Headcanons for Rip Wheeler with a sweet, gentle, kind SO who is a ray of pure sunshine (gender neutral, SFW):
You are the opposite of Rip in every way possible.
He's gruff and doesn't talk much.
You're bubbly, all sweetness and light.
He wears the same basic sets of clothes - black shirt, jeans, dusty boots.
You are a rainbow of color on any given day.
Rip only smiles for you.
But you have a smile ready for anyone you pass on the street.
Rip intimidates the hell out of people by his presence alone.
You are warm and friendly and people are just drawn to you like a bee to honey.
If Rip is honest, it scares the shit out of him that you are so trusting and soft-hearted. This world is not kind or gentle. He has seen first hand how kindness like yours gets put through a meat grinder.
He would never dream of changing anything about you. Ever.
But he does attempt to toughen you up a little. Just so you're a little better protected and prepared.
It doesn't stick though.
Because there you are, stopping traffic in the middle of town to rescue an abandoned kitten from the middle of the road.
He just wishes you would be a little more cautious, instead of blindly seeing the good in everyone all the time.
When he tries to explain that, you wrapped your arms around his middle and grinned up at him.
"That's why I have you, tough guy. You're my big, scary, guard dog who keeps me safe."
He likes the sound of that.
On very rare occasions, you and Rip butt heads. Because your perspectives are on total opposite ends of the spectrum.
Rip HATES arguing with you.
He's willing to take on anyone else and fight with them at the drop of a hat.
But not you. Never, ever you.
In the middle of a heated argument, he grits out with a growl, "You're being fucking naive."
A dead silence settles over the room.
The flicker of hurt in your eyes cuts him to the core.
He doesn't give a shit that he's right. He knows he could have said it better.
But your beautiful brilliant butterfly demeanor is already bruised, and you turn away, walking out to get some fresh air.
At first, Rip gives you space to cool off. Even though it kills him a little bit.
When he starts looking for you, he can't find you. Which eats him alive.
Nearly two hours later, he finds you dozing in the hay loft in a patch of sunlight with that damn kitten you rescued.
It's clear from your puffy, bloodshot eyes that you've been crying, which makes him sick with guilt.
"I'm sorry, honey," he says gently, pulling you close as he sits next to you. "Didn't mean to bite your head off like that."
You sniff and lean into him, even though you still feel a little tender.
"I know you're just worried about me," you whisper, threading your fingers with his.
You always decorate your home for every holiday.
To Rip, one day is just like any other, and he shakes his head fondly when you're tangled up in Christmas lights on the living room floor, working out the knots.
Or covering every inch of the house in paper hearts for Valentine's Day.
Or diligently concentrating as you smother cupcakes in green icing for St. Patrick's Day, and somehow, there is green icing in your hair??? and sprinkles covering every. single. surface. of the kitchen too???
Rip really doesn't give a shit about holidays or decorations, but it makes you happy. So, begrudgingly, with a long, weary sigh, he will insist that no, absolutely fucking not, you are not climbing that goddamn ladder to put up those fucking Christmas lights, honey, you'll break your fucking neck, so he'll get one of the ranch hands to do it instead.
In summer, you drag him outside to star gaze (he usually falls asleep within an hour though), rambling about constellations and supernovas and meteor showers as you're cuddled up to him in the cool night air.
He doesn't really have a clue what you're babbling about.
But you're content, warm, and safe beside him. That's all he cares about.
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