the hard way. But that doesn't mean that there aren't some cases that happen once in a while.

Warnings: It's mentioned that the reader does some of their own tattoos using the stick-and-poke method. Steven is shy but very much into the reader. The reader's gender and pronouns are never mentioned but Steven does refer to the ready is pretty so take that as you will. Mention of alcohol and getting drunk but no consumption actually happens. If I'm missing something don't be afraid to tell me.

Author’s Snip: I'm sorry that this took such a long time. I've been out of motivation to write and also recently started my spring semester. So I hope you will still like it.

I’ll shut up now. Enjoy! And don’t be afraid to request.

Word Count: 954

Working at the gift shop didn't really make way for meaningful talks with people. Steven has learned that through many one-way conversations with people who come in. But he'd be lying if he said that he ever really stopped wishing for a moment to chat with someone who would listen and talk back. Unfortunately, that person only exists in Steven's daydream it seems.

That is until one day a group of museum-goers come walking in chattering amongst themselves. Steven looks at them for a brief moment just to get a count of them before looking off somewhere else until he hears a voice go "Oh..." in a disappointed cringing manner. Steven glances back and sees you staring at a mug on display. He knows which one it is. It's that one mug that has hieroglyphics on it that are random and translate to literal gibberish. He remembers himself cringing at its existence.

Your friends join in and laugh at your explanation of why this mug has you scrunching your nose in disapproval. "Does it say something dumb?" one of them asks, to which you respond with "No. It doesn't say anything. That's why I hate it.". Your friends laugh some more and move on with their browsing around while one stays with you for a moment to say "You should buy it and put it in your collection of stupid stuff.". You nod but say "I'm thinking about it but in all honestly this thing is kinda ugly.". It is, the graphics look horrible and Steven is so happy that some else can see that.

After a while of walking around, and grabbing a plush that also got a chuckle out of you, you make your way to Steven at the counter. Now that he's getting a closer look at you, you're very pretty. As he looks you over quickly so as to not be caught by you he notices something else.

The shirt you have on gives a sensible show of your chest and arms and along them are various Egyptian and astrological symbols tattooed on your skin. Steven can name practically all of them with his brief scan of your body. He manages to catch you saying something to him.

"How's your day going?" you ask. He blinks off his stun and answers with a shrugged "Alright. Same work day as all the others. You know?". You nod in response. "I bet you get kids in here all the time." you say, "They always want to leave a shop with something." you laugh. Steven gives a small laugh back as he thinks about all the times a kid came in begging for something. "They usually leave with a toy or one of those little books for kids," Steven says before glancing at the little plush you're buying, "This one is actually really popular. They're usually all gone by the end of the day." he mentions as he takes a look at it himself. "They are pretty cute." you reply, "They're also kind of silly. These figures in Egyptian mythos just being little stuffed dolls that you just have around.". Steven laughs at the thought.

Steven starts to scan the items and he can't help but instinctively cringe a little when holding and looking at the mug. You seem to notice and snicker. "Sorry," Steven apologizes, "But as someone who knows hieroglyphics this thing is awful," he explains.

"It doesn't even translate to anything." you both say in unison. You both smile at the commonality in your opinions on the mug, with Steven maybe feeling a little flutter in his stomach.

"The only reason I'm getting it is because I like to collect novelties that are dumb," you explain. "What about the plush?" Steven questions having thought that the plush was quite endearing. "The plush is dumb in a cute way. The mug is just dumb and I feel like it will fit right in with all the other stupid things I have." you explain. "Well, I'd love to see that collection," Steven comments. "It's actually a really nice talking piece. People like hearing about all the stuff in it." you mention.

Steven nods and as he does he takes a look at a few of your tattoos. You catch it this time and smile, "Do you like them?" you ask. "I think they're lovely," Steven confirms, "Where do you get them done?" Steven questions. There's no reason for him to ask, it's not like he has the guts to get a tattoo himself but he's finally getting that conversation that he's been yearning for. "My friend actually does them. She's a tattoo artist and she secretly give me a discount for some favors like getting her food or doing something for her." you mention, "Some of these are by me though. Sometimes I get drunk and bored at home and just grab a needle and pen ink." you add as you point to a few.

"You tattoo yourself?" Steven gasps. "Don't worry. I'm drunk enough to not really feel anything but still sober enough to clean the area and not have it look terrible," you tell him. "If you ever want a tattoo but not the whole commitment, give me a call. I'll give you as much alcohol as you need." you say with a wink. Steven blushes and bites back an ear-to-ear smile.

You both hear the clearing of a throat behind you. When you both take a look you see your friends standing in line right behind you looking on with looks varying between smug and done with overhearing the back and forth. "Just give him your number already so we can buy our shit." one of them speaks up.

Taglist:

@my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction (applications open)

#moon knight x reader #moonknight x reader #moon knight #moonknight #steven grant #steven grant x reader #oscar issac characters

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graciegoeskrazy · 5 months

Text

i’ve got a woman now

pairings: Matty Healy x Teen!Daughter!reader (ft. The 1975)

a/n: GUYS. i really like this one lol. im so sorry to the wonderful anon who requested this! it took forever to complete because i loved it so much and kept adding and shit. but here it is and i hope u enjoy!

warnings: blood, periods, giving ‘the talk’, talk of absent mother, matty is the best dad, lil bit of panicking, a lil crying

Your life quite literally flashed before your eyes when a line of blood started running down your legs. You ran to the bathroom and sat down as quickly as possible. Your bottoms were coated with blood. You were immensely scared and did the first thing that came to your mind - calling out to the person you trusted most.

“Dad!”

Matty sat up and ran upstairs as soon as he heard you shout, never hesitating. He heard the panic cries coming from the bathroom. When he walked in he saw you sitting in the loo with a towel covering yourself. He kneeled in front of you.

“Woah, woah. Hey.”

You were scared shitless. Matty could tell by your panicked breathing.

“Breathe, baby.”

He led you through some exercises and after a moment he calmed down. “Is it under there?”

You frantically nodded.

“Good. Now let me see.”

He was pretty sure he knew what was happening but needed to make sure. “What happened?” He asked.

“I don’t know! You just sat down and I was peeing- and there was blood everywhere!”

“Okay, Okay, breathe darling.” His worst fear was confirmed. “It’s gonna be okay-”

“Daddy, what’s happening?”

He grabbed your shoulders and looked you right in the eyes with a smile. “You got your period, love.”

“Huh?” His casual tone threw you off.

“I’ll be right back.” After a moment or two Matty came back with a pair of underwear with a pad already attached, new shorts, and another roll of toilet paper. “Ok. You’re gonna clean yourself up, put this on, change your bottoms, and come meet me in my room. Okay?”

You nodded but continued crying. He kneeled again. “What’s wrong, darling?”

“Am I in trouble?”

“No, love! Of course not! Why would you be?”

You sniffled. “I made a mess and stuff,”

“No, you didn’t, love. This is all normal-”

“What do you mean normal?! Dad, I’m scared.”

“Just change, then come find me. Okay?”

“Okay.”

You were so fucking confused

—---------

Although Matty tried to stay calm for the sake of his kid, on the inside he was a panicking mess. So, he called the person who usually always knows the right thing to say, and usually ends up fixing his problems. Your uncle Adam.

He mentioned that he, his wife Carly, your uncle George, and uncle Ross were all going out to lunch for the day, and would be back at the house you and all of them shared after. He facetimed him and he thankfully answered immediately.

“We’ve got a serious fucking problem.”

“What’s happened?” Adam asked.

“Y/n got her period.”

Everyone at the table went silent.

“So…?”

“She got her period mate. I have to fucking give her the TALK now!”

He could hear the others laughing in the background. Adam just smiled a bit. “You’ve never given her the talk?”

“No! I raised her alone! I’ve been trying to avoid that topic for as long as possible!” Your father was freaking out.

George spoke up from the back. “Did she even know what a period is?”

“I don’t think so. She called me to the bathroom- I think she thought she was gonna die.”

“Oh my god,” Ross said laughing.

“Does she need supplies?” Carley said, taking the phone.

“No, I had some stashed since 2 years ago for when this happened.”

“Awe! He cares!” She said, teasingly.

“Give Hann the phone back.” He replied with a blank face.

One Hann’s face was on the screen again, he continued. “Mate, What the fuck do I do?”

“First, you’re going to chill the fuck out.”

Matty took a breath. “Get her relaxed, it’ll do you both no good if she’s an anxious mess which I know she is.”

“Yeah.”

“Then you are going to simply explain that what happened is called a period. And because she got a period, she is now capable of making babies. But she cannot and will not make a baby until she is at least 30. She will bleed down there every month, and stick some cotton in her underwear to help. she might get terrible mood swings or cramps, or like her auntie Carly, she will want to stab her significant other's eyes out,”

“Hey!” Carly yelled.

“But it will all be fine, because her dad is here to help, and will be there every step of the way.”

“That was pretty good,” Ross said.

“Thanks!”

“I can’t believe my baby girl is becoming a woman,” Matty said.

“It was inevitable mate,” Adam said.

“I’ve been dreading this exact moment since I found out she didn’t have a penis.”

“You're a good dad, mate. Go.”

Your dad smiled a little bit before saying, “I’ll see you later.”

Carly chimed in before Adam had the chance to hang up. “Remind her that she now has an excuse to stay out of P.E!”

—

Your dad was lying in bed, scrolling on his phone after sending a text to George that read ‘pray for me’, when he heard the door creak open slightly. “Hop In,” he said, pulling back the covers.

“I can’t.” You shyly looked down, basically caving in on yourself.

“Why?” He asked.

“I’m gonna mess up the sheets again.” You slowly looked up to him.

“If you do then we’ll wash them. It’s not a big deal, c’mon.” he patted the spot next to him. You walked over to the bed and snuggled under the covers, immediately hiding in your dad’s chest. He ran his fingers through your hair for a moment, thinking about how to start the conversation. However, you did it for him. “Am I dying?”

He chuckled. “No. You’re not dying.”

You mumbled in his shirt. “So what’s happening then?”

He sighed. Here we go, “When girls get older…and start becoming women…they get their period every month-”

“Every month?! I’m gonna bleed out of my but every month?” You said sitting up.

“It’s not out of your but, it’s out of your vagina-”

“Doesn’t matter! I’m gonna have blood coming out of me every month?!”

He looked at you with a tight lip before replying. “...Yes.”

You showed a look of confusion. “Why?”

“Now, time for the fun part.”

Your brows furrowed. “What fun part?”

“The part where I tell you how babies are made-”

“NO. NOPE! I’M GOOD. No need for that.”

“So you’re telling me you didn’t know what a period was but you know everything about having sex.”

“I don’t know everything about sex, and I don’t wanna know everything about sex!”

“You have to, love.”

“I just learned im gonna lose gallons of blood every month out of my butt and you're telling me you wanna have the freaking birds and the bees talk NOW?”

“It’s not gallons…I think. And, it’s all connected, y/n. You need to have a period to get pregnant.”

“I can get pregnant?!?!?!”

“...technically, yes.”

“Oh my god, my life is over.”

“Your life is not over. We’re gonna have this conversation, I’m gonna answer all questions you have, and then you will continue living your life.”

You were silent. Staring at your hands.

“If you don’t hear it from me, your father who loves you, you’re gonna hear it from stupid kids around you who either tell you false information or try and get in your pants.” After a moment, you answered.

I can’t believe this.”

“Well…you’re aunt Carly says you can use it as an excuse to get out of gym!”

Your eyes widened. “You told Aunt Carly?!”

“Yeah…I called Adam and the boys and she answered.”

You sat up. “THE BOYS KNOW?!?!”

“Relax, love. It will all be okay.” He patted your knee and you fell back down, hiding your face in the pillows.

“Everyone’s gonna look at me differently now.” Your sound was muffled by the pillows.

“Honey, that’s already happened.” You didn't move. Your dad readjusted to fave you and your hidden state.

“Do you know how many times you’ve made your Uncle George cry simply because you’re growing up? And I think Ross had a panic attack when he found out you started wearing real bras.”

“Dad…” You said looking up

“The point is, you have people in every corner who want nothing more than to support you because to them you’ll always be our baby girl.”

—

After about an hour, a couple of Google searches, and a phone call to Carly and Charli to get a second and third confirmation that there are indeed 3 holes, you and your dad had covered everything. Yet, some dots still weren’t connecting.

“Why do some babies get put up for adoption? People still have sex even if they don’t want to have a baby?”

Matty could get over your confused face it was adorable.

“Yeah, sure. People use condoms or there are pills women take. It’s different for everyone.”

He could still see the wheels turning in your mind and continued. “They don’t always work though. Your mom was on the pill when we were together, but she still got pregnant.”

Your mother.

For a while now you had been perfectly content with the fact your mother wasn’t in your life. Your dad always said your family was perfect the way it is, but all these discoveries had you questioning your existence a little bit. Some of those dots started connecting in your head, and that confused expression turned to fear.

“You guys didn't mean to have me?”

Marty’s heart shattered. How in the world was he supposed to deal with this one? There isn’t exactly a guidebook on telling your pre-teen daughter about sex when you’re a single dad to a baby who has never had a mother in her life and was raised around nothing but dirty disgusting men who are also in a band that leads her to have a not so normal life?

“Not technically…no?” He said.

You nodded and looked down- finally understanding. “Is that why she left?”

Oh shit. Now THIS was the talk Matty wanted to avoid even MORE than the birds and the bees. He knew it needed to happen eventually and now seemed good enough.

“Your mother left for a multitude of reasons, but newborn you was not one of them.”

“Then why did she leave?” You asked.

“It’s…complicated.”

You rolled your eyes. “You always say that-”

“Because it is, y/n.”

You looked up at your father. He had a look of pity written all over his face. He sighed and wrapped his arm around you, pulling you closer.

“The truth is, you were unexpected. You were a surprise to everyone. And your mother wasn’t ready for such a big wonderful surprise.”

“So she bounced.”

“Yep.” He replied, popping the ‘p’

“But you stayed.” You replied smiling at him.

“I did.”

“Thanks for not putting me up for adoption.” You said, leaning into him.

“Thanks for being a great kid.”

“Thanks for playing mom and dad.”

He kissed the top of your head before replying with, “My pleasure.”

#matty healy x daughter!reader #matty healy x reader #matty x reader #matty the 1975 #matty healy #the 1975 #x daughter!reader

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anticanonsposts · 2 months

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maybe konig with reader who has general anxiety disorder? like calming them down when they get worked up and reassuring them?

sorry if you're uncomfortable writing about this, no pressure💞💞

good lord this has been in my inbox for a minute, I am so sorry it took so long!!!!!! but i hope you like it <3

cw: talk about anxiety, bodily symptoms, reader is chubby <3, slight angst, i think thats it, completely sfw

wc: 1, 082

overall headcanons then a little oneshot after

whenever you're anxious...

he’s really good at picking up on this kind of behavior

he can tell when you are really nervous

and in general I think he is really good at picking up on your mood and emotions already

since he also has anxiety I think he would be especially good at keeping tabs on yours

in public he would literally just give you his left hand and let it go limp, letting you do whatever you wanted to it/with it

i like to think he would also gently press down on the middle of your back or a shoulder in an attempt to get you to stop tensing up

he loves how understanding you are of his anxieties so he wants nothing more than to return that back to you

Anxiously, you sat at your desk, trying to distract yourself with your work in front of you. Fortunately your boss had a long list of things for you to do today. You needed something to distract you because last night you and your roommates got into a huge fight. You lived with three other people and last night some drama had gone down, so your anxiety was as high as ever. You had always tried to keep everyone happy, talk about issues when needed, and to be mature about problems. But unfortunately not all of your roommates shared your desire for peace or maturity level. So misunderstanding after miscommunication after another happened, and now you were stuck sitting with so much emotion, your nerves felt like they were on fire. You kept feeling drops in your stomach each time your phone buzzed. The fight had started over text and then escalated to the four of you speaking to each other. Then this morning there was so much tension in the house and everything felt so awkward. Because of some stuff in your past, instability in the home has always made you very nervous and upset. It was your one safe space that was now being threatened. But now everyone seemed to be mad at everyone else and you were trying to pick up the pieces. Once again getting lost in your thoughts, your body jolted again as your phone buzzed. But this time it was a text from your boyfriend König. You had sort of told him what was going on the night before, but you didn’t go into very much detail. However, he knew something was definitely off, in the way you were texting, he could tell that you were not feeling the best. His text was simply asking you how you were feeling. You respond with a quick ‘I’m fine!’ but he sees right through this, and before you know it your phone is buzzing with his picture displayed. Picking up the call, before you can say anything he asks,

“You’re finished working soon ja? I’ll be outside waiting ok?”

“Thank you König” you reply before you both hang up.

You were thankful that he never pushed you to give details too fast. Your anxiety was a pretty prominent part of your personality and could be a lot to handle sometimes. But König was very patient with you, always giving you reassurance when you needed it, listening to you talking through your issues while still knowing when to cut you off. He is getting better and better at gauging when you are done ranting and just getting into an obsessive never ending loop of worry. So he usually tries to avert your attention to something else and distract you.

Finally your shift is over and you head outside and see König parked along the street. As soon as he sees you he gets out of the driver's seat to open the passenger side for you.

Before you could even say anything, he says, “Do you wanna go to Culvers?” (I’m from the midwest).

“Yes please.” you reply, giving him a small smile, sliding your left hand into his right.

The drive there didn’t take very long but König didn’t once ask you about how you were feeling or what had been going on. He instead asked you what he should get since he isn’t as familiar with the delicacy that is midwestern fast food.

Once you are there, you go inside, receiving the normal amount of stares you two normally do. You being a drop dead gorgeous chubby girl and him being, well, tall. After you two order, get your food, and find a semi-secluded booth he lets you dig in and get a few bites of food in.

“Ok, you’re fed liebling, so, spill. What happened?” he asks, moving his head slightly so his eyes could meet yours.

Swallowing the bite of food in your mouth, you took a deep breath and told him. Told him how the fight started, what it was about, how you were feeling, how your thoughts were driving you completely insane and that you were drowning in overthinking. That your stomach had hurt all day because of it, and even while you were explaining everything to him, your heartbeat was racing and your breathing became uneven.

Noticing this, he reached his arm across the table and started rubbing small circles on the inside of your wrist. Taking another deep breath you leaned back in your booth seat. Feeling a lot better that you were able to rant to König, knowing that given his issues with anxiety, that he was never going to judge you. He understood exactly how you felt, and it always hurt his heart to know that you also had issues with anxiety. He never wanted you to feel that pain, so he always made sure to be a listening ear whenever you felt like this.

“Thank you König” you say, pulling your wrist back so that you are fiddling with his fingers.

“Of course y/n, its my job.” he responds, softly.

The two of you finish your food, and König drives you to your apartment. After asking him to spend the night, he more than happily agrees. The rest of the night is spent still worrying about your roommates, but finally once everyone is home. You all have a talk in the living room. And König is there, waiting for you in your room when you are done. Drama taken care of, supportive partner, and mind at ease, you finally rest your tired body and mind, cuddled up next to König.

teehee hope you liked it, i have a couple more requests in my inbox that will be out soon! in the meantime if anyone wants anything else, don't be afraid to ask :)

#könig #könig x reader #könig cod #konig smut #konig x reader #call of duty smut #call of duty modern warfare #cod mw2 #konig mw2 #konig cod #könig blurb #könig imagine #könig x you #konig blurb #konig imagine #fluff #cute #anxiety #sfw

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eiilese · 10 months

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Love the designs and descriptions you did for the straw hats!! I do want to ask, since they all have different roles and skills do they meet the crew at different points in the story? Like, since Robin is the shipwright would she have met the crew at Water 7 or would it still be Alabasta but under different circumstances? Since she’s not an archeologist she wouldn’t have been raised on O’Hara, right?

Just curious to see what your thoughts are😊 - thanks.

thank you so much for the ask!! sorry this took so long to answer it took awhile to gather my ideas. i’m so happy with how well this au thing was received ;u; TY to people who left tags and replies!! i read everything 🫶

here is the original post for role swap! this post has explanations for backstories! i really did try to have drawings to go with everything but i burned out as this month went on so not every character has doodles :(

—

i kept everything mostly the same in terms of when the strawhats meet each person. i didn’t want to change too much to avoid changing important character moments that happen in canon

this isn’t a super heavy rewrite, there’s a lot of backstory to juggle and i’m not equipped to write such an in-depth au rn 😭 but i might make separate posts for arcs like water 7 or wci!! though i kept a lot of backstory the same theres a lot of rewrite potential for those sagas

i hope these are fun to read about nonetheless ^_^ i included some stuff from @flute-of-pan pan and @onethousandsunnies because they left tags on the original post that were cool ideas

nami, vice capt.

not much changes!! instead of forcing her to chart maps, arlong might just have her around as a servant girl. regardless, the deal to buy back cocoyashi village still stands and nami works hard for it

generally i think her selflessness and loyalty to her village makes her fit to be a vice captain. she looks out for people at her own detriment and was willing to take the fall for such much ahhh

in my opinion she’s good vice captain material!! perhaps a cowardly one but still reliable. also a good treasurer for the crew as always

zoro, cook

zoro grew up training to be a swordsman and competes against kuina, but he also has a knack for cooking as a hobby. he’s mostly the same but sanji’s “stuck on a rock in the middle of the ocean with zeff” happens to him instead (flute-of-pan suggested the cook always suffers the fate of starvation)

kuina decides to run away and zoro is roped into her plans. it goes wrong and they get stranded on a rock, eventually arguing and ending up on opposite sides of the rock with the little food they brought

zoro finds out kuina gave him everything they had soon after she stops replying to him. he’s rescued thanks to kuina’s dad, who tracked them down with vivre cards. kuina’s had long since burned up

similar to canon, zoro continues striving to become the world’s strongest after her death. i think this backstory coupled with him eating those stomped riceballs at the very beginning of the story is so��.(GESTURE) it’s very reminiscent of sanji’s no-waste-policy which he would absolutely also have

sanji, sniper

germa 66 has a mafia aesthetic now 👍i only have the willpower to draw reiju here she ended up kind of cluttered but i like my vision

sanji’s backstory is mostly the same: he and his siblings are genetically modified to be the perfect soldiers, but he had a kind nature that made him the target of abuse. after reiju helps him escape, he ends up with zeff and worked as a janitor. zeff loses his leg while trying to save sanji in a maritime accident; though they don’t get stranded anywhere, sanji has to be indebted to him somehow

when the baratie is opened, he works as a busser/guard against unruly guests. flute-of-pan mentioned that he could fire the canons of the ship

when the strawhats meet him on the baratie, sanji still gives don krieg’s crew food. i don’t think his kindness around that would disappear just bc he doesn’t have a whole starving incident

usopp, navigator

on top of bluffing about being the leader of a huge pirate army, he would create fake maps and brag to everyone in syrup village (especially kaya) about these places he so evidently visited. kaya loved his drawings even if the places weren’t real

his dream is to create a Real map of the whole world, not a fake map that he makes up out of stories. drafting the real world makes him a brave explorer of the seas, which he also wants to become :)

when the strawhats meet him, they were basically relying on nami’s limited sailing skills to get around. not only do they get the going merry but they have a real, reliable navigator now! AND he’s multitalented B)

chopper, helmsman

from a young age he set his sights on sailing the seas to escape from the isolation he faced on drum island. he would routinely make little boats for himself to escape the island on, failing each time, and hiriluk would always nurse him back to health

instead of studying to be a doctor, chopper has a general desire to be helpful and acted as an assistant to hiriluk’s medical endeavors

both flute-of-pan and onethousandsunnies pitched that chopper studied stuff like ocean currents!! overall he studied the ocean real hard but would never leave the island without hiriluk

hiriluk’s death would glue him to doctor kureha’s side and it isn’t until the strawhats come that he has the courage to embark on a new journey

franky, muscian

bro grew up running around water 7 trying to get people to join his band. tom and iceberg are still his family. his shipbuilding skills don’t go past an amateur level in this au. he would develop a line of dinky guitars (or instruments in general) that also had lasers/canons/confetti in them. his dream is A FRANKY WORLD TOUR 🤞FREE ADMISSION

many of his weaponized instruments littered the shipyard, spandam uses them in his attack

after the whole tom/spandam situation unfolds, iceberg is the one to find and reconstruct franky into a cyborg after getting run over by the sea train. but he won’t implement piano key abs no matter how much franky asks 🙄

the newly formed franky family protect the city and throw unsolicited concerts in the middle of the street B)

robin, shipwright

though she’s not an archeologist, she still grew up on ohara! instead of archeology, she’s a gifted engineer. her devil fruit made her an outcast and her strange, misunderstood inventions did not help her case

when jaguar d saul gets stranded on ohara, robin constructs the raft for him :) the buster call unfolds the same as canon except this time, everyone’s actually not lying when they say robin can’t read poneglyphs! she never learned!! again flute-of-pan had the cool idea that she is wrongly accused. still, she’s pursued and branded as a devil child

she ends up with crocodile, who believes she can read poneglyphs. she takes advantage of this and earns his protection from the government but her ruse is uncovered when she lies to croc about what alabasta’s poneglyph says (girl cannot read that!)

robin dreams of creating a ship that can carry her and the friends she wishes to have. after meeting robin in alabasta she joins the strawhats!!

brook, doctor

he was the doctor of the rumbar pirates. an injured laboon came to like brook after he nursed him back to health!! when yorki became sick from disease brook tried his hardest to cure him, but failed :(

he was doomed to watch his crewmates die to poison that he cannot hope to cure because he himself was also dying. when he came back thru his fruit it was already too late :( the rumbar pirates Do record a song for laboon though this event cannot be edited 🤞

met in thriller bark; ik that’s a long ass time to go without a real doctor on board

by the time they meet brook everyone’s already so battered that he has to go to town on them with gauze and stitches. the company delights him ^_^

jinbei, archeologist

i mentioned this in the first post abt this au but his interest in history sparked thanks to the history of joyboy and fishman island being so intertwined. at some point in his youth, jinbei frequently visited ohara (prior to the buster call) and grew a strong relationship with the scholars there (i’m just assuming they wouldn’t be racists 🤪) he runs into robin a handful of times

he secretly learns how to read poneglyphs here leading up to the buster call. he wasn’t on the island when it happened so he managed to avoid robin’s fate

his story proceeds the same from there with the neptune army, joining fisher tiger, meeting koala, etc…

i enjoy the idea of getting invited to be a warlord by the government while simultaneously being one of the most wanted people in the world for knowing poneglyph secrets

—

also i’m sorry if there are things i forgot about or details that don’t make sense >—>o

the anime’s pacing has ruined my enthusiasm for awhile lol and i’ve consumed a lot of media since catching up!! everyone’s backstories/canon events aren’t too fresh in my memory but i did some researching to remedy it 🫡

#one piece #art #ei98 art #one piece usopp #nico robin #one piece fanart #roronoa zoro #monkey d. luffy #nami #franky one piece #one piece brook #one piece jinbe #tony tony chopper #one piece sanji #vinsmoke reiju #role swap au

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williamkisser · 9 days

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🐟> A Poem Worth of Remembering: Orpheus x reader

[🎣] word count: 1371

[🎣] warnings: g/n reader, fic turning into headcanons, fluffy, ooc Orpheus, i don’t even write for him ⚰️⚰️

[🎣] author’s note: Lord… it’s been SO much time since my last fic. I’m very sorry for the break since so much stuff happened both in real life as well as here (rip in piss, williaml0ver account </3) I originally had slightly diffrent plans for my comeback post yet i simply couldn’t miss this wonderful opportunity. Happy birthday to my AMAZING POOKIE which i dedicate this fic to! Thank you for being the first person to welcome and support me on here:)

EVERYBODY SAY HAPPY BIRTHDAY @fishermanshook @octopaii !!

Ah…?

You slowly woke up after what it seems like a long nap. Nobody would be surprised, however! Who WOULDN’T be tired after such a romantic date? Oh yes… you get it now. Earlier today, your dear long time boyfriend, the novelist Orpheus took you into a forest near Oletus Manor - you felt slightly confused until you noticed a big table and two chairs with fancy carvings on them, surrounded by many roses and carefully placed decorations. That’s how he wanted to celebrate the birthday of the love of his life, in solitude and peace. He truly appreciated privacy.

Orpheus, surprisingly, never was the type of person who’d be very extravagant, despite the funds from his art certainly made him one of the wealthier people in the manor. Whenever your birthday was approaching, you’d wake up to a breakfast in bed, with thoughtful note attached. Later that day, you’d receive a trinket, such as a small necklace, sometimes even a special poem. He’s someone who wants to make his partner feel special all the time, not only on some occasions, hence the birthday gifts were never exactly all over the place, lavish gestures, not like if you mind, of course. What was possibly be the reason for this exception today?

Whatever the cause was, you felt flabbergasted. A nice, warm noon you could spend with your boyfriend. It was all yours, you could discuss everything, not worrying he’d go away to focus on his work. Today it’s all about you. You’ve spend so much time together, simply talking about worries, hopes, thoughts… life, at some point you both didn’t even notice a few hours already passed. Well, they say, if you don’t feel the time passing, you must be very happy. That was indeed true. After all, you decided to head back. As much as you wish this moment could last forever, you kept feeling sleepier with each moment. You insisted on helping him clean the place, but he assured you not to worry about it. The novelist took your hand and leaded you to your dorm while gently caressing your palm. You couldn’t even feel the butterflies in your stomach anymore, yawn after yawn, your replies to him kept getting less specific and detailed.

Even the sunshowers peaking through windows couldn’t awake your senses. Orpheus whispered sweet nothings into your ears before nicely tucking you in, leaving the room after giving you a small peck on both of your cheeks. You had no idea that when he closed the doors, he instantly began completing his secret plan.

A performance.

Oh yes… few minutes after waking up you started slowly gaining consciousness again. You’re feeling awfully nasty after sleeping in your prettiest clothes, but it was all worth it, wasn’t it? One way or another, you got up and took a sip of water to ease your dry throat. You couldn’t help but notice a pink card laying on the table. It wasn’t there before. Picking it up, you noticed something strange - it’s an acting performance leaflet, a very fancy one too. Seems like it’s also been scented, the smell of vanilla is very refreshing. But who are the actors? As far as you remember, there are no actors in the manor… well… at least REAL actors… who would be performing? Surprisingly enough, the stage is marked for today, just in like… an hour? You felt actually intrigued - the information given were too vague to figure the theme out, until… hold on! Looking at the bottom of the card, you notice it stating that there’s a special invitation… on top of that, you’d recognize this handwriting everywhere.

You quickly connected the dots. The small description talking about the plot of this play is strangely similiar to one of your boyfriend’s novels. He specifically mentioned he based the main characters on him and you. The realization hits you almost instantly. Orpheus brought one of his novels to life for your birthday. Jesus. You frantically started putting on some elegant clothing, making a huge mess in your wardrobe at the same time. We’ll take care of that later. Either way, seems like Orpheus carefully considered every possible obstacle, as you waking up too late, for example. Just when you were about to decide which shoes to wear, you heard knocking on your door. Strangely, when you opened it, no one was standing in front of them. Or so it seems?

🎣

🐟 Orpheus would send Robbie to lead you to the event. He didn’t specify the place where the performance will be happening. He’s got it all planned.

🐟 The axe boy is wearing a small, green suit with a red bow tie. He looks adorable!

🐟 Robbie doesn’t waste any time and keeps pointing at the huge grandfather clock to remind you to hurry. When you’re ready, he holds your hand and begins to lead you. You have to keep leaning so you can reach his hand. Feels uncomfortable to bend this way, but hey, at least now you know where to go.

🐟 To be frank, you were convinced the stage will be placed somewhere in the manor, but little did you know. You gave Robbie a confused stare when he kept walking towards a forest. His silence wasn’t helping you, either. You wouldn’t complain that much if you knew what’s coming next. Your heart nearly dropped when instead of avoiding that one scary cave, you were forced to enter it. Are you getting abducted?

🐟 You decided to not question Robbie anymore, however, you really wanted to. When you saw that the particular corridor you were in was divided by a huge underground lake. In order to get to the other edge, you had to use the boat. What’s worse, you noticed two silhouettes already standing on it. Robbie kept leading you there. Closer and closer. My God. It’s over.

🐟 While entering the boat, you’ve already repeated a few prayers in your mind and apologize to everyone who’s been ever hurt by you. But, to your surprise, the two new faces were actually very, VERY familiar. The man holding the oars was wearing a long cape. Yet, when he turned around, everything clicked. It was all Orpheus’ plan. Turns out the scary and mysterious man who was about to get rid of you for good was Naib himself. And his companion? The man holding the old map knowing the best places to hide you in? No other than Jose.

🐟 Robbie paid Naib with chocolate money. When the cruise began, Jose started to act like a real officer and kept ordering Naib. He seemed very annoyed. You’re sure he owed Orpheus something serious, because there’s no way he’d agree to this without anything in reward.

🐟 You all continued walking after arriving to the second end of the lake. Later on, you were approaching a huge, open area. The only trouble was that, sadly, the light couldn’t reach there. It was all dark, yet Jose encouraged you to go further.

🐟 You began taking small steps, at the same time noticing that the boys are standing behind you. You almost felt like they’re sacrificing you for some ancient deity. You’re heart was again beating like crazy, until light suddenly filled the entire place.

🐟 Your heart dropped, but this time because of the wonderful sight. To your surprise, this scary cave had a small theater inside! It was filled with decorations and most importantly, with other survivors and hunters from the manor. Everyone rushed to wish you a happy birthday!

🐟 The only person you didn’t see yet was Orpheus. That will change soon. Jose led you to the theater seats. He specifically made sure that you arrive to the VIP one. Shortly after, everyone took their seats, except a few people. You assumed they were hired to be the actors.

🐟 The show finally started. It began with Orpheus and his speech about his play as well as his partner’s impact on it. You felt absolutely moved. When the story started, he was the one narrating it. It contained so much references only you and him could understand. Some scenes were even based on real events. You felt absolutely touched by his gesture.

🐟 When Orpheus falls, he falls hard.

First of all i’m sorry for the random fic-hcs mashup i’m aware this is rushed but i sadly don’t have time yet i really wanted to do something on your birthday 😔😔 i HOPE YOU HAVE A GREAT DAY!!!! LOVE YOU!!!

#idv #identity v #idv x reader #orpheus #idv orpheus #orpheus x reader #identity v x reader #idv hcs #idv novelist

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typical-simplelove · 4 months

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Hidden Words (R. Spiers)

Summary: Ron comes home from the war, wanting quiet and solitude, but when a friend from his childhood saves him when he needs it, a new friendship is formed. What happens when the lines are blurred and demands are made? Can Ron recognize he can have peace and quiet amidst the noise?

Author's Note: This is my Secret Santa fic for @latibvles. Thank you for bearing with me, and I'm sorry this took a moment. Between the end of the semester and the jump right into the family and holiday stuff, I've barely had time to breathe. Nonetheless, here it is, and I hope you like it!

Warnings: implied!female reader; mentions of the war (canon typical); mentions of having/wanting children in the future;

Word Count: 6.9k

Ever since he returned home, his mother continuously tried to step him up on a date. She didn’t understand that he didn’t want that; no part of him was ready to date. For starters, how could he explain the things he’d seen—done—in the war to anyone, especially someone he should be spending the rest of his life with?

Besides, he doesn’t think it’s worth it to spend all this time working on opening himself up and getting to know someone only for the relationship not to work out. There’s no point in trying to make something work when he knows it won’t.

But his mother wants grandkids, so he can’t say that to her.

Since he came home from the war, it’s as if the entire world is dead-set on producing the next generation. While Ron sees no flaws in that, he doesn’t want to partake. It’s not that he doesn’t want kids; it’s the process of finding someone to have children with. The time and effort weren’t worth it to him if it could fall apart—either by war or personal faults.

But his mother wants this for him, and he can never say no to his mother.

Presently, Ron and his family are on their way to a block party, hosted by a couple of families down the road. He remembers the names—some of the people he grew up with.

As they get closer, he starts to feel the anxiety building up. Everywhere he goes where people remember him from his childhood, they immediately begin to thank him for his service and want him to tell his stories. While he knows they have good intentions, he’s not always in the mood to talk about his experiences overseas, and sometimes, he would prefer to pretend they never happened.

As expected, once they arrive at the small corner of the neighborhood where the party is being hosted, he’s surrounded by people who want to hear his stories and tales. There are so many voices, making different requests, that he isn’t able to pipe in and ask to have this conversation another time.

He looks around for his mother, but she’s nowhere to be found. First, she drags him to this gathering; then, she leaves him alone. He shakes his head, frustrated.

“Excuse me,” a voice pipes in from being Ron. “I need to borrow him for a moment.”

Their hand intertwines with Ron and begins to pull him towards one of the houses. The moment is so hurried that he doesn’t have a chance to look at the person who’s dragging him away—his savior.

He’s so shocked and confused that he doesn’t register to which house they’re heading towards. He doesn’t register the familiar steps of stairs or the familiar room he’s in or the recognizable bed he’s sat on.

“Hi,” Ron says when he finally recognizes that you’re his savior, and you brought him up to your childhood room. “Long time no see.”

You snort. “Yeah, well, there was this war in Europe; did you know about that?”

“Vaguely,” he replies, a small smile begging to be released. He can’t remember the last time he smiled. “Thanks for saving me.”

You nod. “You look horrified, and as much as that amuses me, I figured today wasn’t the day to be bombarded.”

Living just down the street from each other, your family and his family often interacted. For a while, your lives orbited around each other. There was nowhere you went where Ron didn’t follow closely behind. He was your shadow, just being happy to be around you, soaking in your aura and liveliness.

He would spend hours of his days with you, and if he wasn’t with you, he was thinking about you or talking about you to anyone who would listen.

By the time you both reached high school, your friendship wasn’t socially acceptable anymore, so you and Ron drifted. Anyone who knew Ron before high school would say that a part of him died or drifted away when you both stopped being friends. A chunk of his soul, personality, and heart was chiseled out, waiting to be put back when you returned.

By the time Ron went off to war, you were pretty much strangers to each other. But, even if he didn’t know it, there were still parts of him that longed for you.

Sitting on your childhood bed, looking at you as you organize all the guests’ belongings that were scattered around your room, small parts of the missing pieces of himself started to be pieced back together.

“Are you okay?” you ask him, a curious and amused look in your eyes.

He nods.

Deep down, he knew he wasn’t letting the friendship go again.

. . .

“I didn’t have the chance to make anything, so I just went to the store,” Ron apologizes as he begins to take out food containers and lays them out on the picnic blanket.

“You were going to cook? Wait, actually, you know how to cook?”

He gives you a faint eye roll. “Yes, I’m not entirely helpless, by the way. But also, my mom has been trying to domesticate me in the event I decide to settle down. That’s been her post-war plan for me.”

You nod, ignoring the small pitter-patter of your heart. What would it be like to live with a domesticated Ron?

Whoa, you’re not sure where those thoughts stem from, but as he opens up the containers and begins to make you a plate of your favorites, you couldn’t help but wonder. He took the initiative in planning this. He was never late, and if he was going to be late, he made sure to communicate it. He was always conscientious about your feelings and what you wanted to do. He was just—

Were your standards that low, or was Ron just genuinely that great?

“What was it like?”

“What was what like?” Ron inquires in between bites.

“The war, being overseas.”

In a matter of seconds, Ron’s entire body tenses up, and you see the muscles in his neck tighten. “I would rather not talk about that.”

You nod. “What about the people you served with?”

“Don’t,” Ron replies, sharp and pointed.

“I shouldn’t have asked, sorry.” You wanted to know, but you understood why he wouldn’t want to share this information with you. It wasn’t an easy experience or an easy topic to discuss. But did that give him the right to be that rude and abrasive with you?

“I shouldn’t have responded the way I did, though, and I apologize for that.”

“It’s okay,” you reply.

A few minutes of awkward and heavy silence follows. The only sounds are the other families laughing and talking as they take in the nice weather. Now, you feel incredibly bad for bringing it up, but a part of you feels almost rejected. He doesn’t feel comfortable enough around you to open up.

The only way you know to end this weirdness is to talk about stories from the people around you, so you dive into the stories of people in the neighborhood and work, throwing in little quips and jokes. It takes a minute for Ron’s icy exterior to melt, but soon, he’s laughing along with your jokes and making small comments here and there.

Despite the way he’s interacting in the conversation, you can’t help but feel that he’s holding back from you, still. It’s almost as if he doesn’t feel at ease with you right now.

But then he flashes you one of his brightest and rarest smiles and the way his eyes sparkle as he looks at you and the sunlight shrouding him in a glow sets your entire body on fire. He was always known for being guarded, so you shouldn’t be surprised he’s holding back from the difficult conversations with you. But he doesn’t smile like that for anyone, right? So that has to mean something.

He means something to you.

Yeah, you’re screwed.

. . .

All he said was to come to dinner. You didn’t know what to expect, but all he said was to come to dinner, and no, you shouldn’t bring anything, despite your insistence. Just yourself, he said.

Just yourself.

Those words echoed in your mind for the days and the hours that passed between him asking you to come and you arriving at his doorstep.

Just yourself.

You’re not someone who often reads into things, especially when it comes to things with romantic feelings involved. For the sake of self-preservation, you didn’t let yourself read into things, but with Ron, you couldn’t help yourself. With every interaction you have with him, you so badly want it to be more.

Does Ron asking you to go to his mom’s house for family dinner mean something, or are you supposed to go only as friends?

The spiraling and spinning thoughts don’t stop as Ron welcomes you into the house, takes your jacket, and you shrug off your shoes. Did his fingers linger on your shoulders for a brief moment? Did he hug you a little longer than necessary, than normal? Did he give you a small smile, his eyes twinkling with a purpose? Did he treat everyone else this way, or were you special?

You so badly wanted to be special.

As the night went on and you were reintroduced to Ron’s family that you remember from when you were growing up, you pretended not to recognize the curious and interesting looks they gave you and Ron. You ignored the way their eyes drifted to where his hand was guiding you on your back or the way his hands rested on your shoulders when he was introducing you to someone. You ignored their pointed looks as he whispered in your ears every now and then or the looks he gave you.

No one wanted to say it or ask it, fearing the glare Ron would send them.

As much as you wanted them to ask or say something, you didn’t want to know what he would say. You didn’t want your worst fears to be confirmed.

“No,” Ron says, interrupting your thoughts as you make your way to the dinner table, finding a seat on one end of the table, not near where Ron was sitting. He rests his hands on your waist and guides you toward the other end of the table where he’s sitting next to his mom.

“I can sit there.”

“No.”

“Ron—”

“Don’t make me carry you over there. I want to sit next to you.”

“Okay,” you reply softly, ignoring the pitter-patter of your heart with the meaning of his words.

As the meal progresses, you’re sitting, chatting with the people around you, and you nearly jump out of your chair when Ron’s arm goes to rest along your shoulders. No way you can’t read into that, right? Ron’s not known for being a touchy person. That’s how it was growing up, but recently, with you, you can’t help but wonder if that reputation no longer exists for him—at least not with you. He was constantly trying to have some part of his body against yours, but was that something you could read into?

Your thoughts are interrupted when one of Ron’s aunts calls your name from somewhere across from you. “Are you single?”

You nod, taken aback. “Waiting for the right person to come along.”

“Well, if Ron isn’t going to do anything and give you an honest life, I have a few children and nieces and nephews who can and will.”

“Um, thank you.” You’re not sure how to respond to Ron’s aunt, but you look toward the man in question, trying to see what his reaction will be.

He gives you a small, courteous smile, a smile he never uses with you, a smile he only reserves for those he doesn’t want to talk to. He never uses that smile on you, but tonight, he did. “You can do whatever you want with your romantic life. We’re friends, right?”

Oh.

“Right,” you reply, turning your head away from him and back to your plate.

There goes that.

The way you turned away from him made Ron’s heart drop. You’ve never turned away from him like that, so dejected. The normal fire and spirit you have with Ron disappeared. He watched the sparkle in your eyes die right there in from of him. But he doesn’t know where he went wrong. You’re allowed to do whatever you want; he will never try to control you. He was just telling his nosey aunt the truth. You’re friends, and you can date whomever you want—not that any of his cousins were good enough for you.

The rest of the night continued, but a nagging feeling pulled at his heart as a deep pit opened in his stomach, and he had no idea where it came from. All he knows is that as he watched you help his mother with the dishes, the string on his heart pulled against him, warming his body in places he never knew possible. As he watched you do puzzles with his younger cousins, he couldn’t help the warm fuzzy feeling that he felt to the tips of his fingers.

When you hugged him goodbye, he knew he never wanted to let you go. He wanted to hold you against his body forever—keeping you safe from the world.

Ron couldn’t explain the agony in his body as he watched you walk to your car and drive away.

Maybe he wouldn’t mind spending the rest of his life with you. He wouldn’t mind making his life for you.

Well, what does that mean?

. . .

Ron’s mother was at her reading club for the night, so Ron invited you over for dinner. He promised a “home-cooked meal, don’t give me that face,” and it excited you. Despite your realized feelings for the man, you can’t help but want to spend your time with him. You know that nothing will ever come of your feelings for Ron, but you can’t stay away from your friend. The happiness it brings you is indescribable.

But you have an exit plan when you feel yourself getting too much in your head (and delusional) around Ron.

Setting boundaries, you promised yourself. That was the only way you’d be able to spend time around him and not go crazy, breaking your heart.

As Ron welcomes you into his mother’s home, the smells from the kitchen hit your nose, and you’re instantly warm and fuzzy as if you’ve been wrapped in a warm blanket. Once your coat and shoes are off, Ron takes your hand and guides you toward the kitchen, giving you a soft smile as he watches you walk through his childhood home.

You’ve been down this hallway, seeing all the pictures of little Ron, many, many times, but there’s something different about it now for Ron. There’s a new meaning and feeling to it for him.

But he just chalks it up to being happy that it’s finally peacetime. That he can enjoy moments like these without the fear of being bombed or killed. The people and things most important to him are safe.

“Penne-vodka,” Ron answers when you inquire about what you’re making.

Your favorite, you think to yourself, trying to hide the toothy smile begging to be released.

“Your favorite, right?” he asks, a small twinkle in the corner of his eyes. You give him a small nod, and Ron can’t help the triumphant, happy feeling deep in his chest.

Ron turns back to the stove, stirring the pot, and you take the time to watch him cook. He’s different than high school, and as your eyes roam over his body, you’re appreciative of the changes his body has undertaken since graduating. The very good changes.

“Have you talked to anyone from our graduating class since being back?” you ask after a few minutes of silence.

“Not really,” he replies, short and to the point. “It’s not something I’m too keen on.”

“Why’s that?” you question in between bites of bread.

He shrugs, ending the conversation there.

Right, that’s Ron’s new thing. If he doesn’t want to talk about something, he’ll shut down. These conversations only happen on his time—which means never. While you understand that some topics may be too difficult for him to talk about, you wish it wasn’t so hard to talk with him. Often, you were the one who was starting the conversation, pretty much begging for Ron to say something. You knew he was engaged in the conversation because he maintained constant eye contact, laughed at your jokes, smiled at the appropriate times, and nodded when needed. But it felt like you were the only one who made an effort to talk. Sure, Ron was a quiet person, but there’s a difference between being a quiet person and letting the conversation be one-sided.

Besides, it was you. If Ron couldn’t talk to you, then he couldn’t talk to anyone. Or was it that he wouldn’t talk?

Why did it hurt you that Ron kept his words hidden and tucked away from you? You were supposed to be one of the people he trusted the most, so why couldn’t he untuck those words with you?

As you help Ron set the table to eat, you recall the time a few weeks back when you went to Ron’s for a family dinner. You remember that he didn’t say anything really to his relatives. While that made you feel slightly better, it didn’t fully appease your feelings. At least you knew that it wasn’t just you that he held back with, but then again, it was you, and there was no change.

As the meal continues, you put your confusion and doubts to the side. It didn’t matter his lack of talking or conversation because the safety, comfort, and warmth you felt around Ron significantly outweighed the talking issue. Even if you only got friendship out of him, you knew that you couldn’t go the rest of your life without the way he made you feel.

He made you feel safe and loved (even if platonically), and that by far was one of the most important things to you about finding a partner—romantically or platonically.

The rest of the night passed in quiet moments and short conversations, but it was never awkward. That’s how Ron was. There was no need to compensate for the lack of conversation because the quiet wasn’t awkward. It was secure and calm. It was the kind of quiet that came from years and years of learning and growing around the person you loved.

Well, shit, you chose to ignore that.

When it was about time for you to head home, you began to voice a goodbye, and Ron led you towards the front door where he helped you put on your coat.

“Wait, hold on,” Ron says as you’re putting on your shoes. “I have something for you.”

He quickly makes his back to the kitchen and comes back with a tray of food. You already had a large container filled with leftover Penne vodka, so you’re confused about what he was now handing you.

“I made you mac and cheese,” he tells you softly, the cheeks and the tips of his ears tinged red. “You can either put it all in the oven at once, or heat up chunks separately. I don’t know why I told you that because I’m sure you know how to cook for yourself. Anyway, I’ll help you take it out to your car.”

You can’t help the silly smile that takes over your face. You try to fight it, but the smile is there if Ron’s reddening face is any indication. You’ve wanted this boy to talk to you, and by the time you finally get him to say more than two sentences to you, he’s a stern, babbling, blushing mess. It was cute.

“Thank you, Ron,” you tell him, the smile heard in your voice. He nods and makes his way to put on his shoes and walk you to your car.

With the food and leftovers securely placed in your backseat, you and Ron linger at the driver’s side door. You’re leaning against the car as Ron stands close to you, towering over both you and the car. His eyes are searching your face for any indication of what to do next.

“Thank you for having me and cooking for me,” you finally say. You didn’t want to leave, but it was getting late, and his mother will be home soon.

“You’re always welcome here,” he tells you, his eyes sincere and honest. You nod. Without thinking, you lean forward and briefly kiss Ron on his cheek, your lips burning when you pull away, but it’s not any comparison to the way his cheek burns around where you kissed him. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice the way Ron’s hand stiffens into a fist as he processes what just happened. His breath is shaky and fast as you pull back, and his eyes are in a daze.

This time, you’re able to hide your smile as Ron’s face turns crimson red.

“I’ll see you soon,” you tell him, unlocking your car and getting ready to leave. “Good night.”

Ron stands there in a daze as you drive away, too confused to move. He’s standing there, unsure of what just happened and why his body reacts the way it did.

When his mother returns home almost twenty minutes later, Ron is still standing there.

“Is everything okay?” she asks as she walks over to Ron. That seems to mostly pull him out of his daze.

“She kissed me,” is all he says, and his mother smiles.

“You’re a lucky guy.”

He nods. “Very lucky.”

If only he could control his body temperature and heartbeat then maybe he’d be able to figure out what just happened.

. . .

“Do you remember Arden from middle school?” you prompt, your heart tugging at the meaning of your words.

Ron thinks for a moment, his thumb drawing circles around your ankle. You’re sitting on the couch in the living room of his mother’s home. She’s out, so you feel comfortable resting against one of the armrests, your feet in Ron’s lap. You’re reading a book. The minute your legs rested in Ron’s lap, he placed his arms on your ankles, tracing small patterns, leaving trails of fire in his fingertips’ wake.

“Yes,” Ron voices, his tone neutral. He doesn’t know where this is going, but if it’s going where he thinks it’s going, he’s not going to appreciate it.

“They asked me out,” you say after a few moments.

“Why are you telling me this?” Ron asks, terser than you expected. You’re taken aback by his response.

“Because you’re my friend—one of my best friends—and we tell each other things,” you reply. “Well, at least I tell you things.”

“What does that mean?” Ron asks, him now taken aback.

“It means you don’t tell me anything. I know nothing about your life since we finished high school, and what I do know, your parents have told me. It’s not fair for me to be the only one to share things! I don’t exist as a form of entertainment for you.”

“That’s not fair.”

You know it’s not entirely fair.

“I don’t have to share what the war was like for me,” Ron spits back. But that’s not what you’re referencing, and deep down, you know that he knows that, too.

“It’s not just that,” you reply. “I’m not talking about that. You’re not required to tell me anything about your time in the war, and that’s not what I’m asking for. There’s so much more to your life that you choose not to tell me about. It’s not fair or right that I’m an open book, and you take it all in, not giving anything back in return.”

“Don’t do that.”

“You know everything about me, and I know pretty much nothing about you, and I’m tired of that.” A deep sigh leaves your mouth. “You don’t need to tell me everything, but I shouldn’t be disappointed in the lack of open communication between us. It’s as if you don’t trust me.”

“How can you say that? I trust you more than anyone else in this world!” Ron hears the rise in the volume of his voice. He leans back on the couch, trying to stop himself from yelling because you’re right. He doesn’t share much with you. As much as he wants to share with you, he can never get himself to say anything, and it’s not just about the war. He’s holding back; he knows he is.

“I’m going to leave.”

“No, please, don’t,” Ron pleads. Despite this, he releases his hold on your ankles. He won’t hold you back despite how badly he wants to.

“You have no idea how much you mean to me, Ron.” It’s a thinly veiled confession of love, and you know Ron picks up on it, but you know he won’t say anything or give you a response.

“What makes you think I want that?” So, he was going to address it, but it still got you fuming.

“I don’t! That’s the whole point! You don’t talk to me, so I have no idea what’s going on in your mind! I don’t want to waste my time, but I don’t want to spend my time with anyone else but you!”

You’re staring at him, begging for him to say something, anything. If he told you it was all in your head, you’d believe him. All he needed to say was anything, but you know he won’t. That’s not the kind of person Ron is. He has his walls up; he always has. The war only reinforced them, and while you can’t blame him for keeping things to himself, you can’t help but feel that your worth in his eyes diminished because of his lack of want to share. It’s almost as if you don’t mean as much to him as he means to you. It’s as if you’re more invested than he is in this relationship—platonic or romantic.

It’s not fair to think those thoughts, but he’s not saying anything to you. He’s not making you feel any better. If he really cared for you in any way, he would say something, right? Ron’s perceptive. He very likely has a clue to what you’re feeling, but you also know he won’t say anything. He stays away from uncomfortable conversations because he isn’t comfortable having them.

“I’m going to leave, now,” you finally decide. “It’s not fair for me to keep hanging around when I clearly don’t mean that much to you.”

“You’re wrong,” Ron spills, reaching out to gently grab your hand. You know that he could have held you tighter, but he didn’t. That makes your heart melt, despite the conclusions you’re gathering tonight. He’s giving you the ability to walk away.

“Tell me why.” You’re looking deep into his eyes, and you want to read into all the looks he’s giving you, but you won’t. Not anymore.

A few minutes pass where you’re looking at him, silently begging him to say something.

“I’m leaving now. Please don’t contact me unless you genuinely understand where I’m coming from or why I’m doing this.” With that, you shake your hand out of Ron’s hold, walking away from him, your heart breaking with every step you take.

As he watches you walk out the door, fuming in anger, confusion, and frustration, Ron can’t help but wonder if he let the best love of his life walk away forever.

. . .

A few days pass, and Ron feels a deep aching in his soul. He watches the phone for hours, begging and hoping you’ll call. He knows you won’t call. He knows the cards are in his hands. That doesn’t mean he knows what to do.

Well, he knows what to do, but he doesn’t know if he’s capable of carrying it out.

Ron doesn’t know where to start.

There’s so much of what you said that’s bothering him, but he can’t tell why it’s bothering him. Maybe it’s because of the way your words pierced a hole through his heart, but then again, there are so many other feelings and things that only came out in his heart, mind, stomach, and body whenever you were around. Are those things connected?

The first thing that made his blood boil and had Ron seeing red was the idea of you going on a date with someone. In theory, the person who asked you out (they who shall not be named) isn’t objectively a bad person, but Ron just doesn’t want you with them. Why would you spend your time with they who shall not be named when you can spend your time with Ron? He doesn’t understand why he’s feeling this angry about you spending your time with someone else.

It’s a date, Ron tries to reason with himself. I can’t give that to her.

But could he?

Those thoughts ran through his mind one night at 2 am when Ron couldn’t fall asleep. Could he give you all of your wants and desires romantically? Could he find it in himself to give you a life with more than just friendship? Objectively, Ron knows that out of all the people in the world, you’re the best option to build a life with, and you’re the only person Ron knows he can handle. But that’s not fair to you, to be the last resort (or is it the best resort? Ron hasn’t gotten there, yet.) or someone to “handle.”

The thought of spending the rest of his life with you freaks him, but it also comforts him. Who knew someone could feel both at the same time? Is this what it means to love someone?

Once he has that singular thought, your other comments spring up in his mind, pushing away any thoughts of love.

It’s not fair or right that I’m an open book, and you take it all in, not giving anything back in return.

The war broke Ron. He was already broken, but the war broke him in ways that he never knew he could break. He’s so broken that he couldn’t imagine subjecting you to that. But that’s my decision to make, Ron, he could hear you saying if he voiced those words to you. And imaginary-you is right. It’s intimately clear that you know what you’d be getting when it comes to Ron, and it would be your choice to choose to make a life with him, but he doesn’t want to hurt you. He knows he can prevent that pain if he keeps you at arm’s length.

But that’s the problem, isn’t it? Ron doesn’t want that. He wants you as close to him as molecularly possible. He wants to stay away, but he can’t. That’s the effect you have on him.

He thinks he has it all figured out, and then he remembers the pain in your eyes as you walked away, and when you said,

It’s not fair for me to keep hanging around when I clearly don’t mean that much to you.

He’s already hurt you. By not having the capacity or the ability to tell you just how much you mean to him, he hurt you. You think you mean nothing to him when the truth is the exact opposite. You are his entire world, the reason his heart keeps beating, and the reason he takes a breath. But it’s gone.

He’s never going to be able to tell you how much you mean to him. He’s never going to tell you how much he loves you.

That thought scares him but also excites him. He’s always been so afraid to think that of himself, but when it’s connected to you, it’s okay. He loves you and knows he’s not good at loving, but somehow, loving you is much better than anything else. He knows that because it’s you, he’ll find a way to fix his shit and be the best possible person for you. But he knows that you won’t let him go and you won’t let him fall. Loving you is the best thing he can do because he found someone who will hold on with their entire being, and Ron knows that he’ll hold onto you with his entire being.

Loving you means that he takes those scary steps in opening up and being vulnerable. For so long, it was ingrained in Ron’s mind and survival that he couldn’t be vulnerable. Now, he’s learned that in some instances, it’s important not to be vulnerable, and in other circumstances, it’s okay to be vulnerable and open. Being vulnerable is okay because there’s someone there who will take your vulnerability and build a wall around you to the point that you’re safe and comfortable.

And Ron knows that person is you.

You’ll take his fragility, emotions, and vulnerability and make it your own. You’ll protect him and love him, and you won’t hurt him because he chose to be fully himself around you.

Because that’s what love does.

Love cures. Love protects. Love endures. But most importantly, love loves.

Ron loves you.

He loves you.

He loves you so wholly that he wants to spill his entire world right at your feet. He wants to lay everything at your feet, but he knows it will take time and patience. He knows that you’re that person who will let him get there, and he knows that he’ll love you for it and make it worth your while to give him the time and the way to be vulnerable.

For a moment, Ron’s scared that maybe he lost his chance with you, but then he remembers something you said that struck him deep in his heart, not knowing the effect it had:

I don’t want to waste my time, but I don’t want to spend my time with anyone else but you!

He knows it’s not guaranteed that you’ll let him back in your life, but he knows he has a small chance. He knows he has a small chance to tell you how much he loves you and to show you that he’s worth it. He’s worth taking a risk for because you’re worth taking a risk for.

You’re worth everything to Ron, and it’s about time he finds the words to tell you.

Maybe all he needs to start with is three little words.

. . .

“You’re right,” Ron blurts out, barely letting you open your door.

“I mean, yeah, but why do you say that?” you say, a small smile on your face despite the conversation you both had a few nights ago.

“That it’s not fair of you to be the only one to share things. I’m not ready to tell you everything, and I don’t know if I ever will be able to tell you some parts of what happened to me, but I want to try. But you’re right, there’s so much more to that than just the war, and it’s not fair of me to have made you feel lesser because I’m not emotionally capable of telling you things or being the person you needed me to be. ”

“Ron—”

This was everything you wanted him to say to you, but does it change anything?

He shakes his head. “If I want to be with you and make a life with you, I shouldn’t be a ghost to you. I shouldn’t be someone you know nothing about.”

“You don’t have to tell me anything you’re uncomfortable with,” you attempt to reassure. “That wasn’t the point.” And that was the truth.

Ron nods, and a small smile tugs at his lips. If only he knew the things he could make you do with just that small smile. “I’ve always been afraid of people knowing too much about me, but I guess the part of falling in love is learning to trust the most important person in your life, and I trust you. I trust you. I want to tell you all the words that are building up in my mind because you’re the only person I want to share them with. I have so many words built up in my mind that it feels like my body will explode. I never wanted to try with anyone else, but you make me want to do better and be better. Even if this goodbye, I’m still going to make an effort for all the people that matter in my life.”

“If it feels like your body is going to explode, maybe you should go to the doctor. That can’t be a good sign.”

A chuckle of disbelief leaves Ron’s mouth as he shakes his head.

“What?” you question. No response follows. Ron gently grabs your upper arm and pushes you into your home as he lets himself inside. Gently and with reluctance, he lets go of your arms and shoves off his shoes.

“I tell you I’m in love with you and I trust you, and the only thing you got from that was maybe I should go to the doctor?”

“Oh, oops.”

“Yeah, oops,” Ron mocks, one of the widest smiles you’ve ever seen stripes his face. “I’m falling in love with you, and I don’t want to lose you.”

“You’re not going to lose me, and you never were going to lose me.”

He shakes his head. “You really know how to make a man’s heart weaken and emasculate him. But I guess I deserve this bit of agony and anguish.”

“I’m not doing anything!”

“I’m telling you I love you, and you keeping skipping over that part.”

“Because you keep saying things that warrant my more imminent response!” you defend.

“You’re doing it again,” Ron points, stepping towards you.

“No, I don’t think so.”

“I’m going to try something,” Ron teases. He’s never teased you before. That was new; it was a new tone to his voice that you wouldn’t mind hearing for the rest of your life.

“What’s that?” your voice shaky. You can’t tell if he can hear you over the rattling of your heart, but by the twinkling in his eyes, you know that he’s in complete control, hoping to elicit a response from you.

“I love you.”

It takes a few seconds for you to register what he’s saying. A few blinks help your visual field clear up. Those three little words wipe the air out of your lungs. The ringing in your ears matches the beat of your heart as you process those three little words. For so long, you’ve been waiting for Ron to utter those three words. You didn’t want to be the first one to say those words. He’s so incredibly guarded that you weren’t sure if you were making up how you felt or how he felt, but now you know. You’ve been waiting so long to hear him finally tell you those three little words, and you have no idea what to do next.

“Hey,” Ron whispers, gently lifting your chin to match his eyeline, taking you out of your thoughts. “What’s going on in your mind? Did I say the wrong thing?”

“What—what did you say?” Your breath is shaky, words finally leaving your lips.

“Do you promise that if I say it again, you promise not to silently spiral?”

“No.”

Ron chuckles. “Fair enough.”

A few seconds pass. You’re looking deep into his eyes. You want to say it to him, but you’re unsure if you dreamed it. But also, the way he said those words, his voice deep and husky did so many things to your body that you needed to hear it again.

“I love you.” A small, nervous smile tugs at his lips as he looks at you expectantly. It takes you a few seconds to get your bearings straight, but when you do, a wide smile overcomes your face, and instantly, Ron knows you’re on the same page as him. In a matter of milliseconds, Ron pulls you against his chest, nuzzling his face against your neck, taking in deep breaths, laced with your calming scent. He’s whispering small “I love you”s into your neck as your arms find their way around his shoulders, your fingers creeping into his hair.

Despite wanting to be in his embrace for the rest of your life, you pull back slightly, your nose resting against his. “I love you,’ you whisper, wanting so badly to close the gap between your lips and kiss him.

“You have no idea how much I love you,” Ron replies, his lips brushing against yours. It doesn’t take much for you both to lean in, closing the gap, resting your lips on each other’s. It’s a soft kiss, hesitant and scary. There are still things that need to be sorted out, but right now, things are alright. Things are okay. The basis and the foundation are there.

You love each other. Without that, nothing else matters. With that, you and Ron can build and develop things from there. With love, all the hidden words will no longer be tucked away, slowly finding their way to the surface.

The future is uncertain, and there’s no telling if this will work out. But because you and Ron love each other, everything and anything is possible. With love, the future is endless.

Fin.

Likes are appreciated; reblogs are better

#hbowarsanta23 #claudia writes #ronald spiers #ron spiers #ronald spiers x reader #ron spiers x reader #ronald spiers imagine #ronald spiers fic #ron spiers imagine #ron spiers fic #hbo war #op: 2023

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familyvideostevie · 21 days

Text

hey.

okay. hello! i'm back. :)

maybe you noticed, maybe not, but i have been away for a while.

i wish i could say i've been out living my life, so caught up in happiness and joy and loving each day that i've just not had time for tumblr. but....that is not true. i have been having a tough time! being away has been good, as i've had time to do other things that i like and to put energy into my own well-being, but it hasn't been the best time, I'll tell you that.

i peeked on the dash every now and then to keep my queue full and reblogged soothing things to my main blog and tried my best not to feel guilty about it all (i was also booping on April 1 lol). i just...I really needed a break. i've really enjoyed being here the last six or so months as i've changed my blog and entered the pedro/tlou space but i've also felt so, so alone.

and i know that it doesn't really matter!! like, we should all take breaks and go outside and all that stuff. and I know plenty of people are not very active, but this blog has been such a vital part of my life and happiness since I started it almost two years ago, so any lapse in activity feels like a loss. I've met lifelong friends and flexed my writing muscles and learned a hell of a lot. the fact that I have started to feel isolated and alone on here is a sort of personal betrayal, and there is no one to blame but myself.

So, I’m pulling back.

it means a few things — i don’t know how much writing I’ll be doing from now on. For Joel, especially — it’s been wonderful to meet folks in that community but it has also been really detrimental to my passion for both the game and writing. I’d like to return to some other characters on my masterlist, but we’ll see. I’ve got endless personal projects away from tumblr that I want to pour love and time into (my non-reader fics, my newsletter, a romance novel, a sci-fi novel, poetry, etc). I need to fall in love with my own work again.

it's a me problem, I want to stress that. i'm working on it! irl stuff has been kicking my ass. I've had a really, really hard winter and my mental health has suffered probably more than ever before. i let things I love -- like this blog -- fester and become negative and no longer being me joy. writing became stressful and difficult and I was focused on notes and interaction and looking around me and seeing success and then looking at myself and only seeing lack.

but that's why I took a break! i am getting help and support irl, i am putting in the time and effort to feel better about being alive and to be a better friend and person all around. And I want to tell you all about it because I am so grateful for your time and attention and support, even if we’re just strangers on the internet. i know this probably seems silly -- who cares about a fanfic blog? well, i care! i care a lot! it matters to me and therefore it matters!

anyway. on to the important stuff. here I am! and here's what's going to happen on this blog:

I am working on replying to asks and reblogs and comments I missed. Thank you for being patient with me! I don't know if I'll get to them all but know I see them and I am honored every single time.

I made a totally separate ao3 account with this blog url. I'm working on uploading everything I've posted here onto there and hopefully will continue to crosspost. It is going to take a long, long time, so please be patient! (you can follow my other ao3 here for my non x-reader fanfic).

I posted this fic! Jackson!Joel pulled me back into his world. It’s the first thing I’ve written in ages, so let me know what you think. as of now it's the last planned fic for that series, but who knows!

I hit a milestone while i was away that I am absolutely blown away by. I'm planning a celebration around it sometime this spring (hopefully) and I’d love to see you participate :)

lastly, thank you so much to my friends for letting me complain, whine, winge, etc. I am so sorry for missing all of your work, your celebrations, your bright energies, and all the rest. i am so sorry if it seemed like i was ignoring you. you are my guiding lights, my silver linings, my touchstones. you make me want to be here. i will try to make it up to you!

I want to be online less but make sure I’m connecting more in the moments that i am here. I want to pressure myself to write less and not feel bad that I’m not engaged all the time. I want this blog to once again feel like a place that nourishes me and not sucks me dry. i want to stop feeling like shit about all of it!!!!

so. come hang out in my inbox, my dms, let me know what you've been up to. I am really sorry for missing so much. thank you for sticking around. <3

#personal #this is very long but please read it maybe?#emma rambles #I will reblog it a few times probably

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candyredappledragon · 4 months

Text

h-hi! the name is kieran. nice to meet you! ive been here for a bit and uhm.... sadly figuring out how to use this site! ( kind of afraid of interacting with others especially but im trying my best to not be easily scared ! ) i am not familiar with technology and or online things/words so please be patient with me. i know there are other kierans here too and honestly theyre pretty cool! ....d-dont tell them i said that. im not really a battler so if you are trying to look for one then im sorry to say that you will be disappointed but you can ask the others though. really sorry

..uh thank you for checking my blog— furret youre on my facEXSFDGCVHH

🍎 Please no genuine anon hate, nsfw, or anything really bad. ( You can be mean to Kieran! ) Pelipper mail is okay ( but malice is off for now ). Sapient Pokemon or the likes of interacting are fine too, Kieran is too much of a goofball to notice it. Please don't give him Pokemon the thought is appreciated but if you do they'll turn into stickers lol.

Please don't be weird. I'm serious. As well PLEASE be patient with me and not be pushy. I'm trying my best!

This Kieran is in AU as to what happens if Florian doesn't lie to him about Ogerpon and whatnot! Kieran still doesn't get Ogerpon and is fine with it ( kind of, as in this made him feel inferior to having friends and will always be chosen over by other people. ) His way of thinking is that maybe he should try to be nice and kind to others so that will help him get friends as he sees Florian do this the same to others. ( The only thing Kieran thinks he's not good at is having a funny personality. He is very awkward in person. ) Blueberry Academy was hard on him as he was almost practically as ignored and students tend to forget he is the champion because of his cowardly personality. Florian took over later as champion. Okay there.

(By the way this is a summary please don't hurt me. 💔)

Plus I will try to draw for asks but they won't be the best but surely will motivate me to draw! If there are no asks then I'll just draw daily things with Kieran so it's a win-win for me!

💥 This Kieran doesn't like to get involved with stuff so feel free to drag him into antics! He isn't the one to approach people either so if you are wondering why I don't start convos with other blogs with asks that's why. ( I'm shy too. ) He's a bit of a coward online and in person but he won't shy away trying to be friends with others.

🍎 Posts are tagged to make things easier! Feel free to block one of them to make your experience smooth!

Art related: art tag , art reply , daily Kieran art

Text related: text reply/reply text , text ask , text post , ooc post , reply reblog

Other: long post

Anything you want to be tagged? Please let me know! :)

"Can we use your art?" Feel free to use the art or whatever! Don't need to credit and I prefer not to be credited. You can edit it too! Idgaf just no bigotry. :,] "What do we call you and do you have pronouns?" Uhm, you can call me Eight or any other version of the number 8 itself. [ Ex: Ocho, Hachi, Acht, etc ]. No pronouns! Refer me to by name or just call me mod or some other third thing lol. "What art program do you use?" Clip Studio Paint! "Are you okay with collabs?" Of course! Please feel free to message me anytime. :] "What time do you post art/responses?" Uhm....... anytime to be honest? My sleep schedule is ABYSMAL. I am very much online unless I'm busy doing comp. "Are replies time sensitive when interacting with this blog?" Nope! Take your time with your replies. I am pretty chill and everyone is pretty busy with real life. Fair warning I'm a ditz. :( "Why did you make this blog?" To draw Kieran a thousand times over until I'm dead lol. ( Even if it isn't posted on this blog!) And world build my stupid au. :u I'm just currently on a small burnout on drawing. I'm sorry. :c

"Is this a sideblog?" Yeah, you are never going to find out my main!! It's very cringe ( it has different media art ). I will interact with my other sideblog with thoughts and reactions at times. [ if you are curious @/hahahasquib ]

"Do you like Kieran?" No. ( Yes. A normal amount. )

#rotomblr #pokemon irl #pkmn irl #pkmn rp

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finnsbubblegum · 10 months

Note

my dearest i'm going through withdrawals from your writing and frankly i just miss you 🥺🥺

i had a request if you were taking them?

i am currently in an mentally abusive relationship and things aren't really going to hot on my end

i was wondering if you could do one where joel comes in an rescues reader from said relationship? pure fluff and heartwarming stuff i could really use it rn 🖤

ps sorry it got so dark lol 🖤

A/N: Hi anon! I’m so sorry for the late reply. I’m sorry that happened to you, hope you’re doing okay. I tried my best writing this fic hope it helps you feel better. Yes, I read your requests! I just haven't had the time and idea what to write so i am so so sorry. I will write your requests, don't worry! but please be patient😭 I'm writing this first because it seems urgent😭 Btw if you need someone to talk to, you can always send me private messages!

Worth Saving (Joel Miller X Reader)

Warnings: abusive boyfriend, guns, lmk if i missed any

(Reader’s Pov)

“Ty, can we rest here for a few days? I think it’s a pretty decent place. There is a lot of canned food here and there’s a bed here.” You pointed at the dusty bed.

You and your boyfriend found an abandoned house trying to stock some supplies. You had been doing these for years and kept moving anywhere as long as you didn’t come across people. Humans were more dangerous these days than clickers.

“Are you serious?” Your boyfriend, Tyler, furrowed his eyebrows and raised his voice.

“Just for a few days.” You stepped back.

“How are you so stupid?” Your boyfriend stepped closer to you.

You knew he was angry. He always had. He never listened to you.

“I’m sorry. It’s just. I saw a bed and I just wanted to sleep on a bed. You know after all these years.” Your voice started to crack.

“After all these years?” He scoffed.

“I have kept you safe and protected you. And it’s still not enough?” Tyler grabbed both of your shoulders with force.

“That’s not what I meant.” You tried to hold your tears.

“Don’t you dare cry, woman!” He tightened his grip on your shoulder.

“Ty, you’re hurting me.” You sobbed.

“Let me tell you something. You’re such a burden. I should have left you there eaten by those clickers. Or maybe.. I should kill you now. ” Your abusive boyfriend said those words right in front of your face.

Then he took his gun and pointed it right at your forehead. He loaded the gun and was ready to pull the trigger. You closed your eyes, shaking and shed a tear.

(Joel’s Pov)

“Shh..someone’s here.” Joel whispered to Tommy and pointed at the traces someone left on the first floor.

Tommy nodded and walked slowly behind Joel. Joel and Tommy looked at each other as they heard your fight with your boyfriend.

*creak*

“Tommy!” Joel whispered scolding Tommy who was making sounds from the old stairs.

Tommy raised his hands and mouthed “sorry”.

(Reader’s Pov)

Then he took his gun and pointed it right at your forehead. He loaded the gun and was ready to pull the trigger.

“No! Please don’t kill me! Please!” You closed your eyes, shaking and crying.

(Joel’s Pov)

Joel was ready to shoot whoever inside the room but Tommy reminded him not to kill innocent people. Joel rolled his eyes and stayed behind Tommy as Tommy instructed. Then he remembered Bill’s letter that was left for him.

“...I used to hate the world, and I was happy when everyone died. But I was wrong because there was one person worth saving. That’s what I did. I saved him. Then I protected him. That’s why men like you and me are here. We have a job to do. And God help any motherfuckers who stand in our way...”

He remembered his job was to save someone who was worth saving. And it could be anyone and Ellie was one of them.

“1,2,.” Tommy mouthed to Joel.

“3!” Tommy kicked the door open and found you with a gun pointing at your head.

Joel and Tommy’s guns were all pointed towards you and your boyfriend.

“Put your guns down!” Tyler swiftly pointed his gun to Tommy.

“Please! We’re innocent.” You raised your hands.

“Tommy!” Joel breathed heavily, he was ready to pull the trigger.

Tommy looked at Joel and shook his head. Tommy didn’t want Joel to kill innocent people anymore. He wanted him to change and Joel was getting better since he spent a few months in Jackson.

“Let’s talk this through and put our guns down.” Tommy said.

“You first.” Tyler looked at Tommy then to Joel.

Tommy put his guns down slowly. Joel didn’t.

“Hey! You too.” Tyler shakily pointed his gun to Joel.

Joel cleared his throat as he put his gun down slowly. As Tyler put his gun down slowly after Joel, you thought it was the perfect time to run away from this mess and your abusive boyfriend. You took a deep breath and got ready to run. When everyone’s gun was on the floor, you ran as fast as you could.

*Bang*

You heard a gunshot when you were just out of the room and you stopped running.

“Joel!” Tommy shouted.

Your body shook and turned your head slowly. You saw your boyfriend’s dead body laying soulless on the floor. You gasped and covered your mouth with your hands.

“Are you okay?” Tommy asked you.

You shook your head. You didn’t know how you felt. You were sad that your boyfriend died but you were also relieved because you were finally free from him.

“Were you close with him?” Tommy put his hand on your shoulder.

“He-uh-he was my boyfriend.” You nodded.

“He tried to kill you.” Joel said behind Tommy.

Joel walked closer to you, “Twice.”

Apparently your boyfriend took his gun and tried to shoot you from behind when you tried to run away. And Joel shot him before your boyfriend pulled the trigger. He knew from his gut that you were worth saving so he took his chance.

You were speechless so you just stayed quiet. The two men asked you to come with them. They told you they have a place for you with nice people, nice clothes, and food. Tommy had to bring some supplies on his horse so you ended up riding the horse with Joel.

“You’re gonna rip my jacket if you do that.” Joel grabbed your hand and moved them on his waist.

Your heart beat faster but you felt safe around him. You were too tired from your day and all the shocks so you rested your head behind his broad back.

“It wasn’t twice.” You suddenly said.

“Huh?” Joel didn't follow.

“Tyler-uh-the one you killed-he tried to kill me multiple times.” Tears fell down to your cheeks.

“So..thank you. You saved my life. I owe you.” You wiped your tears and rested your head again on his back.

“You’re safe now.” Joel answered you.

“Sorry.” You chuckled, suddenly realizing your tears made his jacket wet. You rubbed his back trying to dry it.

“It’s okay.” Joel chuckled.

The End

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artficlly · 11 months

Text

me & the devil (one-shot)

Wild West Marvel AU

outlaw!bucky x saloon girl!reader

The Diamondback Saloon and Hotel has always attracted bad men, and Bucky Barnes happens to be one of them.

Warnings: violence, death, wound descriptions, lots of blood and gore, mention of guns, swearing, sex worker reader, lots of talk of sex work, vague mentions of past non-con and abuse, lots of angst, sexual tension, breaking law, bank robbery, lmk if anything needs to be added.

Word Count: 11.2k (whoops)

A/N: hi! this is a pretty angsty/gorey fic I've been working on. i started this a month back while watching west world. i love westerns, rdr and all thinsg cowboy so this was so fun to write. i was thinking of maybe a part two just due to how long this got lol. sorry for any typos - not proof read.

main masterlist

It was still morning when trouble walked in. In the two months you had been working at The Diamondback Saloon and Hotel, it had taken you only days to figure out who was trouble and who wasn’t. There was an energy to them, something more clinging to their bodies than the grime and grit of the wilds. The saloon would fall into a hush, an unspoken knowing between all within. It wasn't just the guns on their person, but the way they held themselves. A swagger and a smirk, bruises on their knuckles, a twisted nose from a fight long forgotten An essence of something deeper, a whisper that hissed in warning.

That intensity screamed danger, and all those inside knew to obey it or face its wrath.

“Them boys look like trouble.” Charlotte hummed, echoing your thoughts entirely. The two of you stood leaning back against the bar, examining your new patrons. There were three of them, young and deadly. They had that energy and that intensity. With just a flick of your eyes, you could read it – fatality written into the dirt under their nails to the subtle splatter of blood along the cuff of a shirt.

“Maybe that’s reason to steer clear for once.” You muttered back to the woman, your fan fluttering as you eyed her with a frown. “The last lot didn’t even pay you.”

Danger didn’t often walk into Silverton, but when it did, it always stopped by The Diamondback for one final drink and fuck before facing the open wilds. Danger had different faces; some returned, some didn’t. The three men who now took up a table in the back were certainly new to you.

“The ride was payment enough.” Charlotte giggled as she batted her lashes. “Them boys always have a lot packing.”

You rolled your eyes with a huff. "Yeah, and half of em’ don’t even know how to use it.”

“I’ll take my chances.” Charlotte announced with one of her coy smiles you had grown to know so well. She strutted off in the direction of the group of men, hand dragging across shoulders and cleavage pronounced in her posture. The men looked at her up and down like a meal – predators and prey. You often couldn’t tell the difference between the two – who was prey and who was predator. Considering how much coin Charlotte would often fish from her corset after a day’s work, maybe she was the predator. You had learned a lot from her in your short time at The Diamondback.

After a moment of consideration, you turned to face the bar. The barkeep, Crowley, had his eyes fixed on the trio. With a tut, he returned to cleaning the glasses lined along the bar. You were barely able to hear his low voice over the piano. “I swear that girl ain’t got no fear.”

“I guess that’s what comes from workin’ in a job like this long enough.” You replied simply, abandoning your fan on the bar as you snatched up one of the clean glasses.

“I swear I seen them boys' faces on a poster up north in Rustler’s Grove.” Crowley muttered, eyeing you disapprovingly as you slid the glass in his direction. “You drinkin’ this early already?”

“Be a gentleman, won’t you?” You replied with a beam, elbows propped onto the bar. “Whiskey. The stuff from the back, not that watered-down shit for the guests.”

“Sure thing, sweetheart.” Crowley grumbled, abandoning his post to rummage around for your request. You took the brief moment to cast a glance back across the room.

Charlotte was now perched on one of the men’s laps; he had a darker complexion, and curls of dark hair were escaping from under his hat. You noted how one of his hands gripped Charlotte’s upper thigh, squeezing the exposed flesh. Her hand explored his chest as he whispered in her ear. Across the table, his two companions seemed deep in a hushed conversation, completely oblivious to the table of men eyeing them suspiciously nearby.

You ripped your eyes away, instead putting your focus on your hands, which you had clasped tightly together. You never wanted this life; you assumed no whore truly wanted this life. Instead, you all stumbled into it one way or another. A broken family, a dead husband, a lost soul – each of you had a story that led you down this path. All you could do was put on a smile and tell yourself that you liked it, pretending that you had some kind of freedom or power over your situation.

Your eyes fluttered upwards, watching Crowley through your lashes as he returned and poured the liquor into the glass. “You’re thinking too much again; all you’re gonna end up in is a whole world of pain.”

You considered his words, turning them over in your mind before speaking. “That’s what the drinks for.” You hummed with a weak smile. “No thinking if the whiskey drowns it all out.”

Crowley offered you a hollow smile, more of a grimace, as his weathered skin pulled tightly at the corners. “Damn right.”

You shot the whiskey back in one swallow, with a moment of silence following as you allowed yourself to feel the burn in your chest. It was a familiar sensation, one you had relied heavily on to get through the past two months.

“Whiskey this early? A woman after my own heart.” A deep, husky voice spoke from beside you. Trouble. There he stood. It seemed one of the trio had escaped Charlotte’s clutches; if it had been to talk to you or simply drink at the bar, you could not know. You couldn't help but notice the intensity of his gaze as it bore into you. He was taller than the other two and broader, with large shoulders and a chest that seemed to fill out his shirt in all the right places.

Your eyes quickly swept back across the room, seeing Charlotte still occupied. A few of the other girls circled nearby like vultures, searching for the coin they knew was just under their nose.

“Buy me another one, then we can talk.” You replied easily, plastering on a sickly-sweet smile. You wondered if he saw through it and whether he knew how much you hated yourself. You knew it was foolish to think so.

The man silently motioned two fingers at Crowley, and your glass was quickly refilled. You swirled the amber liquid, eyeing the man as he examined you in return. He seemed to live a rough lifestyle, with skin weathered from the sun, sand and dirt clinging to flesh and clothes alike. His knuckles were bruised and swollen, and there was a scar above his left eyebrow. Strings of brunet hair poked out from beneath his hat, paired with piercing blue eyes that seemed to penetrate your soul. The muscles in his chiseled jawline flexed as he swallowed back the liquor with a stoic look. Your tongue ran over your bottom lip as you watched his adam’s apple bob. He had a rough, handsome charm to him, despite everything telling you to run. It always seemed to be that way with troublemakers.

“How’d a girl like you end up in a place like this?” He hummed, placing his glass back on the bar. You smile at him from behind your own glass, keeping eye contact as you finish the liquor with ease. Whiskey made you comfortable, and whiskey made you fun. Most of all, it made you forget.

“How do you think most girls end up in this place, hm?” You reply boldly, watching as Charlotte ascends the stairs with her new client in tow. “Sad stories, bad stories. Every whore has a sob story; do ya really want to hear a sob story?”

“You’re new here; ‘least you weren’t around when I was last in these parts,” he chuckled in response. Another round of liquor was poured into your glass with a quick flick of the man's callused fingers.

“New…” You hum, your fingers tracing along the sticky, dark wood of the bar. The man’s attention was fixed on your every movement. “How new do you consider... new?”

“I was ‘round here about a year ago now.” His gravelly voice replied, and another shot of liquor was swallowed. Your eyes briefly danced back across the room, a table of patrons shouting over a game of poker stirring your attention. The man next to you didn’t even flinch as a glass was shattered and chairs screeched as they tumbled to the ground.

“I guess I am new.” You finally spoke, sending another perfectly empty smile in his direction. He ran his tongue over his teeth with a chuckle. “What’s your name?” You ask.

“James. But most people just call me Bucky.”

“Bucky.” You hum in thought, drinking yet another shot of the amber liquor.

“You wanna head upstairs, sweetheart?” He asks, watching as Crowley abandons his post behind the bar to clear out the poker table, the group having resorted to whipping out their guns. You ignore the chaos, shrugging with a simple smile.

“Sure thing, cowboy.” You say as you hook your arm around the back of the bar, stealing the bottle of whiskey while Crowley was distracted. Bucky followed your movements with a grin, following you up the stairs wordlessly.

—

Finding an empty room was easy; most of the girls had unspokenly claimed a room they reused throughout the day. The rooms in the Diamondback were modest, as expected for a small town. A double bed with fresh sheets, a chair next to an unused fireplace, and a dresser near the door with a bowl and pitcher of water placed atop it.

Your back was turned to Bucky, and you could hear the creak of the bed as he sat down. You dared to look up through your lashes, meeting his eye through the mirror that sat atop the dresser. Bottle of whiskey forgotten, you turn to face the rugged man. You can't help but feel a little weak in the knees under his intense gaze. A hand runs over his stubbled chin briefly before removing the worn leather hat from his head. His hair, a rich, dark brown, emerges from beneath, his hand running through the messy strands.

You step forward, carefully taking the hat from his large hands. The remnants of sand and dirt prickle your fingers as you brush the pads over the fabric. You had come to learn how much the men who frequented the Diamondback valued their hats; there was an unspoken lore or story attached to each one. With his hat delicately placed on the bedside table, you return to Bucky’s side.

With the whiskey doing its work, you smooth your hands over the dark fabric of his shirt. Your hands looked so small, delicate, and clean next to him. You found him handsome; if you were younger, you probably would’ve been intrigued or charmed by his looks as well. You knew to avoid trouble like him, but under different circumstances, at a different time?

The thoughts bubble in your mind as you seat yourself close next to him, breath fanning across his skin as you lean in. Your movements are slow and deliberate. You test his response with a quick peck of your soft lips against his before quickly closing the distance. He was so rough in comparison to you; his body was sturdy as a rock. His lips were chapped from days spent in the sun, and his stubble was coarse against your smooth skin.

His hands gripped your waist tightly, pulling you closer as you licked into his mouth. A breathless chuckle rumbled in his chest, his lips hungrily consuming yours. Your hands explored lower, feeling the defined muscles beneath the dark fabric. Your hands wrapped around his suspenders and guided them over his broad shoulders.

Bucky pulled away, his mouth instead traveling towards your neck. You tilted your head, feeling his hot breath across your skin. Squirming in his hold, your eyes fluttered shut as his lips met your ear.

“As much as I appreciate it, sweetheart, I’m just lookin’ to chat.” He breathed. You were so concentrated on his hot breath and his squeezing hands that you could not understand what he had said. You opened your eyes, heavy lidded as you gazed at him in confusion.

“To chat?” You question, your faces still pulled closely together.

“Maybe I do wanna hear your sob story, darlin’.” He hummed through a smirk. You felt heat rise in your cheeks, embarrassment flooding your system as you realized he was laughing at you. With one strong push, you wrenched yourself from his grasp with a huff.

“Don’t waste my time.” You hiss at him with a scowl, shooting to your feet.

“I’ll pay you for your time; don’t worry. I ain’t lookin’ to put you out of business.” Bucky defended himself, raising his hands in the air as if in surrender. You hesitate near the dresser.

“You want to pay to talk to me?” You question him, your skepticism clear in your tone. There were always men trying to get out of paying what they fucked; you’d seen all the different types of scams. Some would run, some would get violent, and some would promise to ‘save’ the girl from this place. You could imagine trouble like Bucky running that type of scheme, saying it was just a chat to get out of payment.

“I ain’t got many other people to talk to; why not a pretty lady?” He hummed, leaning back onto his muscled arms to view you properly.

“If you’re messin’ with me–” You began to grumble.

“I ain’t, darling. Just wanna talk.”

You stared at him for a beat, weighing your choices. Go downstairs and let another grubby man get his hands on you, or stay up here and chat with a handsome troublemaker who may or may not pay you. With a sharp exhale, you retrieve the bottle of whiskey and take a swig from it. “Fine. Alright then.”

Bucky watched your actions with an amused expression, his body language cool and collected against your outward annoyance. He reached over to his leather coat, which he had abandoned next to him on the bed, retrieving a box of cigarettes and matches.

“You have a real sad look to you.” He commented as he placed a cigarette between his lips. “Standing down by that bar like you don’t wanna be here, I bet it attracts a certain type.”

“What do you mean?” You question him as he strikes the match, taking a long drag once the cigarette is lit.

“The type of men you attract,” he begins to explain. “Type’a of men who want a girl who don’t want it. Cruel bastards, you know.”

You pause at his words, recounting all of the men you had serviced. Charlotte usually attracted the young ones, the boys who wanted a story to brag about to their friends. The men you attracted were older and quiet. They came to you, drawn in by your melancholy. The whiskey burned your chest as you took yet another swig. Memories best left buried. “And are you a cruel man?”

“No, well, some might say, but not in that way. I ain’t a mean bastard with a fantasy of being with a girl who don’t want it.”

“What type of man are you?” Your voice is low, a sense of unease crawls under your skin at his words.

“What do you think?” He asks, his body growing still. Predator and prey. A part of you enjoyed the thrill of watching him assess your every move. Another part of you was terrified, screaming that you knew trouble and should know better than to get tangled up in it.

“A dangerous one. An outlaw.” When you say those things, you mentally brace yourself for him to take offense and respond badly. Instead, to your surprise, he chuckles, eyebrows raising in delight as if you had hit the bullseye.

A gleam tugs at his lips, the chuckle catching in his chest as he takes another drag. “An outlaw, eh? What do you know about outlaws?”

“I know the type.”

“Hah. I suppose you do, workin’ in a place like this.” He comments, hands gesturing to the room around you, the cheap linen and scratched wooden floors. Somewhere down the hall, you could hear Charlotte putting on one of her shows, the paper-thin walls barely covering the moans. “Places like this breed evil; I suppose that’s why I frequent them so often.”

Your back met the dresser as Bucky stood, his frame towering above you even from a few steps away. It only took a couple strides for him to be in front of you, plucking the cigarette from his lips as he took the whiskey from your hand. Smoke engulfed your senses, and the sense of danger grew with his closeness.

Whoring was a risky line of work; like he said, saloons often bred evil. You weren’t a stranger to a man who got too aggressive, leaving bruises and blood in his wake. Bucky didn’t seem angry; he seemed amused by you, if anything. But you had to remind yourself that he was an outlaw, and most outlaws weren’t strangers to bloodshed.

“Are you… Are you gonna hurt me?” You asked, your voice weak as you pressed yourself harder into the dresser. He gave you a look and coughed a little, as if bothered by your assumption, as he downed the whiskey.

“What? No. I just wanna talk. I might be a bad man, but I ain’t the type to hurt a defenseless girl.”

You visibility deflated as he backed off a few paces, placing the whiskey next to his hat as he ran a hand through his hair with a tense expression. You exhaled a sharp breath, watching the conflict cross his face. Maybe he didn’t mean to scare you; maybe he just needed someone to talk to. You’d heard of big, bad men who couldn’t be vulnerable to anyone. They were so afraid of betrayal that they ended up isolated in a room full of people.

You could imagine Bucky like that; you almost felt sorry for the handsome man. He just wanted to talk; that couldn’t hurt, right? Your skirts swept across the creaky wood floors as you strode beside him, seating yourself between him and the bottle of whiskey. His azure eyes assessed you with a look of mild surprise.

“What… What do you want to talk about?” You finally cut into the silence.

“Why don’t you tell me about yourself? How you ended up in a place like this?” He questioned, taking a seat beside you. Your thighs bumped together through the fabric, yet you didn’t lean away. “I always see girls like you in these places – gentle women who fell off at some point. Most of the time, it ain’t even their fault. I guess that’s what happened to you, sweetheart.”

You contemplate his words, plucking the still-smoking cigarette from his lips. He doesn’t protest as you inhale the smoke, tilting your head in thought. “It ain’t a happy story.” You confess.

“Don’t need to be. Sometimes I just need a reminder that whatever god is watching over us is just as cruel as us men can be.” His arms brushed yours as he leant over, retrieving the whiskey from beside you. Careful not to exhale smoke directly in his face, you turn your head to watch out the window as you wonder where to start. The sky was so blue outside, just as blue as Bucky’s eyes. It was alluring in a deceptive way; the summer heat beat down on Silverton relentlessly. Sometimes you were glad to work inside instead of out in that brutality.

“My momma died when I was young. Cholera.” You begin, “Broke my daddy’s heart. He was a doctor, good one before momma died. I guess not being able to save her broke him. He fell into drink, gamblin', and whorin’. Barely made his appointments, so I had to help him run the office, cleanin’ up and sometimes stitchin’ up the fools that came in when he was too drunk to do it himself. Eventually he couldn’t afford to feed me no more; he could barely care for himself, let alone a child.” You pause to extinguish the last of the cigarette on the bedside table, the scorch mark joining a collection of older ones. Ghosts and memories of the place you sat in.

“So, my daddy, he sent me away to live with my uncle and aunt. They had a homestead not too far from here; my uncle and cousin were ranchers and moved cattle mostly. I liked it out there in the open; I would go ridin’ and watch the sun rise and set. My aunt would worry I would get robbed or worse, ridin’ alone out there. I was still a girl, really. I didn’t care nor really know how evil this place could be.” Bucky hummed in acknowledgement as you spoke, fingers brushing off some ash that had fallen onto your skirt.

“I would help out on the ranch too; I liked that work. It felt like real work. Good, rewarding work. I liked the animals, playing with the dogs and ridin’ the horses to move the cattle.” Your gaze pulled away from the window, instead turning your head to watch as Bucky took another long drink from the whiskey.

“Then, my uncle died. Gored by his own bull one morning, I tried to save him, but he lost too much blood. It was all so sudden, weren’t nothing we could do. My aunt, she couldn’t bear to live there no more, decided to sell the place. She said she couldn’t take me wherever she was going with my cousin. They were using the money to buy a new ranch back east and couldn’t afford to keep me on no more. She said to write to my daddy and continue working as his assistant until I found a man to marry.”

“What happened to your pa?” Bucky asked, the liquid sloshing in the bottle as he swirled it in his hands. You took a moment to shamelessly stare at the way the veins bulge over the muscles and tendons.

“Don’t know.” You finally admit with a sigh. “Never replied to my letter. Either didn’t want me back or is buried somewhere and no one thought to tell me. So I went to the nearest town to find a job; ain’t no one want to hire a woman ‘cept for in this place. I decided whorin’ was better than starvin’.”

“Real shame. I bet a sweet girl like you could’ve made it in one of those cities back east. Married some big shot, lived life comfortably in one of those fancy city manors.” Bucky hummed. You knew the type of places he was talking about – massive manors filled with staff and shiny, expensive things. Hell, you could imagine Bucky having robbed a place like that while the inhabitants were out at social evenings with the rest of the upper class.

“Maybe. I don’t think I could ever live in a city.” You confess with a shrug. “I like the open air, the emptiness of it all. I don’t get to see it much in this place, but I remember what it was like when I used to go ridin’ all those years ago.”

Bucky’s eyes trailed across your face. “I understand what you mean. I don’t stay in places long, get cold feet. I live in the open; I like traveling without being stuck in one spot.”

“How did you end up livin’ the way you do?” You ask hesitantly, watching his thoughtful expression flicker into a more somber one.

“It ain’t much of a clear story like yours. Absent pa, my momma had it rough raising us kids by herself. I got caught up in bad business, thievin’, killin’ and such. Once I got into it, I didn’t know how to get out. I made friends with similar stories; we all wanted to stay doing what we do so we could look out for each other. All of us just wanna stay out in that open; just keep headin’ west, knowin’ we’ll be buried in a place civilization has yet to meet.” His words were brief, and it was obvious to you that he had more of a connection to the outlaws he surrounded himself with than he did with his own blood.

“Don’t you ever want to settle down some day?” You ask.

“Nah. Once you got the west in your bones, you’re lost to that life.”

You consider his words in silence, drowning out the sounds of other girls working in the surrounding rooms. You understood what he meant; it felt like you hadn’t left those open plains since you first discovered them. You missed riding without a care, the wind tangling your hair as you navigated the emptiness of it all.

“Well. When you’re out there ridin’ in the empty, you’ll think of me? Some sad saloon girl who just wanted to ride out in the open?” You ask, eyes dipping behind your lashes as Bucky flashes you a genuine smile.

“‘Course, sweetheart.”

—

Bucky and his friends hung around longer than both you and the other girls expected. Men like them usually only hung around for a few days or less. From Crowley’s muttering, it seemed the law didn’t show interest in them. Either that or the boys were keeping their heads down.

Most mornings Bucky would come visit you, his two friends switching between drinking and sampling the other girls. Bucky’s eyes never seemed to stray from you, always finding you at the bar with a ‘hey sweetheart’ muttered with the scent of whiskey and leather. You started to enjoy his company, the stories and thoughts the both of you shared.

Every time he visited, he would pay, neatly stacking the coins on the dresser. He always gave double your rate, a rugged smirk and wink sent your way as he slipped out the door. You found yourself waiting and looking for him each day, lingering near the bar until he and his friends sauntered in.

Today was no different than any of your other meetings. Half a bottle of whiskey down, the two of you were talking about thoughts and worries you’d never thought to voice. The summer heat was worse than usual, and the saloon was crowded with working men slick with sweat and tempers to match the scorch outside.

You sat now perched on the windowsill; the window cracked open despite the lack of wind. With your skirts and petticoat bunched up to your thighs to fight the heat, you dangled your legs through the air nonchalantly. A cigarette hanging from your lips as you carelessly stared out at the stretch of blue skies beyond. Bucky had carefully placed his hat on the dresser; his coat peeled off as he watched you from across the room.

“Do you know what time the law go on their lunch break?” Bucky asked into the silence. Often, when a lull presented itself, the outlaw would break the quiet by questioning you about your clients or the townspeople of Sliverton.

“One o’clock, sometimes two if they’re dealin’ with trouble.” You respond easily, exhaling smoke out the window. It took you a beat to think about his question, your eyebrows drawing together. “Why?” You question.

It was an obvious conclusion to be suspicious: why was an outlaw asking about the law’s schedule? You’d noticed how Bucky’s interest often peaked at the mention of the law, the bank tellers, and sometimes even the gunsmith. You had mentioned how the manager of the bank was a cruel man, often leaving the girls with bruises. The group of you would draw lots when he came in, that or hope he would get too drunk to perform.

As for the law, they often mixed business with pleasure. During their lunch break, they would often call down the girls to the sheriff’s office to work while they drank over a game of poker. You had been invited a couple times and mentioned it to Bucky off-hand a few days ago.

“I heard some rumors about a bounty in this area, wanted to stop by when they weren’t… busy.” Bucky replied, a small amount of guilt growing in your chest at your unspoken accusation. The two of you had been open with each other these past weeks.

“A bounty?” You question. “What are you doing gettin’ involved in that business?” You look over at him. The outlaw chuckles under his breath, his callused hand sweeping through his hair as he leans back further in his seat.

“Takes an outlaw to catch an outlaw sometimes, sweetheart.”

You chew on his words for a moment, shrugging with acceptance after not much thought. You could see what he meant; only outlaws were generally cocky enough to risk their lives for coin. That, and they would probably know where another might hide, having lived in their shoes.

“You do that work often?”

“Sometimes,” he hums in reply. “Only when we’re tight for coin.”

You swing your feet down to the wooden floors, your bare skin sticky against the warm wood. Once more, heat envelops your figure as your skirts descend to your shins. Bucky watches with interest as you put out your cigarette, stalking towards where he sits.

“If you’re short, why are you out here spendin’ double on me?” You ask softly, pausing in front of him. His eyes dart upwards, examining your face with a gentle look.

“Sometimes you gotta make sacrifices for a pretty lady.”

You feel your cheeks flush at his words. Normally compliments made your skin crawl and your mouth turn sour, but Bucky had grown on you. Your hand moves towards him before you can think, resting gently on his shoulder.

“I might regret sayin’ this but… I ain’t worried about the money. I do like our chats for other reasons than the coin.” You stumble over your words, a smug smirk growing on Bucky’s face.

“Now, sweetheart, I don’t wanna be putin’ ya out of business talking to a fool like me–” Bucky doesn’t get to finish his words, much to your disappointment. Instead, you jerk back in surprise as the door is thrown open.

In the doorway stands one of Bucky’s friends; you recognized him from his time in the saloon. His face was pink from the heat, and messy blond hair poked out from under his hat. A boyish grin spread across his cracked lips. You noted how large his stature was, nearly taking up the entire door frame. His chest must have been muscled beneath his dirt-stained shirt, his forearms bulging where the fabric had been pulled back to his elbows to combat the heat.

“I see why you spend so much time here, Buck. She’s a pretty little thing, ain’t she?” Steve comments. You swallow thickly, glancing at Bucky, who sighs through his nose in annoyance. Any tenderness has left his expression, replaced with cold annoyance.

“This is Steve.” The outlaw explains to you, getting to his feet. “What is it?”

You recognized that name; Bucky had mentioned Steve over the past weeks. Steve had been one of his childhood friends who had followed him down the path of an outlaw. Bucky had told you how the two would pickpocket so they would have enough to eat. They had robbed and shot their way west; they fucked their way too, apparently. Bucky had mentioned how the two of them enjoyed their ladies, sometimes taking them at the same time in the same room.

You couldn’t help but let your mind linger on that thought as you studied the blond man. His eyes were looking you up and down eagerly, lingering on your pronounced breasts due to your corset.

“Sam… er, Sam needs to talk.” Steve finally responds, hesitant and careful with his words, as if he didn’t want you to know the true meaning behind his interruption. As you look back over at Bucky, who has crossed over to the dresser, he nods at Steve in silent understanding.

You bite your tongue as the two outlaws share an unspoken conversation, Bucky returning his precious hat to his head. As usual, you watch as he stacks double your rate on the end of the dresser, a secret, cocky smirk sent in your direction as he slips into the hallway.

“Why is he payin’ you that much? You got gold between your legs or somethin’?” Steve questions, having glanced at the pile left behind. You simply huff at him, slamming the door shut in his face. Through the door, you can hear him bellow out a laugh.

—

It was a lazy Thursday afternoon when the first shots were heard. Silverton was not unfamiliar with a bit of violence; the occasional exchange of bullets was easy to grow accustomed to. That Thursday was no different, you’d thought, that was until the bullets grew more frequent. Shots rang through the town, sending people scattering into nearby buildings or braving the streets with revolvers in hand.

That increase in sound blasting through the swelteringly hot afternoon was what made you pause. You were upstairs fixing your updo after a client. Placing the last pin between your strands, you moved to walk cautiously into the hallway. Glancing over the staircase railing, you look into the main bar area. Silence had fallen over the saloon, with chairs and tables empty as if the last patrons had fled.

Your eyes land on Charlotte, who stood next to the bar, exchanging a worried conversation with Crowley. Quickly, you glance back down the hallway, noting the girls and guests who peeked their heads from their rooms in similar morbid curiosity.

It felt wrong to linger upstairs listening to the massacre below; instead, you found yourself opting to join Charlotte and Crowley. As you descend the stairs, carefully lifting your skirts so as not to trip on them, Charlotte peaks up at you.

“Somebody’s robbin’ the bank.” She quickly explains, catching your nervous expression. A bit of relief floods your veins. As loud and violent as that could be, the robbers weren’t likely to hang around for a drink.

“Sounds like a slaughter out there.” You grumble in reply, finding your usual spot by the bar. Crowley looked mostly unphased, shining his glasses with a faint shake of his head. “You think they’re gonna get away with it?”

“Old man Billy ran by and said they ambushed the sheriff's office before they headed to the bank.” Crowley cuts in, placing the now-clean glass down. “Guessin’ there's still a few of them alive if they’re still shootin’. Pretty smart of them robbers to get them while they were on lunch break.”

A pit of dread grows in your stomach, your eyes glancing to the clock above the bar. Quarter past one.

“Were any of our girls down that way?” Charlotte asks with worry, but your focus was instead turned to the dusty road outside. You hoped, if not prayed, that if you caught a glimpse of those robbers, it would not be Bucky and his friends. You couldn’t help but feel a crawling guilt, the possibility that maybe you had been duped into giving an outlaw information. You could not handle the deaths of so many on your shoulders. You knew if your careless words had caused it, it would be squarely your fault.

“No, thank God. Law sent word they didn’t want girls today. Maybe they knew somethin’ was up.” Crowley replies, but you are hardly present in the conversation, instead shifting closer towards the window. You knew it was dangerous, but the pit of worry and guilt was growing in your stomach; you just needed confirmation.

Charlotte let out a sudden and piercing scream as one of the saloon’s windows shattered, a stray bullet richoeing and landing in one of the tables with a thud. “Get away from the windows!” she shrieks at you.

Only as your brain recognizes the danger do you move away, rigidly walking to Charlotte’s side once more. The woman grabs at your arm, beginning to tug you behind the bar as you cast one last glance out the windows.

Nausea crawls in your stomach, and bile rises in your throat as Charlotte tugs you to the floor behind the bar. Amongst the gunshots and dead bodies, you saw the group of masked figures emerge from the bank onto the streets. Just a brief moment, a glance, and your world was left spiraling as your breathing grew faster and ragged. Any other person may have looked at those figures and been oblivious, but you had spent weeks tucked away in the upstairs room with Bucky. You could recognize him even with a mask on, with his muscled form and leather hat. Bucky was out there, standing over dead bodies with a shotgun in hand. And it was all your fault.

Conversations long past swirl in your mind; how many times had Bucky shifted the topic to be about the law, the bank tellers, or the townsfolk of Silverton? How many times had he tricked you into revealing information that wasn’t supposed to go beyond your ears? So many times clients had confided in you, and you had just passed on the information like it were some inside joke between the two of you.

Charlotte flinched and trembled beside you as the gunshots and shouting grew louder. You could only stare at the clock above and spiral. Crowley remained in place, cleaning glasses with a cold expression as if he alone could ward off any evil.

Outside, the voices grew louder and angrier.

“Well, it ain’t me who shot the doctor!”

“He can’t ride like this!”

“You better be fuckin’ right about this Barnes or we’re all dead!”

Charlotte's hands dug into your arms, pulling you closer as the wooden planks of the boardwalk outside grew alive with the sound of stomping boots. Crowley’s glass cleaning paused as the saloon doors were slammed open in a hurry. Crowley’s mouth opened, meaning to speak to the men who had just stormed in. No words came out; instead, the spray of blood, chunks of flesh, and skull decorated the surrounding area as a bullet was fired directly into his skull.

Beside you, Charlotte shrieks once more as Crowley's body slumped to the floor with a hollow thud. You clamp your hand over her mouth, shushing her as you pull her closer. Your body is trembling, and bile is still stuck in your throat. You try not to focus on the way that Crowley’s brain matter had sprayed across your skin, dewy drops of crimson like a mist. You could feel the moisture, smell and taste the copper in the air. All you could do was try to keep as quiet as possible as the armed outlaws prowled only feet away.

The next thing to catch your attention is the sound of groaning and hissing, the unmistakable sound of someone in pain. Chairs and tables screech as if they are being pulled together while bullets still rain outside. You try to blindly piece the scene together in your mind, trying to understand why the outlaws had gathered here with lawmen so closely on their tail.

“They can’t hold them off for long out there. One of the law got away; we reckon he’s headed up Deadwood way to get back up.” A woman's voice shouts over the chaos.

“Where’s your girl then, Barnes? Better be worth it.” A male voice snaps. Through Charlotte's panting and the gunshots, you can hear the thunder of boots storming up the stairs.

“Someone get me some fuckin’ whiskey.” The injured man speaks through gritted teeth. Your heart beats wildly in your chest, hoping whoever goes to retrieve the liquor doesn’t spot both you and Charlotte quivering in the corner. You press your back harder against the bar, pulling Charlotte closer into your side as she lays her head across your chest while silent sobs shake her body.

“Barnes! Hurry up!” The woman shouts up the stairs in annoyance, only to be met with no reply. The gunshots outside began to slow, the law seemed to be losing this shootout.

Heavy boots fall closer, a large figure rounds the corner of the bar. To your horror, he spots the two of you immediately, and even worse, it’s Steve. You recognize him quickly, with his sunburnt cheeks and blond hair and a mask still tied around his neck. His expression was one of relief but also of worry. When you last saw him, he was all smirks and flirting. You imagined it was probably a sight to see both you and Charlotte trembling behind the bar, covered in the contents of Crowley’s skull.

“She’s here, Buck.” Steve called out, your blood turning to ice.

A few days ago, you wouldn’t have been afraid of Steve or Bucky. Foolish, you now realize. It was foolish to get so close to danger and not feel her power. You didn’t know what these outlaws wanted from you, but you weren’t going to give it easily.

Steve stepped over Crowley’s body, and you shake your head. Beside you, Charlotte began to sob loudly, her nails digging into your skin. Between her panicked breathing, you could’ve sworn she was chanting, ‘Please God, I don’t want to die.’ under her breath. The woman you had once known was gone, in complete submission to fear. No more coy smiles and soft touches; no more fearlessness in the face of dangerous men. Charlotte was terrified, and so were you.

“Don’t touch me.” You warn Steve, but he ignores your request. His large hands wrap around Charlotte’s waist, tugging her away. She let out a terrified scream, grabbing and scratching at your arms in an attempt to hold on. Steve’s arms proved stronger, finally wrenching Charlotte away and ushering her away.

Steve’s attention now turned to you, a gruff sigh leaving his nose as he noticed your defiant look. “Don’t make this harder than it needs to be, pretty girl.”

You shove his hands away, the two of you briefly struggling before Steve finally finds a grip around your waist and hoists you to your feet.

“I said don’t fuckin’ touch me!” You shout at the blond, shoving and hitting at his chest. He grumbles in annoyance, trying to grasp your arms to stop the movement. Behind you, Charlotte is making a noise somewhere behind a sob and a scream as one of the unfamiliar men drags her out from behind the bar.

You back away further from Steve, still shoving and pushing him away. Only when your back meets something warm and solid does he stop his advance. Spinning around, you stand face-to-face with Bucky. His scent is the same: leather, but this time with a dash of gunpowder. Small blood splatters decorate his skin and clothing. As he grasps your wrists to stop your struggle, you unconsciously note how his knuckles are bruised and split.

“No...” is all you manage to utter, Bucky tilting his head with a frown as tears begin to streak down your face. You had been foolish enough to trust him and his rugged, handsome looks. You had blindly answered his questions without a care for the consequences because he had been kind and mysterious. He had told you himself he was an outlaw, a bad man. Now how many lives weighed on you too? Even Crowley’s blood was on your hands, literally and metaphorically.

Bucky’s hand reached up tenderly to wipe the tears from your cheek, his frown only deepening as you flinched away from his touch.

“As touchin’ as this is, we don’t have the time for this, Barnes.” The woman’s voice from earlier spoke up. Now that you are standing, you could look over to see her. She had a wicked look, messy red hair, and a cut across her cheek. A rifle slung across her shoulder, a revolver, and a knife at her hip. She assessed you with a look of annoyance, a scowl painted across her sharp lips.

With an annoyed grunt, Bucky obliged the woman’s request. His hand wrapped around your wrist as he tugged you back onto the main floor. You tried to ignore the hole in Crowley’s face as you were forced to step over his body, your shoes slipping in the pool of slick blood gathering on the wood floors.

“What do you want? You comin’ in here to kill us all too?” You ask, your voice raspy from the tears. Charlotte lingered near the staircase, still sobbing, as a younger man growled in annoyance at the sound.

“You think I’m here to kill you after everythin’, sweetheart? No. I need your help with somethin’.” Bucky questions, sounding a bit dismayed at your sudden fear. You swallow hard, trying to contain the tears that continue to freely stream down your face.

“Crowley is dead.”

“Yeah, well, that was unfortunate.” He grumbles, displeased.

“You’re a bastard, you know that?” You snap at him.

“Yeah, yeah. I know. I need ya to stitch up my friend here.” Bucky shrugs off your insult, instead tilting his head in the direction of a bloody sight. Your body shakes with each step, and you feel as if you are only held upright by Bucky’s firm grip, guiding you to a set of tables that have been pulled together. On top lies a man, older and with greasy black hair. Blood stains his shirt, and there is an obvious bullet wound in his lower abdomen. Sweat beads line his brow, his eyebrows drawn together as he battles the pain. You stare at him speechless, watching as Steve returns from behind the bar with a bottle of whiskey.

“Here ya are, Stark.” The blond mutters, shaking his head, as the injured man eagerly chugs the liquor down. For the pain, you think. He’s drinking it for the pain. You try to attach yourself to thoughts and knowledge you recognize, distracting the noise in your brain in the hopes that your hands and legs will stop trembling. You can barely think, and Bucky wants you to stitch him up?

Charlotte’s wailing doesn’t help your case, nor does it seem to quell the tempers rising in the room. Stark speaks up between gulps of whiskey. “Someone, for the love of God, stop her wailing or shoot the damn woman!”

The younger, twitchy man makes a loud noise of agreement, revolver in hand, as he points it directly at Charlotte’s forehead. Charlotte’s sobbing becomes uncontrollable, curling in on herself as she wraps her arms around her middle in defense. Your breath comes short, and your shaking hands grip Bucky’s bicep for comfort as you watch in horror.

“Her daddy was shot–” You suddenly blurt out, capturing the attention of the younger man. “He was shot in front of her; this type’a stuff upsets her. You understand?” Your tone was desperate, near begging. You don’t know why you said it, but you hoped maybe the man would have sympathy for her. Charlotte had confided in you about nightmares once; you didn’t know who else knew about the darkness in her life. The young man stares at you for a moment, his hand running over the non-existent stubble with an irritated sigh.

“You women are so fragile.” He mutters, raising the gun and striking the metal across Charlotte’s face. You gasp involuntarily, ducking your head so your cheek is pressed against Bucky’s chest. Charlotte’s wailing finally comes to a stop; instead, she only sniffles quietly as she holds a hand to her face in shock.

“Leave it, Parker.” Steve growls, prowling across the room, placing himself between Parker and Charlotte. Parker throws his hands up in surrender, instead stalking across the room to where some of the other nameless outlaws had gathered to keep watch.

Stark growls in annoyance from the tables once more, the mixture of pain and whiskey elevating his rage. “Trust pretty boy Rogers to be a fuckin’ gentleman. I’ll shoot the bitch myself even with this bullet in me.”

“Barnes.” The red-headed woman warns, sensing the rising tension and passing time.

“What do you need to stitch him up?” Bucky pressed with questions more urgently; it was clear time was running out and stalling would end in bloodshed.

“I can’t–” You mutter over your panicked breathing.

“Your pa was a doctor.” Bucky interrupts. “You told me yourself that you used to stitch fools up when he was too drunk to do it himself.”

“It’s been years–”

“What do you need?” Bucky’s voice was more firm, demanding even. You note how the other outlaws lingered nearby, twitchy and ready to pull the trigger at any moment. If you continued to stall, you would surely die. So would Charlotte. You would just have to stitch Stark up as quickly as possible, and then danger would finally leave your home.

“Clean water, cloth, and a sewing kit too.” You gasp out. “They’re upstairs in my room; the sewing kit is in the dresser.”

“Good girl.” Mumbles to you lowly, your stomach twisting as the gravelly sound. Bucky’s gaze raises to meet Steve, who quickly bounds up the stairs to retrieve the objects.

“Must be the end of times if we’re trustin’ a whore to stitch me up.” Stark grumbles from below, you sigh heavily through your nose, trying to calm your shaking hands. Beside you, Bucky tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear, as if trying to comfort you. Somehow, it gives you the courage to breathe again.

“You’re gonna want to lay off that whiskey.” You instruct Stark with a small sniff, fishing the bottle from his grip and wiping your tear-stained face. “You don’t wanna be chuckin’ that back up with a bullet in your gut, trust me.”

Stark barks out a pained, drunken laugh in response. “Alright, little lady.” His eyes swept over to Bucky. “She always this commandin’? This why you like her in bed, Barnes?”

Bucky lets out a sound resembling a snarl, but Steve's arrival bearing the requested items muffles any retaliation. You willed your hands to stay steady as you approached Stark, who was still writhing in pain on the table. Your father had called it ‘the calm’ or even ‘God's will’ when a doctor could quieten his worries to have a steady hand while stitching. You’d never believed in his spoutings until that moment, burying the anxiety of the situation as you instead focused your attention on the injury before you.

With the bloodied shirt pulled up, you turned him slightly to inspect his back. No exit wound. A sharp sigh left your nose as you realized you’d have to dig around and find the bullet yourself and pray it hadn’t burst into more than one piece. Wetting some of the clean cloth, you use it to wipe away the blood from the skin, giving yourself a better view of the entry. Stark tenses and squirms involuntarily beneath your touch, hissing through clenched teeth.

Your eyes flicker upward toward Bucky and Steve, catching their attention. “I need help holdin’ him down; he’s not gonna stay still even if he wants to.”

Stark seems irritated by your assumptions but keeps his mouth shut. The men are quick to assist you, with two men holding down his legs while Bucky and Steve take his arms and chest. You keep your eyes downcast as you easily unlatch Stark’s belt.

“Bite.” You guide the injured man, placing the leather belt between his teeth. You’d heard stories of men biting through their own tongues, even shattering their teeth in the height of pain. Best not to take the risk.

You take the bottle of whiskey, splashing the liquor over your hands before pausing before the wound. You glance over at Stark’s face; there is a look of determination in his eye as he nods for you to proceed.

Stark’s body reacts instantly to the liquor, jerking against the hands that held him in place. His groans and screams are muffled through the belt as he bites down, his face growing red. Your hands are steady, and your fingers are nimble and quick as you blindly dig through the wound. Muscle constricts around your fingers, hot and sticky against your skin.

Your heartbeat is in your ears as you search, drowning out the muffled screaming and the puffing of the men as they use all their might to restrain Stark’s squirming and jolts. Your fingers dig deeper, and a small worry grows in your gut that maybe you might not be able to locate the bullet. Blood spills from the wound, slippery copper sliding down his side and splashing onto the tables below. Your heart is in your mouth, the screams growing worse–

Your finger brushes something solid and hard; the object is slippery and small in comparison to the muscle and organ. It takes a few tries to grasp it between your fingers, with the sleek metal proving difficult to grip.

A sharp sigh of relief leaves your body as you successfully fish it from the wound, the metal clattering to the table. Thankfully, you note that the bullet is also whole. Blood paints your skin; all you can do is wash it away with the water while Stark pants in relief.

“How much longer?” The redhead woman asks; she has moved to linger near the doors. Outside, a few men hover with guns, as if expecting more law to turn up at any moment.

“It is small; it won’t take long to stitch.” You explain, your hands remaining steady as you begin to thread one of the larger needles.

The woman nods. “Make it quick.”

You follow her demands, quickly dousing the wound once more with whiskey. Stark groans, his head lulling from the mixture of drunkenness and exhaustion. If he were one of your father’s patients, maybe you would’ve comforted him and told him it was nearly over. But you were reminded of Charlotte still sniveling by the stairs, Crowley’s head blown open, and his body still slumped behind the bar.

Empathy evades you as you dig the needle into his flesh, your mouth set into a line as you easily pull the skin together with each stitch. Stark continues to jerk and shake, his body still held steady by the outlaws who watch your movements with interest.

Within minutes, you have tied off the thread, successfully putting Stark back together again. The outlaws seem silently relieved, if not surprised, by your efficiency as you wrap one of the clean strips of cloth around his middle like a bandage.

“He will be able to ride?” Bucky asks as you turn back to the bowl of water, cleaning your bloodied hands.

“The stitches will hold as long as you don’t ride too hard.” You respond, not quite meeting his eye. “If the wound keeps bleedin’ or starts festerin’ don’t give him whiskey. You can find yarrow and greasewood herbs out in the wild; they’ll help him best.”

The redhead woman makes a sound at your words, swinging around to face you. “What does a whore know about herbs? Your doctor daddy taught you that, or ya tryna poison us?”

You pause your movements, biting your tongue at her harsh tone. “I read it in a book.” You admit sheepishly.

The room is silent before Stark surprisingly roars with laughter, clutching his wound as he wheezes with pain at the sudden movement. “A whore that can read? Now that is a treat. What’s next? You can do arithmetic?”

You ignore his quip, instead drying your hands on the remaining cloth. Your father had made sure you could read, though that was before he spiraled into an early grave. Your cousin had helped you as well, the older boy providing you with stories and adventures to consume. You missed the simplicity of those days, riding the horse and moving the cattle without a care for the real world.

You were pulled away from your thoughts as Bucky gently touched your arm, seemingly having forgotten your new-found distaste for him. You flinch away from his touch like a skittish animal, sidestepping as you quickly depart his side in favor of Charlotte’s. The woman was still crouched near the staircase, shivering, with a large bruise developing across her cheek and her lip split and bloody.

You can feel Steve hovering nearby, his expression cold as he watched you usher Charlotte to her feet. You knew his irritation wasn’t with you or Charlotte but rather with Parker, who had struck the woman.

“Is she going to be–” Steve begins to question as you guide Charlotte up the first few steps. You look back, scowling over your shoulder at the outlaw.

“Don’t.” You hiss at him, watching as he nods in meek surrender.

Charlotte is slow to walk; her footsteps are clumsy as she shivers and whimpers in your arms. The redhead woman watches the both of you with an expression of distaste. Below the men gather their wits and guns, Stark teeters in place as he gets to his feet with a cocky expression. His gaze follows the woman's, dark eyes landing on the both of you, lingering a few steps up.

“Hold on there, little lady!” Stark booms up, his words still slightly slurred from the liquor and exhaustion. Charlotte freezes in place, hands clasped rigidly on your arms. You glance back at Stark, hoping he means to just announce their departure instead of demanding your skills once more.

“There ain't no doctors out in the wild; what am I supposed to do if this wound splits open? Get one of these fools to stitch it up?” He asks, his mouth curled into a cruel smile. The outlaws shift their weight, as if they are also unsure as to where this is going.

“Find another town to terrorize?” You suggest tugging Charlotte so she is positioned behind you, hidden from their view.

“Nah…” Stark drawls, staggering a few steps, a revolver swinging on his finger. “I think… it would be easier if you just came along with us.”

“What?” Bucky and the redhead woman bark in unison before you can react. Your grip on Charlotte tightens, blocking out the bickering between the outlaws below as you tilt your head to whisper to her.

“Run.” You mutter, dragging Charlotte up the stairs behind you. You had no plan other than to escape. There was no point in fighting out the front door, instead you would have to risk climbing out one of the upstairs windows–

A shot rings out behind you, and Charlotte's body suddenly becomes a dead weight. You can feel the spray of moisture across the back of your neck, but don’t dare turn to see the sight.

“Did you really need to do that?” Steve shouts from somewhere below, the sound of unfamiliar, wicked laughter carrying up the stairs. Your heartbeat is so loud you can’t hear anything else, only the distorted voices of the outlaws below. Your mouth tastes like blood as you top the stairs, gripping the railing as you turn to race down the hallway.

A pair of hands grasp around your middle, tugging you backward. A scream, louder and more violent than any of Charlotte's, leaves your throat as you thrash in the grip, scratching and kicking as the chuckling man carries you down the stairs.

“You sure you want her, Stark? She seems like a handful.” The unfamiliar outlaw carrying you asks.

“Don’t look so pressed, Barnes. My aim’s good enough not to shoot your girl. You got a real thing for her, haven’t ya?” Parker remarks with a grin.

Sobs escape you as you struggle in the crushing grip of the outlaw, any sense of your father’s mythical ‘calm’ or ‘Gods will’ leaving your body. Animal instinct takes over; Charlotte was dead. Crowley was dead. In a blind panic, you bite down on the arm of your captor, the man yelping in pain and dropping you instantly.

Your knees bite with pain as you slam into the hard, wooden floors. After stumbling to your feet, you turn to resume your escape. Your attempt is short-lived, as you are stopped by a familiar body. Leather and gunpowder. You bury your head into his chest, exhaustion and fear taking over as you silently beg Bucky to protect you.

“See! She’s got the spirit. We’ll make an outlaw out of you yet.” Stark remarks with another cruel laugh. “And if your stitching proves useless, you can always prove your worth with what's between your legs.”

The redhead woman lets out an annoyed grumble at that, and over the cackling of the men, you hear her march out of the saloon to ready the horses.

“Come on,” Bucky mutters to you, guiding you towards the door. You dig in your feet, nausea rising as you watch the men mount their horses through the windows.

“I don’t want to.” You sobbed quietly. The brunet outlaw sighs, his movements hesitating as if he were conflicted.

“I can’t do anything to change Stark’s mind–”

“And when you deem me useless? Are you going to shoot me like Crowley, like… like Charlotte?” Your voice quivers and shakes; your vision blurred from the tears streaming down your face. You had hated this place; you had felt its evilness and oppression. But it was your home; it held your friends. You weren’t ready to leap into the unknown or trust these men who had hurt you. To trust Bucky, who had tricked and betrayed you.

“This is not how this was supposed to go.” Bucky mutters under his breath, then, without asking, scoops you over his shoulder to forcefully carry you from the building. Through sobs, you squirm, his shoulder digging into your stomach as you watch the saloon slowly be ripped away from you with each step.

“Put me down.” You gasp at him as he finally exits the building. “Bucky– Bucky please just put me down–”

The outlaw obliges, dumping you on your feet next to a horse. “Get on.” He instructs.

You shake your head, pushing at his chest. “No.”

“Get on the horse.” He demands once more, guiding you towards the horse’s side.

You begin to push him away harder, with the other outlaws watching as you sob between hitting and struggling as Bucky tries to persuade you to get on the horse. His patience seems to quickly grow thin, and the watchful eyes of his peers grow equally impatient with hateful sneers.

His hands move quickly, grasping your wrists and tugging you closer to his chest. You freeze as he lowers his head, his hat brushing your hair as he whispers in your ear.

“If you don’t get on, these boys are gonna tie you up and drag you behind. We don’t want that, do we now? So what is it, all tied up or sitting pretty, sweetheart?” His gravelly, low voice sends a shudder down your spine, your eyelids fluttering shut briefly.

“I’ll get on.” You mutter back quietly, pulling back. Bucky nods, pleased, his thumb brushing away the tears on your cheek.

“Good choice.”

With a shuddering breath, you grip the horn of the saddle, swinging your legs over to mount the horse. It had been months since you last rode, but the muscle memory remained embedded deep in your mind. Bucky was quick to mount up too, his body sliding in behind you while one of his hands lazily wrapped around your waist, reins in the other.

The band of outlaws were quick to move once everyone was situated, with fearful townsfolk peering out their windows as the herd moved past in a cloud of dust. You tried to ignore the dead bodies that lined the street, their blood staining the loose dirt. You couldn’t let your brain slip into a dark place, thinking of Crowley and Charlotte still warm in the saloon. A nauseous feeling of dread consumed your being as you noted the blood still splattering up your arms and dress, the rocking motion of the cantering horse beneath you not helping.

You found yourself leaning back into Bucky, the only sturdy thing nearby. Your head lay back against his shoulder as you looked up at the blue skies above, the heat beating down on your exposed skin.

The pace only slowed as the outlaws felt they had traveled far enough to evade any lawmen acting as backup. The heat had grown unbearable the further you drew from civilization; these wilds were not the ones you had frequented as a teen. There were no rivers, forests, or grass. There was only dirt, sand, and heat. These were what men meant when they spoke of the west, pure, untamed country.

Bucky had hardly spoken, leaving you alone in your grief and sickness. He held you steady as you silently cried. Even when you could cry no more and your eyes rolled back from the heat, he continued to hold you steady, ensuring his horse kept an even gait.

The silence was finally broken as Steve slowed his horse, falling in step with the two of you at the back of the party.

“She ain’t looking too great, Buck.” The blond commented, leaning in his saddle to inspect you closer. You shied away from his eyes, pressing closer to Bucky.

“It’s the heat.” Bucky murmured in response, his gaze fixed ahead. The redhead woman had slowed her own horse, glancing back at the interaction with interest.

“Here.” Steve says, retrieving a waterskin from the pack on his saddle. Unscrewing the top, he passes it to Bucky, who in turn offers it to you. You groan, pushing the offer away. At that moment, you’d have rather become one with the bleached bones of the desert.

Bucky huffs sharply, lifting the waterskin to your lips.

“Drink,” he commands. “You lost too much energy crying and wailing back there.”

As soon as the earthy, warm water graces your lips, a survival instinct kicks in, and you greedily take a few gulps before finding the strength to push the waterskin away. Bucky seems happy enough with the amount you have taken, passing it back to Steve.

The blond man shakes his head while screwing the top back on. “I don’t know what Stark was thinkin’ Buck; I don’t think she’s gonna make it out here.”

Bucky seems to sigh at that, giving Steve a sidelong look. “She’ll be fine.”

Steve shrugs, nudging his horse forward to catch up with the redhead woman. Through your squinted eyes, you make out the two of them exchanging some hushed words.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. Steve don’t know what he’s talking about.” Bucky reassures you, one of his large hands patting your thigh.

“What if he’s right?” You question, your voice cracked and raspy.

“There’s no need to worry.” He says it with a hum, accompanied by a small squeeze of your thigh. “I’ll look after you, pretty lady.”

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