#and the good ol chop

[letoscrawls]

They will not save the galaxy they will make it worse

[taeiris]

little hcs for @pinkeoni ‘s theory

considering one of the “leaks” for s5 are that apparently noah will use prosthetics playing will+ the left hand theory

[theheadlessgroom]

@beatingheart-bride

"I hope I didn't make you uncomfortable asking, Emily," June said gently, as she pushed her dinner around her plate (a part of her could hear her father admonishing her for it, but truthfully, she was much too nervous to think about eating), adding, "I just...well, it's like you said, you don't feel like you're over a hundred years old and, well...you certainly don't come across that way."

That night that she and Wilhelm kicked Emily out of the house (a night she continued to regret), her perception of the young woman had changed, going from a sweet, soft-spoken young lady her son was smitten with, to a manipulative monster looking to sink her teeth into Randall's soft flesh, and that image stayed with her long after that night...

...but now, in the gentle light of the kitchen, looking at her now, that familiar visage of a good-natured, gentle-hearted woman returned, though more tinged with melancholy, for reasons June now understood, and was sympathetic towards. She saw not a monster, but a very lonely soul, in need of love.

"Well, uh," Wilhelm commented, similarly eating little (despite his usually strong appetite, it was, like his wife's, waning this evening) as he took a stab at humor, joking lightly, "You look pretty good for a centenarian, lass!"

[charliemwrites]

Bark bark bark awoooo

No content warnings

You’re gonna fucking combust.

Somehow, someway, this is Johnny’s fault. You’re not sure how yet, so he it isn’t fair for him to be in trouble, but you know it.

“This is your fault,” you tell him, pouting in bed — bare ass naked, but that means nothing to him, he’s a dog. He cocks his head, and you wave your (broken) vibrator at him. “I don’t know how, but it is. Is this because I wanna chop your balls off?”

His mouth closes, eyes big - like he actually understands you. In your horny delirium, you almost believe he really does.

You flop onto your back with a sigh, eyes a little wet with frustration.

It’s been two months since you last successfully got off. Your vibrator (and its replacement… and its replacement’s replacement) keep breaking, or running out of battery. The plug is defective or falls out of the socket.

Once you successfully got right to the edge - just for it to die. You almost did cry that time.

Sure, there’s your hand. But every time you try ol’ reliable a certain four-legged roommate interrupts one way or another. And when you tried to kick him out of the room, and then ignored the howling, scratching, and general drama - there was loud and rapid knocking at your door.

Like fucking clockwork. If you get anywhere at all, you never get to finish.

It wouldn’t be so bad, either. Your libido isn’t anything crazy, you don’t think. At least it wasn’t before. But now there’s Soap.

Soap who you should not be so attracted to. Who has no sense of propriety or boundaries, who murmurs the dirtiest things to you in the most public and otherwise mundane places. And he just keeps. Showing. Up.

Like he’s got a tracker on you or something. (You’ve checked, he doesn’t.)

He’s like every guilty fantasy you had as a good, studious girl back in high school. The kind of guy to grab your thigh under your parents’ dinner table and take your virginity in the back of his car. Maybe corner you by the lockers between classes to kiss you silly and drive up your absence record.

You never actually went for those boys — and perhaps gratefully, they never went for you. In romance novels, it would be a quaint little coming of age story. The stuff to swoon over. But reality was a lot scarier for you, especially with your older sister always keeping an ear out to report back to your parents and… well, yeah.

You’ve always been a firm introvert, anyway. That’s why you live out in the woods with only a dog for regular company.

But Soap. Soap is some unholy amalgamation of those innocent, shy girl fantasies turned R-rated. Like the grown-up version of those cute YA novels.

And you have no defense for it — except distrust, that is.

Soft-hearted as you are, you know you don’t do casual well. And you know that guys like Soap just like to spin you up and up until you finally give in, think the dreaded words “maybe it’ll work out” despite that rational voice in your head saying, “don’t bet on it.”

Doesn’t stop you from secretly wanting him though.

Fear is the only thing keeping you in check now. Some of it for you own feelings; of getting invested in a guy that has done nothing but treat you like a prime cut of meat. The rest of it is a genuine concern that he might be a bit dangerous. He’s so much bigger than you, visibly stronger. Has gone out of his way to make you uncomfortable (doesn’t matter that a very dark and slutty part of you liked it) and ignored your attempts at brushing him off.

Fear, unfortunately, is beginning to add to the temptation.

“I’m not going to do it,” you tell yourself, or maybe Johnny. Soap’s contact is on the screen. You don’t remember putting it into your phone, but you must have at some point. “Nope. No way.”

You slide a sideways look at Johnny, tail wagging at a steady clip.

“He’s probably a former frat boy or something, right?” you muse.

Snort.

“No, you don’t think so?” you question, sitting up. He happily crawls into your lap when you pat your thighs, chin resting on your tummy. “Nah, you’re right. Could almost imagine him beating the hell out of one for pissing him off.”

A little grumbly noise. You smile and start petting absently over his head and ears, phone forgotten now.

“This is dumb anyway,” you sigh, head tilted back to the ceiling. “You don’t like men. I couldn’t bring him back here.”

Johnny’s ears flick. You giggle and start flopping them around, making airplane noises. Eventually he huffs and starts licking at your face until you stop, complaining that you’ll need to wash off now.

—

“Fuck it.”

Johnny picks his head up, staring at you as you run a hand down your face.

“Fuck it all. I’m going to a bar. I’m getting… I dunno. Laid or something.” Thank god it’s only Johnny here. You don’t think you could live with the embarrassment of someone else hearing the way you talk.

You set your hands on your hips, nod to yourself.

“And if it happens to be Soap, then… sign from the universe, right?” You grimace a bit, striding for your bedroom. “Please don’t let him be a murderer or something…”

For once, Johnny is perfectly behaved as you get ready. He doesn’t try to lick at you when you come out of shower (freshly shaved and lotioned and everything). Sits patiently on the bed as you pick through your closet, even noses at a pretty pink dress you rarely wear but were considering for this.

He doesn’t try to bump your arms or hands while you do your makeup, just watches attentively. You choose a pretty, matching bra-panty set, apply a light spritz of perfume. Hesitate over jewelry.

“Is it normal to wear jewelry when you plan on fucking?” you wander allowed.

A little “boof” from the bed. You’ll take that as a yes.

You decide on a set of faux pearls with a gold heart pendant in the center. Not quite a choker, but high enough on your throat to suggest one. A delicate bracelet, a pair of stud earrings, and you’re just about set.

“Christ, I hate doing this alone,” you mutter, fumbling with the zip on the back of the dress.

Lastly, the shoes.

“Fuck it,” you say again. Your mantra for the evening, apparently. Wobble into a pair of heels, a bow on the outside of each ankle where you buckle them.

You pause when you’re done, giving yourself a once over in the full length mirror. Pleased with what you see. Coquettish and pretty, not necessarily bombshell sexy maybe, at least not on first glance. But the necklace, the heels, the cutouts at the waist of your dress… it’s all exactly what you wanted.

“Alright,” you breathe, tummy swooping with excitement. “I can do this… right?”

Johnny’s gotten down off the bed, is keeping a respectful distance. You appreciate it, don’t want to have to lint roll hair off yourself.

“Oh, god. What if he’s bad?” You ask, giving him a horrified look. “What if he’s been, like, compensating?”

To your shock, he stomps his paw and starts damn near howling. Carrying on and on like he’s bitching you out. You blink in shock, almost laugh — then check the time.

“Oh! Don’t worry, baby. I won’t let you starve!”

You toddle off to the kitchen and prep his dinner, scrunching your nose at the raw chicken and beef liver. He grumbles and fusses the whole way, making you laugh as you pretend to have a whole conversation about the economy with him.

“Okay, bonnie Johnny,” you coo, setting his bowl down. “Be good, okay? If I bring someone back here please don’t eat them, okay?”

More grumbles and whines and growls. You roll your eyes, blow him a kiss, and slip out the door.

You tell yourself you just need action with someone. Don’t admit to yourself that there’s really a specific someone you’re hoping to see.

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Masterlist

[cera-writes]

your gambit fics are so good you write him amazingly 💕 gambit or magneto x reader fluff pls?

Merci, mon ami! <3 For real though, thank you that is such a great compliment!! I'll definitely write for both requests! Erik x Reader will be in a separate post. But I do plan on writing for him <3 Pairing: Remy "Gambit" LeBeau x Reader Prompt: Remy shows the reader how to make his famous creole gumbo and a confession with lots of fluff ensues tags: sfw, fluff, and Remy just being his lovable ragin' Cajun self.

"Let ol' Gambit show you how it's done."

You were busy prepping supper in the kitchen of the mansion, taking over dinner duties that afternoon. Thing was though, that you couldn't quite figure out just what you wanted to make.

You'd pulled out every cookbook Professor Xavier had stored in the kitchen but nothing was quite to your liking.

You flipped through the pages, eyes scanning over every recipe on every page but nothing spoke to you. You really just didn't know what you specifically had the taste for.

You sighed, growing frustrated with your lack of a decision for picking something to eat.

"Geez, this should not be that hard," you scolded yourself. "Screw it. I'm just gonna pop a frozen lasagna in the oven."

You had just opened the freezer and pulled out the frozen food and closed the door when you nearly had a heart attack seeing Gambit standing on the other side.

You nearly dropped the frozen lasagna before Remy grabbed it out of your hands.

Gambit took one look at the monstrocity you were about to make before tossing it back into the cold tundra. He then made a disgusted face.

"Gambit know you ain't about to cook that, petite!"

You folded your arms over your chest raising a brow at him. "You have any better ideas?" You asked, daring him to give you his suggestions.

"As a matter of fact I do, chere. Let ol' Gambit show you how it's done."

You watched as he started pulling out different types of ingredients from the pantry and refrigerator.

"Help Gambit out darlin' and grab that big pot out from over there," he pointed to one of the bottom cabinets that held all the cookware.

You huffed before doing just that as he laid out all the ingredients on the counter.

"Gambit gonna show you how to make his famous gumbo."

You had no objections. "Be my guest, monsieur."

He grinned at the use of your French vocabulary.

"It may take a while to cook but this'll have everybody comin' back for seconds," he smirked, grabbing a knife from the cutlery set.

He then motioned for you to stand in front of him, guiding the knife into your hand as he helped you chop some of the ingredients up.

Your back was pressed flush to his chest and you could feel the warmth radiating off of him. It was no secret that the two of you had unspoken feelings towards each other. He always found ways to brush up against you or use some excuse to get close to you. Right now was no exception either.

"Just like that, chere..." Remy trailed off, helping you slice up the food and put it into the pot. He was so close to your ear that you felt his breath tickle the sensitive skin there. It made your heart rate quicken.

"You're doin' a mighty fine job of that," Gambit praised you, causing your cheeks to heat up. He then moved away, letting you catch your breath. He knew exactly how to rile you up. And it always seemed to work.

Soon, he had the pot boiling on the stove. "Now we let it simmer to perfection," he made a little chef's kiss motion, bringing his fingers to his lips. "But in the meantime, Gambit can find other ways to pass the time with you ma petite." He tossed you a playful wink.

His eyes then trailed over your frame, noticing what you were wearing. "Not gonna lie chere, you look delectable in an apron."

You rolled your eyes, not being able to hide your smile at his compliment. He was such a shameless flirt.

He moved closer to you again, wanting to just be near you. He loved your presence. You somehow always had a way of lighting up the room when you were around. He backed you up against the counter, placing his hands on either sides of you.

"You wanna know somethin' ma cherie?" His gaze lowered to yours, face just mere inches from kissing you. You swallowed hard, wondering what he was about to say.

"Gambit has, well, liked you for a while. And ain't referring to like in a friend sort of way. You do somethin to me and I need to show you what that means..."

He cupped a hand to your cheek, leaning in as his stubble brushed against the skin there. His lips melted into yours, causing sparks to fly in a figurative sense. You gasped softly, wrapping your arms around his neck, bringing him in closer to you.

Once you both finally pulled away for air, the pot had started boiling over.

"Merde!" Gambit cursed under his breath, reluctantly breaking away from you to tend to the food.

Once he got that settled, he immediately turned his attention back to you only to find you with your hands on your knees laughing at the whole situation. "What?" He smirked. "We almost let the food burn from makin' out."

"Exactly," you grinned, face flushed red with happiness and humor.

He couldn't help but sweep you off your feet this time as he sat you on the counter. He moved some stray hair from your face before he gazed into your eyes.

"I need to know if you feel the same for Gambit..." his voice was low and husky now and suddenly all seriousness returned back to your features as he trailed his thumb over your bottom lip.

"Do you even need to ask, Remy?"

You grabbed his shirt and crashed your lips into his this time. He kissed you back eagerly, until you both heard the sound of someone clearing their throat awkwardly.

You both turned to look and see Wolverine, Morph, Cyclops, and the rest of the X-Men standing at the entrance to the kitchen.

"Uh, It's dinner time. Or were we interrupting something else?" Cyclops raised a brow.

You both smiled sheepishly.

Remy scratched the back of his neck and smirked, "Dinner's ready," before giving you a wink as if to say we'll finish this later.

[m4rs-ex3]

ALLLL RIGHTY YALL

if u haven't already seen.............. guys i was late i was fucking late for the panel give me a break

BUT here is a play by play of everything from the second i got in

[A GOOD CHUNK OF THE SECRET SCENE] if you saw this post within the first few *hours you got to see but you know what? they got to me i don't wanna be the snitch (i did on accident but its the though that counts)

opeli is being led blindfolded (which we see from opeli's pov. riveting visuals i tell you) by soren to the ✨secret meeting location✨

when she comments on the fact that it is literally just callum's office soren shuts her up bless him

opeli's like "DID BAIT GIVE BIRTH??!?!?" and soren's like no these are "rescue baits" and opeli gives them the greatest fucking look i can't even describe it to you

you've seen that leak "look it's the pearl :D""WHA""yep he's in there :)))))"

rayla says it like "per-al." just thought you should know

soren suggests forming a Fellowship of the Pearl and going to throw it into a volcano i fucking hate this show

they're all debating what to do with it meanwhile the most cryptic-ass shots of callum with the pearl like we get it he's fucked (i take it back i want more)

they finally get to him and he's like "uh????? destroy it obviously?????"

he suggests--and these are 100% his words (not actually cuz u know but its the general idea)--"smash it? throw it off a cliff? take a big ol axe and just--KA CHOP." i love him so much

rayla asks how they know it won't just release him

the way callum is so confused and conflicted and he just says "i... i don't know" oh my god by precious baby

cool ass top-down to the pearl whirlpool esq transtion into the next scene hello??

zym is being emo at a painting of his mother (the one from 4x03 yeah they just stitched that shit up it's all good)

ezran's like. huh. we oughtta do smth abt this

callum is Thinking Thoughts on the turrets(?? yk where soren does his lunges) and tossin the rune cube when he sees the star rune light up......................................

it's stella stella's there and the way he reacts to her is so precious 😭 he's not the step dad he's the dad who stepped up type shit

enter rayla "they told me u would be up here brooding"

(in a tragic turn of events the rayllum of this scene had my brain fuzzy so i can't remember a few chunks here and there have pity my brain has rotten)

callum's like "we have to do something i'm scared he's gonna use me. i know what we need to do ok we need to go to the starscraper"

it's honestly hilarious the way he says "and *WE.* should go" he's like "don't be gettin any ideas now this is an us thing"

and then ohoho "they have something there for you, too" (THAT was an exact quote)

he's like "PLSPLSPLS i've studied star magic i know the spells i know the runes i just need the quasar diamonds!! LET ME FREE UR PARENTS AND RUNAAN PLEAAAASSSSEEEE"

rayla is veryyyyyy opposed she's like "NO i want to help my parents as much as you"--honestly i don't think ANYONE wants to as much as him--"but i don't want my biases to affect that" BIASES?!??!! like that was the word she used i can't stop thinking about it

zym has entered his wolf child era his ass is HOWLING at the moon

soren hears him and goes "aww little guy misses his mom :((( sometimes i wonder where my mom is...." WHAT AWHAT WHAT AWHAT PJARDON SAY IT AGIAN YOU WAHGTS SAY IT AGIAND HUAH HUWH A

ok. yeah callum does not have pajamas BUT I THINK WE HAVE BIGGER ISSUES HERE????????????? HE WAS SLEEPING IN HIS OFFICE

THAT COUCH THING THAT THEY WERE ON WHEN RAYLA CAME BACK IN 4x03???? HES JUST SLEEPING ON IT I CANT MY GUY WHAT R U DOINGGG

in other news

bruv is tossing and turning and then just. ~stops.~ this can only mean good things (i think you know where i'm going with this)

he sits up. hobbles over to the door. there was a really cool transition (can u tell i respect the cinematography) and he's in the cellar holding the pearl.

he wakes up in aaravos' prison and is like "well this looks neat!" until he sees the mirror and screams and wakes up. when he realizes where he is he goes "what have i done" dude you fell asleep?? god he's never sleeping again (<- me when i lie 😈)

the description we got of this next scene did NOT do it justice it was fucking incredible

callum kicks down the fucking door (not actually) screaming for rayla

rayla TUMBLES OUT OF BED ON TO THE FLOOR, pillows in hands and unafraid to use them

"WHOA. HEY HEY ITS OKAY ITS ME! it's just me rayla. it's me. callum" i feel like he was saying the same 5 words for 7 hours it was beautiful

rayla: "callum?? jeez i could have-" *looks at pillows*

callum giggles the cutest fucking giggle and says something along the lines of "yeah, it would've hurt real bad :)"

oh yeah DE-LAYERED PONYTAIL RAYLA CONFIRMEDED??!?!?!?!?!

she sits back on the bed and my guy KNEELS DOWN AT THE CORNER OF THE BED TO PICK UP HER STUFF BEFORE HE SITS DOWN NEXT TO HER and they say chivalry is dead romance was birthed and ended with this scene

he tells her about it and she goes "callum, you're exhausted. you had a nightmare. if i thought you were in any real danger you know i would-" and then ironically i forget the same line that the person from nycc did wouldja look at that

can i just mention how close they were sitting in this scene i mean i jsut thikn i should mention hwo clo

yada yada he has a lightbulb and runs off with her blanket

the iconic "i know stella.. he took our blankie :("

god knows why barius is up in the middle of the night whispering sweet nothings to his jelly tarts

callum comes in with a certain proposition mwuhahaha

rayla comes into his office and sees his aesthetic ass sewing by fireside and graciously says "ah i get it! you're taking your mind off things by peacefully knitting" so iconic for both of them

callum explains that he's stitching runes to create a protection spell when barius comes in with the """"""""pearl""""""""""

rayla DIVES in front of callum and says "what r you doing get that thing AWAY from him!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" she got SO protective SO fast it was blessed

callum's like au contraire 😈

ok so obviously we had all heard about the fake pearl but. you know that one guy who makes insane sculptures out of nothing but chocolate? that's what they did the pearl is brown sludge with a candy coating 💀 i'm losing my mind that is so funny to me

so yeah with the decoy out the real pearl is protected by--and callum literally said this--"a magic blankie >:)"

he also pops in to tell ez and omg GUYS BAIT HAS HIS OWN LITTLE ROYAL CANOPY BED ITS SO FUCKING CUTE

dawn in the courtyard--ez is saying goodbye to soren, zym, and pyrrah who are going to look for zubeia (i almost just typed zendaya i need sleep) and callum and rayla who r going to the starscraper

my roman empire is this: callum was acting all eepy and then when they get going hE RESTS HIS HEAD ON RAYLA'S BACK AND FALLS ASLEEP. I CANNOT FUCKING MAKE THIS UP IT WAS PHENOMENAL SHE LOOKED SO FUCKING HAPPY I I I I I I HAKJSDHFKJASHFDKJHSADKFHKJASHFIHASEKFH

on a slightly lower note

scene from teaser except they did cut a couple lines in the teaser. mainly just terry going "didn't see you there,, cuz i was asleep. with my eyes closed"

he does not in fact get impaled but claudia tells him she's gonna leave him first and does just that

as she's going omfg terry's cries and pleas and "I LOVE YOU"s and "I WILL WAIT. I WILL WAIT HERE FOR YOU" was absolutely insane idk what was in the air in that recording studio but shout out to ben

i am so tired goodbye!

[hischierswhore]

mr perfectly fine

part 2 of this fic

pairing: Lando Norris x Reader

"Rise & shine, sleepy head” Kika said as you slowly opened our eyes, only to be met with the blinding lights from outside. After grabbing the pillow and burying your face in it to conceal you from the harsh lights, you noticed the room got darker, meaning Kika had closed the curtains.

“How did you even get in?” You rubbed your eyes.

“Spare key”

“30 more minutes? Please?” You begged your friend to give you a bit of extra time.

“If I give you 30 minutes, you’ll ask me for another 45 after so no. Get up” She pulled the sheets from you and dragged you out of bed.

“Why am I going to this thing anyways?”

“Because I have an extra ticket for this event, and you promised me that you would come”

“Just take Pierre or something” You said, still half asleep

“He’s already going with the rest of the grid. Obligations” Her words immediately snapped you awake.

“The rest of the grid?” Kika nodded.

“You might not even see Lan- sorry. He who shall not be named. You’ll be with me the entire night” She gently rubbed your arm in attempt to reassure you that all would be fine.

Kika was the first person you told about the breakup. You ghosted everyone for a few days after Lando had left you, ignoring all calls and messages from the outside world. Kika, your best friend, was beyond concerned with your sudden disappearance and decided to pay you a visit. Using her spare key, that she also seemed to use for non-emergency reasons, she walked right into your home and found you sitting on the couch with the bags under your eyes heavier than ever before.

"What if he tries to talk to me?" You threw yourself on your bed dramatically, watching as Kika browsed through your wardrobe. Following the breakup, you had stalked Lando's social media and he didn’t seem to be fazed by the breakup, and if he had, he didn't show it.

He returned to his life of traveling and nonstop adventures with his fellow drivers. Attending all sorts of parties and festivals, which he was free to do, but what wasn’t right to you was how he didn’t seem hurt in the slightest.

It’d been a month since that night. You still remember the stove illuminating the “1:58am” across your living room as you watched Lando leave.  

“What about this one?” Kika pulled out a sparkling red dress and showed it to you.

“I don’t know-“

"Think of this as revenge. You can show him what he's missing. And if you do run in to him, so what? You know I won’t hesitate to give him a good ole’ karate chop in the head" She karate chopped the air, and you burst out in laughter at her movement.

If you wanted revenge, like Kika suggested, you needed to show up looking my best and not let your emotions take over.

After you & Kika had finished getting ready, you called an Uber to take you from your flat over to the event you were attending.

You both entered the banquet hall with all eyes on you. Or maybe their attention was on Kika and her stunning (per usual) dress. Either way, you rarely ever got attention like this, and to say it scared you was an understatement.

You both approached the trio of Pierre, Carlos and Charles, joining in on their conversation.

“We missed having you around, Y/n” Charles said as he rubbed the back of his neck. The group hadn’t seen you in a while due to your breakup with their friend.

“I missed seeing you guys” You said as a figure joined the group. You head turned to greet the person but you immediately jumped back, shocked at the sight: It was Lando, with some new blonde by his side.

Your plans of getting revenge went flying out the window, and right now you wanted nothing more than to crawl into your bed and never leave. The group was just as shocked as you were, glancing between Lando and the blonde.

You leaned into Carlos’ ear and excused yourself, to which he nodded and promised to relay the message to the rest of the group.

As you bolted to the nearest bathroom, you wanted to burst into tears. You locked yourself in the stall and tried your hardest not to cry, instead trying to think happy thoughts.

Back at the group, Kika noticed the moment you left and turned to Lando. The blonde had also excused herself to go speak to some of her friends.

“You’ve got some fucking nerve, Norris” She sounded completely disgusted with Lando.

“What did I do?” Lando asked as he looked around, watching as Charles smacked a hand onto his face in disappointment.

“What didn’t you do, Lando? You broke up with Y/n only a week after your podium in Silverstone because you “had to” for the sake of your relationship? In what fucking world does that make sense?” Kika said before Carlos spoke up

“You claimed to love her, but then you show up here, only a month after you left her, with a new girl on your arm? Guess you really did love Y/n enough to replace her like nothing”

“And then you acted like you did nothing wrong. You didn’t show the slightest bit of remorse for leaving her, with that shit excuse by the way” Charles added.

“Have you even apologized at all?” Pierre asked, watching Lando’s gaze fall down to his feet.

“No” He mumbled.

“You really think he would apologize? He left her hopes high, insinuating that he would come back for her, when in reality it was just an excuse to find someone new” Kika was nearly shouting at this point, and Pierre signaled for her to go find you to ensure you were okay.

- later on -

You were sat at your table with Pierre, Kika, Charles and Carlos. You were all talking when you felt a tap on your shoulder. You turned your head to see who was trying to get your attention and it was none other than Lando himself.

“Can I help you?” You asked as you turned your attention back to the rest of the table, not wanting to speak to him right now, or at all for that matter.

“Can we talk? Alone?” You sigh as you nod your head, unsure as to why you’re even agreeing to this. You excuse yourself from the table and all eyes are on you as you walk away with Lando right behind you.

You turn to face him once you’re out of sight from everyone at the event.

“What did you want?” You folded your arms across your chest. Lando inhaled deeply and he seemed nervous.

“I want to apologize. For everything. I wanted to focus on racing and winning and I just couldn’t see myself doing that with you in my life”

“So… you lied to me and made it seem like you were doing this for me? You made it seem like you were going to come back for me, Lando. But really you just wanted to leave and never return”

“I shouldn’t have made it seem like that. I’m so sorry” You stayed silent, contemplating what to say next.

“Who’s the blonde?” You questioned, watching the lump in Lando’s throat.

“Oh she’s uhm… my date” He refused to make eye contact with you as you scoffed at his answer.

“Interesting how you said you loved me and that you always would, yet you replaced me like nothing happened at all and moved on after a month. Somehow you’re “Mr Perfectly Fine” after all this, so clearly you didn’t love me half as much as you said you did ” Lando could only mutter apologies yet still refused to make any sort of eye contact with you.

“Well this was lovely,  but I’m going to go back to my table” You said nothing else as you made your way back to the table, shoulder checking him as you passed. You walked back into the dining hall to see everyone quickly turning their heads back around to seem as if they weren’t waiting for you to come back.

As you sat down, you felt a weight lifted from your shoulders; you were finally free and you would be alright someday.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

taglist

@chelseagirl98 @firehazardxx @judesgfirl @celestialams @xjval

[starsofang]

Call of Duty || Coraline AU

Running away to start a new chapter and escape the troubles of your past, you find yourself in a darker predicament than you had hoped for.

Coraline with a twist. And COD men. Obviously.

PT.2 / PT.3

You took in the sight of your new home from where you stood in the doorway. Your eyes studied the peeling wallpaper, the old water stains on the ceiling, the long, hallway rug that didn’t seem to want to lay flat from where it slightly popped up in the middle. It was a place far from special, and in all honesty, the house was a bit… depressing in a sense. But it was your new home, and it was the first thing offered to you when you had run away, far from your original home – if you could call it that.

Sighing, you stepped inside the dingy house, slipping off your shoes that had begun to collect mud from the rain that cascaded down outside. Just like this new house, the outside was just as somber of a sight, with gloomy rain clouds hanging in the sky and weeping water drops down to the overgrown yard.

As you made your way into the home, you could faintly hear music playing from upstairs. You paused your walking to stare up at the ceiling, ears tuning in on what the resident upstairs could possibly be playing this early in the morning.

Circus music…?

Shaking it off, you proceeded to navigate your way around the place, opting to ignore the light sound of symbols clashing and strange kazoos blaring from above. Instead, you began your long journey of unpacking the little things you brought with you when you left your old home.

There wasn’t much, and in the few hours you had spent unboxing it all, you realized just how much you didn’t have. Even the furniture that came with the home wouldn’t cut it, what with its old, antique styling and dust that was definitely not from this century.

“Fuck this,” you muttered to yourself, shaking your head in disbelief.

One look at the rotting fruit in the fridge – just how long had it been in there? – told you that you’d need to run to the market if you didn’t want to starve on your first night alone.

Alone. Even just the simple reminder felt foreign, almost unrealistic. You had traveled all this way – no, not traveled. Ran all this way, and now it was a reality. This broken, rundown home was proof of that, and it was only just the beginning.

Stepping out of the home, you fumbled for the keys to lock the door behind you. Once you were sure it was secure, you made your way down the line of steps and to the paved sidewalk of the building. The rain had stopped in the hours spent unpacking, and you released a small sigh of relief at not having to drive in it once again.

As you ascended the last step, a door could be heard opening with a pair of deep voices filtering out with it. Pausing, your head whipped over to the left, where another staircase leading downwards was now occupied with two men bickering – one was tanned and pretty, with a certain confidence that seemed to ooze out of his perfectly unblemished skin (damn him), while the other was an older gentleman with thick facial hair and kind eyes.

“Oh, hello!” The pretty one greeted you when he got to the top of his stairs, a blinding smile curving on his lips. Bickering seemingly forgotten, he indulged himself with the presence of a newcomer. “You’re the new neighbor, eh? Thought Laswell locked up that ol’ place long ago.”

Laswell? 

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, but before you could say anything in return, the other man with the mutton chops spoke. “Don’t mind him. You settling in alright? Nothing wrong with the place yet?”

Besides the rotting wallpaper and eighteen-hundred’s couch? And the creepy circus music playing from above?

“No,” you opted to say instead, eyes flickering between them.

“Ah! Good to hear it,” The older gentleman cheered with a bright smile, clapping his hands together. “Been quite some time since having a neighbor. Well, besides Soap, that is. Wouldn’t want to scare you off so soon, now, would we?”

Pretty boy nodded in agreement, almost a bit too enthusiastically, and you felt you were missing something. These men were… strange, to say the least. And so forward, too.

Also, who the hell is Soap?

You could only assume he meant the other resident living in the apartment upstairs, what with his weird music and loud footsteps. Soap, huh?

“John Price,” The older one introduced with an outstretched hand. “And this here is Kyle Garrick.”

“Call me Gaz, love,” Gaz corrected with a warm smile.

You stared down at John’s hand, which was soon joined by Gaz’s. Hesitating for a moment, you first shook John’s, then Gaz’s, their grip firm and skin rough to the touch.

“Right. Nice to meet you.” You cleared your throat, suddenly feeling much too exposed with the way they were staring at you. “Say, John, what exactly do you mean, wrong with the house–”

“Well, it was lovely to meet you, Caroline! We’d best be off now, but do come over if you need anything, yes?” John cut you off with a crinkly smile, placing his hand on Gaz’s shoulder and guiding him away from where you stood at the end of the stairs, successfully avoiding further conversation and disappearing down the pathway to the road.

“It’s Coraline…” you muttered under your breath, before the realization that he even knew your name, albeit incorrectly, dawned on you. You hadn’t offered it in return, yet somehow, he already knew.

Your eyes followed them as they walked, watching as they grew farther and farther away until they turned the corner at the edge of the driveway and could no longer be seen. Out of sight, out of mind.

How the fuck did he know that?

[cinnasalmon]

→ Zevlor SFW Alphabet

Various SFW relationship (mostly romantic, but some platonic too) headcanons, one letter at a time! Very long. Sorry not sorry. I have a lot of thoughts

NSFW Alphabet here !

→ A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Doting to the mf MAXIMUM. It's almost sickening. He's not super into PDA, but he will always have a hand on the small of his partner's back and be the first to open doors so he can hold it open for them. This has a risk of other couples in public to start arguing because “how come you're not like that with me?” 

For real though he is so affectionate, and it's always the little things, too. Like if he's on his way back from the temple and a food cart is offering a free sample of something, he asks for another to bring to his sweetheart.

→ B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

Mom/Dad/Parent friend. Overly responsible, always offering to help, and it's one thing when someone comes at him sideways—he can take the heat (begrudgingly)—but it's an entirely different thing when it's one of his buds. He has an extremely small friend circle, and he considers them family.

Friendship progression is slow and really only happens if he sees them regularly: a regular at the temple or they work together there, they're his neighbors, etc. He's got trust issues out the wazoo, though (thanks Avernus/Elturel). So be very, very patient. 

→ C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

YES goodness gracious yes. He loves cuddling, or any kind of physical touch. Big spoon, little spoon, it does not matter to him so long as he's in physical contact with his partner. 

Though, he prefers as much of his body flushed against theirs (the more skin-on-skin contact, the better); we're talking arms holding each other, legs tangled, heads buried in the other's, etc. If his partner is also a tiefling, their tails will be intertwined as much as possible. If his partner is a non-tiefling, his tail will be coiled around one of their legs.

→ D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

He's been wanting to settle down for decades. But, a Hellrider is for life. His career was always to be his priority: even if he had a family at home, even if his own life was in danger. 

But the moment he can finally settle down, soldiering days behind him, you can bet he'll be pitching in happily to the household chores. He may not be the greatest cook, but he'll tease he can chop the hell out of a vegetable.

→ E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

Oh this is a nightmare scenario for him. He'll exhaust every possible option of salvaging the relationship before resorting to this. Once he commits to his partner, he doesn't let go easily. But if it comes down to it, he'll plan it out and whip out the ‘ol “We need to talk.” 

From being a commander in the past, he's not afraid of confrontation, but he'll still be gritting his teeth as he bites the bullet to end it. 

→ F = Fiancé (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

As stated above, once he commits to his partner, he's locked in; he dates with marriage as the end goal. Whether he's been married before or not, at his age now, this is it. So, he'll take his time before deciding to pop the question. Buuut he doesn't wait forever, though. He's a classic romantic, so no games or leading someone on. If his partner reciprocates with the same enthusiasm? Well he'll be down on one knee in no time.

→ G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

Paladins who swear to an oath of devotion follow a set of tenants, one of these is to aid others, protect the weak, and punish those who prey upon them (labeled under Compassion). A sturdy and strong hand to slay enemies should also be capable of being soothing and with great care to those the paladin is sworn to defend. Zevlor is no exception to this. Even if his oath is broken, it's still in his nature to be like this.

As far as emotions? Much as he may try to appear stoic and calm, he wears his emotion on his face. And despite having the flames of Hell sat on onyx for eyeballs, they show a lot. I personally love the headcanon that the flames will brighten or dim depending on his emotions and I will stand by that proudly.

→ H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

As stated before, physical touch is something this man wants at nearly all times. So it's no surprise he gives great hugs. They're so gentle and calming, and even if the person he's hugging is taller or bigger than him, they'll feel enveloped by his touch. And being a tiefling, his body temperature runs higher, so his hugs are nice and toasty. 

He'll embrace his partner often, and he particularly loves hugs from behind (both giving and receiving). People hug from the front all the time, so coming up from the rear is quite a bit more intimate. He craves closeness in every sense of the word.

→ I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

He'll want to say it much sooner than he finally does. This is sooo cheesy, but he'll be staring at the side or back of his partner, feeling that wave of nerves, butterflies in his stomach, and the swells in his chest, but those short little words are caught at the top of his throat. His partner will notice him and curiously ask, “What are you looking at?” and he will say, “Sorry, I… was drifting in thought,” until one day his partner will once again curiously ask with an accompanied chuckle, “What are you looking at?” to which he will blurt out “I love you.” 

→ J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

This man will  n e v e r  admit he's jealous. But boy does it show. His words are short, blunt. He won't look his partner in the eye. They'll have to coax it out of him. Simply asking “Wait, are you jealous?” will not work. In fact, it will likely send him further into painfully obvious denial.

Since his oath and faith were broken and lost, his ego is um… quite fragile, moreso when it comes to things in his life he believes he doesn't deserve. Like his partner. Especially his partner. 

→ K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

His kisses are so sweet your blood sugar levels will skyrocket. 

So, so gentle and loving. He can certainly be rough when the time calls for it, but overall he's slow and even methodical a bit; he kisses like each one could be his last.

In public, he'll give a peck here and there, but at home? Showers his partner in kisses. Everywhere. It's one of the easiest and simplest ways to show how much he truly adores them.

He doesn't really have a preference where he likes to be kissed, but he blushes a bit and feels soft and mushy when it's anywhere on his face (especially cheeks, temples, and forehead) or any of his infernal features on his body. If his partner kisses the back of his hand, he'll freeze for a moment, then the bashfulness comes out.

→ L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

He loves kids! I'd like to think that if asked what he would be if not a Hellrider, he would answer a schoolteacher (shout out to Early Access). He sees children as limitless potential with an insatiable curiosity; they are the future. And of course, he's always wanted children of his own, and perhaps a part of him still wants to try…!

→ M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

Slow and easy. Decades of being a Hellrider waking up before dawn to report for duty? He is over it. Now he can finally take his time and savor the mornings.

If he's up before his partner and isn't helping out at the temple that day, he'll stick around and read a book until he hears them stirring awake. Once they're awake, it doesn't take much coaxing to get him back in bed. 

If both end up sleeping in, they're not leaving that bed for at least an hour after they wake up. Just cuddling and chatting, enjoying each other's company. Afterwards, they always make breakfast together.

→ N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Evenings are typically relaxing. After dinner, he'll read or write a bit (he loves his poetry), have a glass of wine or two with his partner, or any other similar winding-down type of activity. 

He has insomnia and frequent nightmares, and no matter how many nights his partner will be adamant to stay up with him, the warmth radiating from his body as well as the soothing baritones of his voice guarantee that will never happen.

→ O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

He harbors a lot of secrets and stress within him. He's very wise, but oftentimes wisdom is formed from hardship. He's reluctant to share much aside from surface-level tidbits until the relationship matures and he feels safe and secure enough to let his guard down. Even then, he's definitely someone who will still reveal things about himself years into a relationship or friendship.

→ P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

He has a temper for sure, especially if a soft spot was hit. That being said, he's also quick to calm himself. Being a leader—a leader in the military, at that—he cannot let himself get caught up in the heat of the moment; he has to catch himself before it gets to that point, even if his anger is justified (see: the confrontation with Aradin).

→ Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

He's got a pretty good memory, but when it comes to his relationship? Almost nothing will need to be repeated to him. Hell, he'll write it down on scrap paper and tuck it in one of his journals if he has to. 

If his partner works at a busy place in the city, he'll remember every co-worker his partner complains or raves about. Our man stays on top of the work drama: “Had a long day, darling? Was it that Galawyn again?”

→ R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

I think Zevlor's favorite moments in a relationship would be the little moments. Hearing his partner's fits of laughter, how peaceful they look asleep next to him, the way their eyes light up when they see a poster that their favorite traveling bard will be performing in town soon. 

And of course, it goes without saying his all-time favorite moment would be the classics: the wedding day and/or the birth of their child!

→ S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

HAh this man is a guard dog. Even before they become a part of his oath, he's adamant to protect his person, his one and only. During the budding/honeymoon stage of the relationship this will be extremely obvious. Lots of, “Dear, please be careful with that,” or “Would you like me to accompany you?” As if they didn't personally kill the Chosen of the Dead Three along with a Netherbrain. 

But for Zevlor to be the protected one? On the outside, he'll insist he's fine and that he can hold his own just fine, he's a grown man, etc. And he is right. But on the inside, he'll be so relieved to be tended to. So relieved, in fact, that he actually feels a bit guilty (but that's a whole other can of worms).

→ T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

Oh he'll remember. He keeps track. Never will need to be reminded of something. He's someone who has that uncanny ability to bring his partner a random gift and they'll respond “How did you know I wanted this?!” and the bastard will shrug and smirk. He knows. He just knows. 

→ U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

His biggest one is he will easily and nearly automatically put himself down at every opportunity. Early in the relationship it's to the point he doesn't even realize he's doing it until it's pointed out. He's always had this mindset to a degree, but even still, he was a much different person in Elturel as a Commander vs. now. The trauma from Avernus combined with the aftermath of being blamed for it (and then subsequently exiled), as well as the events of the Shadow Lands, all did a number on his psyche.

I'm also not gonna lie—he can be a little codependent, especially if the relationship is new. It's easy to fall down that slippery slope when you want to serve others, especially loved ones. He may occasionally have to be reminded he can be “selfish” and accept the fact his partner can do things for him that he doesn't need to reciprocate!

→ V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

Not terribly concerned. Well, not terribly concerned unless his partner is young and/or considered attractive by others (though he will always believe they are the hottest in all the land), then he'll feel very self-conscious and in need of some validation and reassurance. 

He does like to maintain good hygiene and prefers to wear simple, clean, and comfortable clothes. 

→ W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

He's a sappy romantic at his core, so once he finds his person, he will absolutely say they complete him.

While he had his comrades in the cavalry, all who were extremely close-knit and loyal to one another, they couldn't fill all his wants and needs. When they were able to take some leave, many of them had spouses and children waiting for them to come back home, and Zevlor had always lamented that.

→ X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

We got a nail biter over here! I recently saw this front-view of an idle animation as he stood over the map of Elturgard, and while it very well could be a generic idle animation not specific to him, imo, the shoe fits perfectly I'm afraid. 

He holds his hand over his mouth somewhat nervously, and you could say he's just pondering but I don't care! He's biting his nails okay!!!

→ Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

In a partner: if they're non-committal. No guessing games, wishy-washy, flaky nonsense. However, he is willing to wait if they want to take it slow and work through some stuff (and he'll be happy to assist them in any way he can). He just doesn't want to be with someone who treats him as a backup or if he feels like they're just settling for him.

In general: I have 0 evidence for this but I think he doesn't like tight spaces. Claustrophobia, if you will. Perhaps it's a lack of an easy escape or is limited in his movements, but he haaaates it. Even being in a crowd makes him uneasy. 

→ Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

After canon events, he takes naps frequently. All that stress and his nervous system stuck in survival mode for the past several months will catch up to him, and to try and recover, he'll feel sleepy a lot. Known to begin to drift to sleep while embracing his partner, even while standing (he will deny this if confronted).

He also snores. Not loudly by any means, but it's a dead giveaway that he actually made it into a nice, deep sleep, as he's normally a light sleeper and has some gnarly insomnia sometimes. Almost always falls asleep after his partner and wakes up before them in the morning.

———

If you made it this far congrats! Also I encourage you to fill out this alphabet too, for Zevlor or whoever!

[cozylittleartblog]

the only tradition i'm interested in embracing is the good ol' french tradition of Chopping People's Heads Off

oh the irony of it all, this is available as a 5 x 7 print in my etsy! (& my redbubble + teepublic)

[nxrdamp]

I’m having a huge Arven moment so I decided to ask for something cute and a little funny ☺️

Maybe Arven’s mabosstiff dislikes the reader’s dachsbun for awhile, until they just turn into inseparable best friends 😭 I love dogs and these two canine dog Pokémon stole my heart!!

Masterlist

Arven x Gn! Reader - Puppy Love

A warm sunny day in Paldea, something that was no rare occurrence. Nevertheless still enjoyed. Especially enjoyed by one little Dachsbun. (Y/n)’s Dachsbun was currently frolicking in the fields surrounding their picnic, playing with the (orange/purple) ball.

“Wow little buddy” Arven said while finely chopping basil for the sandwich,”Your Dachsbun there sure loves the outdoors. Cant say the same for ol’ Mabosstiff here.”

Mabosstiff, who was currently curled up underneath the fold out table, ruffed in annoyance.

“Awww” (Y/n) said, crouching to be eye to eye with Mabosstiff,”You don’t like the sun, do ya bud?”

He shook his head in response, but only to be interrupted by the other dog-like pokémon running over towards the table to eat the scraps of ham that fell from the sandwich, much to Arven’s complaints.

Mabosstiff growled defensively, making poor Dachsbun quiver and run behind (Y/n)‘s legs.

“Yeah don’t eat that- Hey, Mabosstiff” Arven said, placing his hands on his hips in a very motherly fashion,”Don’t be rude to their pokémon!…well maybe except (Koraidon/Miraidon)”

“Hey!” (Y/n) protested,”(Koraidon/Miraidon) is important too!”

Arven only looked over to them and gave them a “really?” look as the legendary was currently trying to steal Dachsbun’s sandwich.

(Y/n) only sighed, walking over to Dachsbun’s abandoned sandwich, and grabbing it to give it to the scared pokémon.

“Now Dachsbun, eat this and leave poor Mabosstiff alone. He doesn’t wanna play right now.”

The puppy pokémon looked up, her sad puppy dog eyes threatening to spill tears, and slowly took the sandwich and trotted away to a secluded place by the rocks.

Arven sadly sighed, seeing the pitiful sight before him,”Maybe I can do some convincing to Mabosstiff, to, ya know, be friends with Dachsbun. Poor girl is eating all alone.”

“Yeah.” (Y/n) replied, crossing their arms over their chest,”So much for a picnic. It seems to be more of a drama fest than anything.”

“I agree” Arven said,”This definitely is no where near the Lady and the Tramp. No spaghetti scene for these two, it appears.”

(Y/n) snorted in response, causing Arven’s heart to swell. No one laughs at his corny jokes, especially that not quote “bothersome student council girl”.

“It seems like we’re gonna have to be together a lot more to make them be friends. It’s a win-win” (Y/n) said, causing Arven to blush and hide his face in his hair.

“U-Um okay. Cool. Cool. I’ll uhh I’ll see you tomorrow! Make sure to bring Dachsbun and NOT (Koraidon/Miraidon).

(Y/n) kept the promise they’d heard, and brought Dachsbun and (Koraidon/Miraidon).

———

Over the span of the next week, every day they tried to get Mabosstiff and Dachsbun closer together.

And every day they failed.

“Damn it.” Arven said, looking at Mabosstiff who was currently kicking Dachsbun off of (Y/n)’s couch,”Why don’t they get along?”

“Maybe they just don’t share experiences with each other” (Y/n) suggested,”Like we battled through hell at Area Zero, and they kinda didn’t together. That’s probably why we’re so close and they’re not.”

“Not close enough…” Arven muttered under his breath, low enough where (Y/n) couldn’t hear

“Maybe we should go on a trip!!” (Y/n) said,”Why not to Kalos? It’s right on the edge of Paldea!”

“Hmmm. Thats a good idea, actually, thanks little buddy!” Arven said, attempting to give a “friendly” shoulder pat.

“Why do you call me little buddy? I feel like we’re more than ‘buddies’.”

Arven coughed, trying to fight a loosing battle against the blush creeping onto his face,”W-What?!?”

“Yeah! We’re the best buddies ever! Best friends!” (Y/n) said, giving Arven a hug.

‘I don’t even care I was just friend-zoned, I love this’ He thought to himself

“All right then, (Y/n), let’s-“

“(Y/n)?” They asked,”Just plain old (Y/n)? Do I mean that little to you?”

“N-NO!” Arven said, grabbing their shoulders and looking down to meet their sad eyes,”YOU’RE AMAZING! YOU’RE MY BEST BUD EVER AND I WISH YOU WERE MORE- I MEAN I APPRECIATE YOU BEING THERE FOR ME….haha….ha…..man I screwed up didn’t I?”

(Y/n) looked into his saddened blue eyes, tears threatening to spill,”No! You didn’t Arven, I-“

“You don’t have to say it! I know you hate me now!” Arven said, storming off.

“-feel the same way….” They finished before being blasted by a rush of air across their legs.

Dachsbun ran after Arven, seeking to comfort the crying boy on the doorstep of (Y/n)’s residence.

Mabosstiff perked up, seeing how the normally hyper pokémon was slowly and gently crawling into the lap of Mabosstiff’s trainer, giving him doggy kisses.

Arven starting to laugh through the sniffles of his crying, giving Dachsbun a good belly rub as she flopped down dramatically in his lap.

Mabosstiff then got off of the couch, and went over to (Y/n), who was letting the tears fall on their own face now.

“Hey Mabosstiff…you okay?” They asked, rubbing his head.

He barked in response, nudging their legs in the direction of his trainer.

“You think he’d listen?”

“Woof!”

“I take your word for it.”

They patted Mabosstiff on the head one last time before stepping out of the threshold of their home, and sitting beside the boy who was wiping his tears.

“You never let me finish, Arven, I like you back. Have since you told me about Mabosstiff and the Herba Mystica. I really have feelings for you. I’m not ‘just saying that’, I mean it Arven.”

“Ohhhh (Y/n)” He said, bawling his eyes out,”You mean so much to me! I love to hear you say that! Please, hold onto me and never let go”

“Trust me” (Y/n) said, looking into his glassy blue eyes,”I won’t. They apparently won’t either”

Both of their eyes adverted to Mabosstiff and Dachsbun, who were cuddled up beside each other watching the scene between their trainers unfold.

“THEY LIKE EACH OTHER!!” Arven said, crying even more out of joy,”THEY’RE FRIENDS!!!”

(Y/n) laid their head on his chest,”Yeah they are, but we sure aren’t, at least not anymore.”

“What…? I thought you said-“

(Y/n) looked up into Arven’s eyes,”Yeah, we’re more than friends”

Arven, who is now blushing instead of crying, turns his face to hide it in his hair,”Okay. Cool. Cooool. That’s cool.”

“You can be happy Arven, no need to cover it up with your ‘cool guy persona’”

Arven just laughed, resting his chin atop of (Y/n)‘a head,”You’re crazy little buddy”

“Yeah so are you Arvy”

“I like that” He replied,”My (Mom/Dad) never gave me a nickname, so I’m glad it was you”

“It’s my pleasure Arvy”

The two of them sat on (Y/n)‘a doorstep, watching the sun set as the two dogs who once hated each other, played with Dachbun’s toys together.

——

Word Count: 1177

[sintiva]

just the two of us..// ｡* lumberjack!reiner x blackfem!reader

｡*:･summary: just a hunky man tending to his needy wife 😮‍💨

｡*:･cw: established relationship, nipple play/sucking, body worship if you squint, dirty talk, size kink, fingering, penetrative sex, cervix fucking, creampie... lmk if I missed anything 🫶🏽

｡*:･notes: respectfully bringing this back, cause yeah, also tagging @eiflawriting👩🏽‍🦯 ac: @/uriellebeaupre15 on twt

lumberjack!reiner who starts his day off early every single morning. he sets his alarm for five; a quiet one that doesn’t wake you because he’s a light sleeper, and wakes up as soon as he hears the light chime. he goes to brush his teeth and wash his face, sometimes mistaking your products for his own because he’s too drowsy to function.

lumberjack!reiner who gives you a soft smooch on your lips — sometimes he’s a bit selfish and slips his tongue past your puffy lips cause he’s so intrigued with you. you get prettier by the day. it gets harder to pull away from the kiss every day, but he has to stop before he earns himself a painful erection. he carefully slips on his dark denim jeans and a white vest. one that barely covers his chest and would soon be dampened by the mass of sweat he concurs as he chops wood. he wraps a dark forest green flannel around his waist and trudges out of the room with his heavy work boots in his hand.

lumberjack!reiner who can’t get over how delicate his house looks, because of how enchanting it is. tapestries hung from nearly every wall, there’s incense burners scattered all over. you have cute dream catchers lining the ceiling; some paintings and little figurines and gnome decorations littered everywhere. you're his cute little fairy who just loves things to be pretty and full. a nice warm sun cascades into the house shining a golden overcast onto the house. everything lights up and brings him an overwhelming sense of peace. it makes him giggle that he’s found himself to be with such a delicate charm like yourself.

lumberjack!reiner whose very healthy and beefy. he has to bend over to reach into the fridge to pull out the bowl of overnight oats that you prepared for him the night before. you made them with regular steel cut oats, some granola, vanilla almond milk and a dollop of honey. they’re his absolute favorite, and sometimes he’ll boil an egg to have with it in order to get a bit more protein. he sits at the dining table and focuses his eyes on the tree stump and the logs around it that he forget to store from yesterday. he rolls his eyes and huffs a big breath, because that’ll take up more of his time — more of his precious time from you.

lumberjack!reiner who washes his dish and sets out to go and chop some wood, he heads over to the storage barn you guys have that sits a bit close to the house, when he realized how much you loved to gawk at him while he worked he made sure that the barn was close. he returns from it with his big ole’ goggles sitting on his face and his axe in hand. reiner’s real strong so picking up stumps is easy for him. he decides to go light today and chop about 15, since he chopped nearly 40 yesterday. he was so sore from yesterday that you thought he’d take a break and go easy today — which he was. he usually chops for about four hours so today would be a breeze.

lumberjack!reiner whose grunts get louder by the hour as he cuts down the stumps. by now it’s 6:30 and you’re waking up yourself. you hear his grunts and groans and your eyes immediately shoot open because only you know how much you love to watch your husband cut the wood. you quickly slip on your house shoes and run into the bathroom to take care of your morning breath. you gargle mouthwash and place little dots of moisturizer all over your skin. you shimmy into your kitchen to get a good look at him through the window and you're instantly melting.

lumberjack!reiner whose vest now sticks to his skin, but he’s slowly peeling it off. even that sole action has his biceps, pecks and veins bulging all over. your mouth instantly waters and you feel your knees buckle. you see the sweat that slips in between the divets of his abs as he runs his big, beefy hand down his face to get rid of some sweat. your sweet cunny aches at the site of him so big and strong. he’s so well built and fine you just can’t believe that he’s your handsome hubby. all yours

lumberjack!reiner whose eyes nearly disappear when he smiles so hard from seeing you run outside in your night gown and head scarf. “mornin’, darlin. did you sleep well?” he grins. “mhmph, i did.” you nod your head eagerly and walk closer to him.  you grip onto his arms and get on your tippy toes, puckering your lips so he’d give you a kiss. “did you miss me?” he smirked, barely pulling his lips away so you could feel him mouth the words against your lips. 

“you should’ve woken me up,” you huff, “you know how much i love to watch you do your man stuff.” you pout, two toned lips forming the prettiest pout that he can’t just help to kiss. “i know, i’d just hate to wake you up from your sleep, especially when you sleep so beautifully.” the rasp in his voice and his giant calloused hand that rubs your cheek has your heart skating around your chest.

“w-well from now on wake me up, okay?”

“pretty please?” you bat your lashes and run your hand along his abdomen, nearly folding at the feeling. his body is rock hard — solid and reflects a true sign of his continuous long days of work. “i will, darlin’,” he smirks, “just don’t get mad at me if i can’t bring myself to do it.”

“reiii, stop being so perfect and caring” you pout again. you don’t know if it’s the sweat that trickles down his skin, or the strew of a mess his hair is in, or honestly how much bigger he’s gotten, but you can’t get enough of him. you press your arms together — squeeze ‘em tight along your chest so that the fat of them pours over the low neck line of your night gown. “tell me you’ll wake me up before you start working in the morning.”

you catch a glimpse of him gawking at your breast before he licks his lips and lowers them to press against the shell of your ear. “i think you need me to do something more than that, darlin’,” he whsipers kindly before dropping his axe and wrapping his rough fingers around your throat. “what do i need, rei?” you wrap your hands around his wrist, you need both hands to get a good hold of it. he squeezes a bit tighter, feeling the chords of them vibrate as you gulp down your spit.

“need a good fucking. that’s what you need,” he breathes, “gonna let me fuck this little pussy of yours?” and he won’t wait for an answer. you paw at his chest and that’s an answer in itself, since he rendered your vocals useless. he drops his hands and situates them right under your butt to pick you up.

reiner picks you up with such ease it’s scary to think about how much stronger he is than you. most times his actions and body don’t match up. you wonder how such a big, beefy, burly man makes you melt into his touches. you think about how a man with such rough hands can trace such soft and intricate details into your skin that has you throbbing in your center. he places you right on his cutting stump and presses his lips on yours. “not letting you go this time.” he breaks the kiss and looks into your eyes.

your irises reel him in and keep him stuck in a trance like an ant stuck in a sweet, sticky pile of honey. he just can’t look away — he won’t look away. with two fingers he pulls the front of your skimpy night gown down, and makes quick work of his tongue. he sucks one of your hardened nipples right into his mouth and subtly “bites” down on it but only with his lips. “ah! rei…” you moan. not only is he skilled with his physique but his mouth’s a piece of work on it’s own.

he places wet kisses along your tits, one’s that form a sloppy heart around your areoles and he finishes off his art by sucking on your nipple; letting the tip of his tongue flick the sensitive bud until your pussy is weeping. your hips buck up as you feel your greedy hole clench around absolutely nothing. “feeling greedy are we?” he pops his mouth right off your nipple with a hard suction. “little thing need some filling does it, sweet heart?” he teases.

you nod your head and spread your legs further apart so he can nuzzle his way in between them. he uses his right hand to hold you up and keep your self situated on the stump by holding onto his shoulders. he’s so much bigger than you, he’s nearly enveloping your whole body and shielding you from the giant forest that resides behind you both. he places his scarry fingers in his mouth — just two of them to coat in his spit, but it’s not like he needed to anyways your folds were glosses in a thick layer of your essence already.

he slips his muscly arm in between your two bodies and flips his wrist so that his fingers can easily slide through you, “already so wet…” he hums. you shiver slightly from the cool wind that shakes the tree leaves. you moan a “mhm”.

“i like to watch you work-” you squeal, he thrusts a big finger inside of you, grazing your hot walls and cutting of any coherent thought. he tickles you, runs his fingers along the ridges of your gooey walls and curls it up. “oh? is that right, darlin?” he crooks a smile and rest his head right in the small crook of your neck. he striking a match as he diligently lets his finger dwell too long in your soft, pulsing heat. the pad of his finger presses perfectly against your spongy spot that sits right at the top, it’s soft and is warm to the touch. it’s his favorite spot to abuse with his big fingers and giant cock.

“rei-reiii,” you drool, a thin drop of saliva falls out the corner of your mouth as your body begins to curl up. he instantly yanks your thighs back open, pressing his fingers into the fat of your thighs. he feels your arousal slowly seep out, your insides grow increasingly warmer as his finger thumps against your g-spot. “feels like your pussy’s cryin’, sweet heart.”

“need me to stuff it up so it stops?” he pouts at your face and bumps his nose against yours. he knows your about to cum when you buck your hips up and grind against his fingers a bit harder. “come on, can’t cum if you don’t answer…” he grows stern; though it’s only a facade, because he can feel a fiery heat churning low in his groin. he feels the tip of his cock throb when you can only whine back a sweet, “wan’ you inside.”

“all you had to do was ask, darlin.” he kisses your neck, and pulls his slicked up finger out. reiner locks your arms behind his neck as he works to unbuckle that thick belt that holds his jeans up. he quickly pushes his pants down and leaves them right at his ankles. you look down and watch how his thighs look as they ripple with every step, or change of footing he makes. “so, so big rei.” you gently suck on his neck and bring him a bit closer.

you hear him chuckle as he dips his hands into his brief’s and gives his cock a couple languid strokes. his tips twitches profusely as he swipes his thumb over the slit, coating his length in a sheen of pre. he scoots closer to your body, one hands is lining up the thick head of his cock with your gooey entrance and the other is ok your hip making sure he doesn’t fuck you off the stump. “ready for me, darlin?”

he doesn’t really wait, because you always get so nervous as you wait for his thick intrusion. he bends his knees and slips the fat tip of his cock into your messy pussy. his dick curves up and always slides against your insides in the rightest ways. you feel him breaching you, he’s nearly halfway in and you clamp down on him. “don’t wanna let me in?” he groans; feeling the near suffocation of his cock inside of you. “i-i do,” you stutter, “you’re ‘st too big.”

“you say that,” he grunts, and with a snap of his hips he’s sheathed himself entirely in, “but you take it so well.” the force of his hips knocks the air from your lungs and nearly knocks you off the stump. “ooh- fuck!” your face screws in pure delight as you feel the mass of him fill you up. there’s no space left and he grins in satisfaction as your nails dig into the great expanse of his back. he fucks you with a purpose that only he can muster.

he further pushes your body into the stump making you feel even smaller as his dick rams into you pussy. you grip onto him tighter and your moans float all through the trees, they bounce around the forest and come slamming back into your own ears. “you’re so loud,” he teases, “gonna make someone hear how good i’m makin’ ya feel.” there’s nobody for a couple miles, thought it seems as if he tries to fuck you so hard till someone does hear.

the underside of his cock pulses and his big breeder balls just wind up so tight each time they smack against you. he switches up his stroke going painfully slow or brutally fast. he can never keep a rhythm cause he’ll cum too quick. “mm… you always like to tease.” you whimper. his cock presses into your cervix at your comment making you flinch from the feeling.

“oh, do i?”

he cocks his brow and rolls his hips. he’s completely inside you and he doesn’t plan on pulling out. your toes curl in your house hoesand your legs lock around his waist. you dig the back of your heels into his back edging him in so much deeper, more than you can take.

“rei-,” you moan. he can tell by the pitchy volume you’re close to cumming. not only that, but your poor little pussy feels so battered and full, you just can’t help but fall apart from your hubby’s cock. he leans over you and lets his hands grip along the rounded edge of the stump for stability. he pistons his hips, pumping himself through your folds so fast because he feels his nerve about to break. all of his weight is nearly on-top of you making it impossible for your to escape his sharp thrust.

“fu- mmph… fuckkk, babe!“ you scream out. his thrust have become sharper and he’s caging you into his body to trap you. when he gets like this, taken over with a form of ecstasy that can only be released when he cums; you realize you can’t go anywhere. the lustful grunts and the lewd squelching of your pussy makes his heart beat heavy in his chest. his lip is held securely between his teeth as he listens to how your pretty moans make it seem as if his cock could bulge any bigger.

he feels the liquid begin to dribble out the head of his cock before he’s biting down onto your shoulder. the thick vein that settles at the underside of his cock twitches as he cums deep into your slippery walls. his balls wind up tight, and he clenches his fist tighter along the stump as he ruts all of his creamy, hot release into his favorite person. nothing better than morning where he gets to fill up his pretty fairy.

“feel that,” he groans, “feel me cumming inside. that's what this little pussy does to me.” and you can’t even respond, because feeling his cum slosh around inside of you, and feeling just how deep he plants himself inside makes your release come right after. you whine, sinfully squeezing your legs around his torso. your trembles are long and hard as you feel your pussy throb your orgasm. if someone was around they’d be able to hear the shrill scream you let out as you came on your hubby’s cock.

“it was that good, huh?” he chuckled deeply as he stroked his finger along your cheek. he swore he saw stars in your eyes as you smiled up at him looking like a pure ditz. nothing was on your mind minus the subtle throbbing of his half hardened cock, that still stirred in you as he rocked his hips against you gently. “uh huh…” you gazed at him with a pretty sparkle in your eyes.

he slowly pulled himself out letting his heads of cum dribble out of you slowly. he fixed his pants and patted your head, giggling at your soft fucked out gaze. “just gon’ sit here and look pretty all day?” he laughed. “i can’t move, you gonna pick me up?

you stretched out your arms for him to lift you up and he did. he propped his hands on your waist and nearly flung you up into his arms. he tickled your tummy as he carries you back in the house. “my big strong man.” you praise as he sets you down by the dining table. a deep blush washes over his face before he turns his head away.

“come on, this big strong man says you need to eat. cause i know ya didn’t.” he sighs.

“but i feel so, so full, rei.”

“you play too much,” he chuckles cause he knows exactly what you’re referring to, “that’s not food.”

“okayyy, fineee.”

[danmainacc]

FIRST SIGHT

Leo meets (y/n) for the first time....and is absolutely whipped

Character: Leonardo

Writing type: One-shot

Warnings: just some good ol’ fluffy fluff :) but when I tell you Leo is WHIPPED ;) and if you couldn’t tell, this is pre-movie

Author’s note: I promise I’m gonna get to the other turtles soon. I just have Leo on the brain and I can’t get him out !! and let me know if I got too mushy, cause I feel like I did. I feel like i did a bad job on this one, but I’m not sure. you guys let me know. ( header credit to qoeww )

...

“This isn’t exactly how I expected Pizza Thursday to go!” Leo exclaimed as he got into a battle stance, the pizza--monster--yokai--thing roaring, mushrooms and olives flying out its mouth

“Yeah, well I don’t think everyone expects a mutant pizza monster to attack them on their weekly outing,” Donnie sighed, flipping down his goggles as he pressed a button on his staff, two jets appearing at the ends.

“It’s alright. This guy doesn’t seem too tough. We’ll bake him and get back to Pizza Thursday before we kn--MIKEY!! STOP EATING THE MONSTER!” Raph’s eyes went wide as he caught sight of his youngest brother. 

The pizza-yokai cocked a bell-pepper eyebrow, looking down at it’s foot, only to let out a horrified shout at the sight of Mikey nibbling on his ankle.

“Whraf can I sayph? Hessh sawwr goowd!” Mikey smiled with a full mouth, disregarding his brother and continuing to chow down.

“Gross, man,” Leo grimaced, shuddering at the sight as he cringed away from the scene.

Donnie sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “’Angelo, if you’re gonna eat him, at least talk without your mouth full.”

“ENOUGH!” The yokai roared, flinging Mikey off his ankle and into Donnie, the two crashing into a window.

“Guys!” Raph exclaimed, snapping his head over to the window, worriedly.

Two shaky thumbs up slowly raised from behind the now shattered window, and Raph let out a sigh of relief.

“Oh, you’re in for it now,” Leo spat, his usual shit-eating grin replaced with an icy glare.

“Leo, wait! Don’t r--.” But the sound of a closing portal cut Raph off, making him groan in frustration.

“Rush in.”

Leo appeared in mid-air, right in front of the monster, and sliced off the olives it used for eyes, chopping off its weird crust feet once he landed on the ground.

“Guess you could say I really...sliced things up,” his smirk returned as he proudly stood up, his back to the yokai.

The thing, now blind and footless, let out a blood-curdling roar, swinging and flailing in every direction like a wild animal.

“Leo, behind you!” Raph, Don, and Mikey warned in unison, Leo not turning around fast enough.

The monster’s cheese arm sent Leo flying head first towards a brick wall.

“LEO!” his brother’s frantically shouted, trying to make it to the wall before he collided.

“Nope, nope nope!” Leo quickly said, creating a portal in front of himself just in the nick of time.

Now, instead of having his brains splattered on a wall, he was now strewn over a whole bunch of soft garbage bags.

He let out a sigh of relief, tiredly letting his head lay limp.

‘Never thought I’d be so thankful for trash.’

But as his angle changed, he was able to view the ledge of a rooftop, what he saw making his heart stop dead in it’s tracks.

It felt as if all the world’s distractions were sucked out, horns, sirens, the squeaking of rats, all to let this moment stand alone.

Sitting on the ledge was the most jaw-dropping girl Leo had ever seen.

Her hair, her eyes, skin. Hell, it had looked like she had been dozing off. But her half-lidded smile at the stars made his heart start up again, now thumping twice as fast. 

Leo quickly rubbed his eyes, just to be sure he wasn’t seeing things.

He hit his head pretty hard.

But she was still there, looking down at him, actually. She looked concerned.

Wait, was she talking?

“Huh?” Leo groggily asked, shaking himself out of his reverie as he focused on what she was saying

“I asked if you were you alright? You crashed pretty hard,” you called from above, your voice smooth and silky.

Practically music.

“Oh, yeah! I’m okay! Right as reign!” Leo smiled, quickly changing his sprawled out position to a relaxed one, mentally scolding himself once he realized what he said.

‘Right as reign? You are such an idiot.’

A kind smile quirked on your lips. “That still sounded bad. I’m gonna come down,” you squinted, trying to make out the figure below.

Leo frantically got up, dusting off banana peels and stray apple cores as he drew his swords. 

He had to get out of there and fast.

There was no way she could see him. She’d probably be grossed out at the fact he was a turtle-guy.

Don’t get him wrong, he wanted to do nothing else but stay and talk to the super-model before him. 

But being a mutant isn’t exactly the best conversation starter.

You carefully stood up, wary of you balance as you planted a foot right on the ledge.

But, unluckily, the brick fell out, causing you to free fall from the top of the roof.

You let out a terrified yelp, and without a beat, Leo was already in the air, catching you and pulling you tightly against his plastron.

You curiously felt at his plastron, making the poor turtle turn dark red, before opening your eyes, going wide at the sight of him.

In that moment, your stomach dropped to your feet. 

The portal that he just jumped out of was no never mind right now, you were more concerned with him.

Even with the turtle-y parts, you still found this man incredibly handsome. Shit, if anything, the turtle-y bits might’ve assisted in that department.

“Whoa, careful there,” Leo smiled, safely landing on the ground with the two of you still in tact.

“Wouldn’t want you falling for me.”

You smiled as Leo put you down, a soft laugh leaving your lips that made him practically melt.

“Are you alri--.”

You quickly wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him into a tight hug, giving him a quick squeeze.

“Thank you for catching me. I’d probably be dead if you didn’t,” you sighed, the recent events now sinking in.

Leo was thanking the stars that hugs didn’t let you see the other person, because on the other side, he was blushing like a maniac.

“No problem,” he, surprisingly, managed to say without a voice-crack. “What were you--uh--what were you doing on the ledge, anyway?”

The two of you pulled away, and you awkwardly scratched the back of your neck, hoping you didn’t overstep anything with the hug.

“Oh, I just like to sit there and think. The view helps me really focus,” you sheepishly answered, looking up at him through your lashes, the height difference now very clear.

“I’m just glad you were here to catch me.”

He smiled a bashful smile, avoiding eye contact with you at all costs. “It was no biggie.”

You smiled, thoughtlessly checking your watch to see that it was way past midnight.

“Shit. It’s past my curfew. I gotta go,” you sadly sighed, pointing back to your building.

Leo pouted.

You were going? Already? But he had just met you.

“Will I see you again?” he asked, a little more desperate than he wanted.

You grinned, shooting him a nod. “Of course. I got too many questions to not see you again.”

You whipped out your phone, pulling up the contacts app. “Here,” you handed it to him, “Type in your cell so we can text.”

His smile stretched from ear to ear as he carefully took your phone, punching in his number and handing it back to you.

You took the phone back and threw an arm around his shoulder, pulling him in for a selfie and taking it in one motion, the poor turtle blurry and blushing.

“There,” you quietly snickered, making the unprepared photo his profile picture. “All set.”

You turned to the turtle, giving him a regal curtsy. “Until we meet again, good sir.”

Leo smirked, playing along and bowing. “Until we meet again, madame.”

And with that, you flashed him one more smile before stuffing your hands in your pockets, walking around the alley corner and right into your complex.

Once Leo was completely sure you were out of ear-shot, he sighed, slumping against the alley wall.

‘That....was amazing.’

He whipped out his phone, his heart wanting to text you right away, but his head knew it was too soon, scraping the idea.

But what he did see, was 15 missed texts from Donnie, 6 from Mikey, and 146 from Raph.

‘Oh, I am so dead.’

...

[tokidokifish]

extremely funny but for all hades 2's focus on witchcraft i got my first chronos kill by literally nuking melinoe's magick capacity so that she was constantly below 10 to trigger zeus' spirit surge boon for ongoing passive lightning damage, and then just pouring bonuses on the axe for BIG CHOP. fuck magic we're doing this the good ol' fashioned way!! with an axe that does anywhere between 700-1000 points of damage per hit!!

[sweetandgentlecreature]

Betcha Won't

Author’s Note: Hello again! I’m so sorry for missing my usual Thursday night upload last week. I was down and out with a migraine for a bit, but now I’m back in action! New avatar, same ole shit, lol. Part 6 of Somethin’ Sweet takes it back a bit with something nice and cozy. I apologize for breaking so many hearts two weeks in a row, so as promised, this one’s much softer. Thanks for reading!! 

Summary: Sy makes a camping trip to the lake a night they’ll never forget.

Pairing: Captain Syverson x Female OC 

Warnings:  hope you’ve got a dentist appointment on the books, because this is tooth-rotting fluff…minus the smut, of course. Expect a strip tease, descriptions of anatomy, oral sex (female receiving), and p-in-v- sex. I am an adult, and due to the nature of this content, all works created by me will be rated for those 18 years and older. Minors, DNI.

Beta’d by: @peyton--warren ❤️

Playlist

“You got any more of that jerky?” They’d been walking for what felt like hours, but in reality was only 30 minutes. As a Colorado native, Merrin really should’ve been more prepared for a hike than this, but he’d really sprung it on her. She’d anticipated another night at the diner. Friday’s special was prime rib and baked potatoes, and though they’d only been at it for a few weeks now, she knew he wasn’t one to pass up a good meal. So when he showed up outside of her house and told her he had a surprise for her, she was keen to see what tricks he had up his sleeve. She just didn’t know their change of plans would include bug spray. Stumbling her way through the foliage of an unfamiliar path, she reached out an expectant hand in wait for her reward. Sy slapped another piece of cured venison into her palm and chuckled at the noises of delight she made as she happily gnawed on it. 

“That’s the last of it. If I’d known how much you’d like my meat, I would’ve brought more.” 

Merrin didn’t have to see his face to know how pleased he was with himself, and she gave a playful wack to the back of his head as they broke through the clearing. She wasn’t quite sure what she’d been expecting, but it certainly wasn’t this. Calm, clear water lapped at the pebbled shoreline of a vast lake surrounded by trees. It was a sight that took her breath away. A tent stood off to her left in the plush carpet of grass, filled with all the blankets and pillows he could gather in those big ole arms of his. A little further down, closer to the bank, a stack of freshly chopped firewood waited to be lit. It was a dreamy little scene, put together with so much forethought. He must’ve been working on it all afternoon. Merrin smiled as she took in the sight, and wrapped an arm around his waist to draw him close. “You did all this for us?”

He took a shot in the dark when he’d made the executive decision to move date night outdoors, and though he hoped she’d like the change in scenery, there was still a part of him that worried that she wouldn’t. Seeing her now, beaming up at him like he’d hung the moon when all he’d really done was fight with a flimsy tent pole for twenty minutes made it all worth while. Pressing a kiss to the top of her head, he smiled back down at her. 

“Nah, baby. I did it for you.”

__

They sat together on a blanket in the grass as the sun disappeared behind the trees. Sparks snapped and crackled on their way up to touch the sky. Merrin sat between his open knees and rested back against him. The old radio from the workshop was propped up by the cooler with the sound turned down low. Since his truck only had a tape deck, Sy had taken up making mixed tapes for her. Merrin tapped her toes to the beat as they watched the gentle waves roll in against the shore. He wondered what was on her mind as he twirled a strand of her hair around his finger. What she said made his heart skip a beat.

“Twenty bucks says you won’t strip down to your skivvies and run into the lake right now.”

Her proposition caught him off guard, and he nearly choked on his beer. Snorting and coughing through the foam, Sy cleared his throat before he spoke. 

“Twenty bucks says what?!”

She giggled and turned to look up at him, a mischievous little grin spread wide across her freckled face. She sure likes to keep him on his toes. “You heard me.”

Sy laughed and shook his head. “Do you know how cold that water is? No way, Darlin’. I’m sorry, but I’m not gonna catch a cold for twenty bucks.”

Without missing a beat, she shrugged. “Fifty says you won’t do it bare-ass naked.”

He stopped. Now that could make for an interesting night. “ You ain’t gotta bribe me to get me naked, babydoll. All ya gotta do is ask.” 

Merrin stood and brushed the sand from the backside of her jeans. “Come on, Capitan, live a little. When’s the last time you did something fun?” 

Sy paused. She was right. Of course she was right. Before her, he couldn’t remember a time in the last decade that he’d let himself do something on a whim. Every t was crossed, every i was dotted. Sitting here by the fire tonight, he realized how much he’d missed out on by overthinking every decision he made. He could stand to lose a little resolve. Before he could make a move, though, Merrin was already kicking off her shoes. She peeled off her socks and tucked them away inside of her beat up sneakers, then worked to loosen her belt.

“Come on, Clay. You really gonna make me do it alone?”

 Sy sat back again for a moment to take in the sight. He’d been trying to come up with ways to get her out of those jeans all night long, yet here she was, baring herself to him out in the open like this. Any action they’d had up until now had taken place over the clothes. It wasn’t that he didn’t want her, because fuck, did he want her so badly. In truth, he’d been stalling. It’d been almost a year since he’d been with a woman, since before he met her, before his last deployment. Merrin was the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on, and he just didn’t want to let her down. He knew he wouldn’t last very long once he finally had her. It was apparent now that he’d been stalling for so long that she’d decided to take matters into her own hands. She pulled him back down to earth when she tossed her panties at his face. He snatched them away eagerly to get a better look at her. 

“Well, get to it, then. I’ve shown you mine. Now you gotta show me yours.”

Snapping his mouth closed, Sy lept to his feet to toe off his boots. By the time he finished stripping, she’d already made it to the water.

Squealing in surprise, Merrin shuttered as the cold water lapped at her toes. Maybe skinny dipping wasn't such a good idea after all. When she turned round, ready to admit her misjudgment, she bumped right into him. His bare chest was warm against hers, and fuzzier than she’d imagined. She reached out to trace her fingers through the blanket of dark hair and let them trail down his stomach without a second thought. Heart pounding loudly in her ears, she fought to keep her gaze above the waist. Don’t look down, don’t look down, don’t- fuck. 

Fuck was right. One glance at what was waiting for her made her head spin. She didn’t have a chance to react though, before she was suddenly hoisted up into the air and thrown over a broad shoulder. Sy laughed as she squealed and squirmed to free herself from his grasp. 

“Nuh uh, no ma’am. Yer the one who wanted me out here. Time ta’ put yer money where yer mouth is. Now hold yer nose.” 

Merrin took a deep breath just in time, when they crashed together into the lake. Just as predicted, the water was freezing cold, and when she broke the surface again, Merrin let out a scream of surprise. Laughing through the shock, she stood and splashed him in retaliation. 

“Fuck, its cold!”

“I tried ta’ tell ya! Come here.”

Sy chuckled and wiped the water from his eyes, then held out a hand to her. Drawing her in close, he wrapped her up in his arms and swept damp strands of hair from her face. They held each other close and giggled like children beneath the moonlight. He looked down at her as their laughter faded to echoes, tracing each goosebump on her arm with the back of his knuckles. No matter how many times he’d imagined this moment, nothing could compare to the way she felt in his arms tonight. Skin on skin, knee deep in crystal clear water beneath a blanket of stars, not a cloud in sight. A lot had changed since he'd been here last, and though not all of it was good, he was thankful for it all. He’d do it again in a heartbeat if it meant he could stay with her like this forever. 

__

Neither of them had to speak to know what would come next. Sy carried her back to shore and laid her down on the bed of pillows he’d crammed into the two-man tent. Neither of them cared that they were still wet from their dip in the lake. In the moment, it didn’t matter. The passion between them burned hotter than the smoldering embers of the campfire outside. She welcomed him onto her and tangled her arms around his neck as they kissed. No matter how close he got, it would never be close enough. She wanted him inside of her, body, mind, and spirit, but he had other plans for her. His lips brushed down her chin and he nuzzled upward until her head fell back in submission. The scratch of his beard against her throat and he kissed his way down felt delicious, and she ached to feel it all over. Though the cold weather made her nipples stand at attention first, they perked up for him now with each pass of his tongue. He caught one between his teeth, but only for a moment, long enough to put a smile on his face as he listened to her purr for him. 

“That’s it, Sugar. Sing for me.”

Merrin trembled when his tongue traced around the outside of her navel. Swallowing thickly, she dug her fingernails into the flesh of his shoulders and watched as he settled in to rest between her thighs. Merrin bit her lip as she watched him size her up from there. Maybe it was the beer that made her brave enough to make the first move, but laying beneath him now, she hoped he wouldn’t look too closely. Stretch marks snaked across her stomach and hips, cellulite dimpled the skin of her thighs and ass. Growing up, she’d always been a little heavier than her friends. It wasn’t until she’d gotten older than she’d become more comfortable in the body she was given. Sy looked up at her through lids heavy with lust, as if to read her mind. Sharp teeth carved gently across the inside of her knee to silence the thoughts running through her head. Arching her back, she bucked her hips up towards him to stop his teasing. 

“Sy…” Merrin begged through shaky breaths. “Please…”

He sat back on his haunches to admire her. She’d smack that look right off his face if she didn’t think her hands would tremble. He reveled in her desperation, and she knew that. Whining and squirming beneath him, she tried to close her legs in embarrassment. Sy caught her by the knees, one in each hand, and held them wider than before, clear up to her shoulders. 

“Nuh uh, little Miss Merrin,” he shook his head in feigned disappointment. “Tell me what’chu want from me.”

Her face turned beet red as blood rushed to her cheeks and spread down her neck as she turned her head to look away. He didn’t like that much. With both of her legs pinned beneath one rough hand, he redirected her by the chin to meet his eyes again. Sucking his teeth, he shook his head again. Say it. Just say it, and I’ll give you the world. He held her gaze and waited patiently for her to get the nerve to open her mouth again. Chuckling softly, Merrin let out a shaky breath as she reached for him. 

“I want you, Clay. More than anything.” 

“How? How do you want me?” 

Draping one of her legs over his shoulder, lips moving at a snail’s pace, Sy kissed his way all the way down. He had the patience of a saint. He could do this all night. Merrin, on the other hand…

“Fuck’s sake, Clayton Lee! Are you just gonna stare at it, or are you gonna eat my fuckin' pussy?”

That was all he needed. Confirmation, one way or another, that she wanted this just as much as he did. His laughter shook the tent, and in the blink of an eye, he dove right in. He spread her open with his thumbs and used the tip of his tongue to explore her weeping folds. Slow, precise, probing movements until he had the lay of the land, then it was game over. He devoured her, lips, tongue, and teeth working together to draw her close to the edge. Merrin mewled and moaned, head back and back arched, ass hovering above the ground as he held her thighs and shook his head from side to side. It wasn’t long before a familiar tightness began to blossom low in her belly, and before she knew it, he had her seeing stars.

He gave her space to come back down to earth again, and once she caught her breath again, he lowered her hips back down onto the blankets. Calloused thumbs rubbed soothing circles into the dips of her hip bones as he waited patiently for her word again. He wore the evidence of her arousal in his beard with pride, the sticky-sweet nectar gleaming in the glow of the nearby fire. Merrin ran a hand through her sweat-dampened hair and melted against the pillow beneath her head. 

“Well, shit…If I’d known you were so good at that, I would’ve stripped for you a lot sooner.”

Sy threw his head back and barked out a laugh that drew her own laughter with it. “Baby doll, all ya had ta’ do was ask. I’ve been dreamin’ about eatin’ that little pussy from the moment I first laid eyes on ya.”

But when she moved to sit up, he nudged her back down again. She frowned, confused. Didn’t he want her to return the favor? He simply shook his head, as he intertwined their fingers together and gave a squeeze of reassurance. 

“No, baby, it’s alright. I won’t last if ya do that fer me. Let’s save that fer another time.” 

Merrin laid back on her elbows and eyed him with reluctancy. She’d never met a man who’d turn down a blowjob, but whatever floats his boat, she guessed. Sy took a moment to reach over into his bag and retrieve the shiny little packet from the outside pocket. Good ole Sy, always planning ahead. He tore through it with his teeth and sat back to grip himself with his left hand. They both watched eagerly as the condom unrolled down his impressive length, and he sighed once he’d finished. Merrin wasn’t inexperienced, but the thought of him splitting her open on that thing had her stomach in knots. He could sense her apprehension, and truth be told, he was nervous too. In a fleeting moment of thought, he wondered if this is what it would’ve felt like to lose his virginity on prom night. He didn’t go to his senior prom, was too busy helping his uncle in the fields that spring, but the nerves he felt now sure felt that way. Every moment they’ve spent together had led up to this. Leaning in to brush his nose against hers, he whispered softly against her lips. 

“I’ll go slow. Just…tell me if it hurts, m‘kay?”

“Go slow,” She nodded slowly, repeating his promise out loud as if to make that promise to him too. Dragging the tip of his aching cock through her folds once, then once more, he gathered her wetness there to help smooth the tension. Merrin gasped when he caught at her entrance and breathed through the sting of the stretch her walls gave around him as he worked his way inside of her. Nice and slow, just as promised, he pulled out all the way and tried again and again, until he was fully engulfed inside of her. Hearts pounding in their chests, they clung to each other and worked together, two souls finally coming together as one. One spark, and they’d set the whole forest ablaze. 

The shock and awe melted away, leaving room for nothing but unbridled fervor. The gentle, probing shift of hips turned to hungry thrusts. Loud smacks of skin on skin only adding to the ambiance their bodies made. Sounds of lust echoed across the lake, creating a beautiful symphony with the radio and the woods. A bead of sweat dripped from the tip of his nose, seeking shelter in the dip of her collarbone. Painted fingernails left pink lines through the ink on his back. “More…more, more, more,” was all she could think to say, and more, he gave her. He gave her all he had, until he just couldn’t take it anymore. The cry of a warrior ripped through his chest, as he pounded her endlessly and emptied himself into the condom deep inside of her. She came too with a shout, body seizing and writing beneath him, as they rode out their shared climax. When everything was said and done, Sy collapsed on top of her with a grunt. They listened to the bullfrogs croak as they sought the breath they’d fucked out of one another. Moments passed, when Merrin finally broke the silence again. 

“Fuck.”

“Fuck yeah, or what the fuck was that?”

The grin she gave him was answer enough, as he turned over to lay beside her. 

“Fuck yeah.”

Sy chuckled, grabbing a blanket to pull over them to keep the cool night air out. Even though he hadn’t lasted as long as he would’ve liked, it certainly made for a night he’ll never forget. 

“Fuck yeah, baby doll. Fuck yeah.”

__

Sy was downright giddy the next morning as he drove her back into town. He might’ve stuck his head out the window and sung her praises to the world around them, If it weren’t 8:30 on a Sunday. Instead, he drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and hummed quietly to himself. Across the bench seat, Merrin flipped open the glove compartment and rooted through it for his collection of tapes. When a beam of early morning sunlight gleamed caught something shiny, she dug through the mess to find the source. He watched her from the corner of his eye, but by the time he’d comprehended what she’d found, it was too late. Mouth hanging open, he watched as she examined the condom in her hands. 

“Hm,” she said thoughtfully, turning it over to read the back as if she were flipping through the funny’s in the morning paper. “Ya know, I’ve never seen a gold one in real life before. I mean, I knew they were real, but damn. You could drain a bathtub with one’a these things.”

Sy laughed and scratched the back of his neck, relieved to know that she didn’t think he was some kinda sex fiend for keeping a stash here just in case. Well…Maybe she wouldn’t have been too far off, but still. They were still new to this. 

“Yeah…Yeah, they’re pretty big, huh.”

Merrin scoffed. 

“Pretty big? That steak you devoured was pretty big. You’re fuckin’ huge, babe.” 

They pulled up to her house a moment later. Sy put the truck in park and turned off the ignition, but left the keys there. He didn’t want to intrude, so he sat back against the cracked leather seat and looked her way. 

“So…got any plans fer today?”

She thought about it for a moment, then shrugged. 

“Besides sitting on a bag of frozen peas? Nothin’, really.”

He nearly choked on his own spit. Merrin giggled as he fumbled to come up with a coherent thought, an apology, something, then leaned across the console to kiss him on the cheek. He’s cute when he’s pussy drunk. 

“Come on, Cowboy. I’ll make you some pancakes.”

His stomach growled at the thought of food, and in an instant, he snatched the keys from the dash. He had her door open before she could even laugh. 

“Yes, ma’am.”

__

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[concretevampire]

Early Morning Breeze

arthur morgan x f!reader ꔫ 9.7k ꔫ emotionally fueled smut, icky gooey lovey-dovey stuff for thou // based off of the Dolly Parton song // religious themes

A/N: this is my first rdr2 fic & my first post on tumblr & english is not my first language so critique is highly encouraged

You sniffle, forearm coming up to wipe away stinging tears clinging to lashes. 

A rough exhale escapes your lips, and you can feel the sweeping glance Abigail sends you. Sniffling again, you press the heel of your palm to an eye, the other shut just as tight. 

“Guess a couple’a vegetables is all it takes to get you cryin’,” she jokes, cleaver slicing off the head of a trout; her apron stanches the briny blood, scales scattered across her forearms like small slivers of moonlight. 

“Onions,” is all you can muster as you finally allow yourself to turn away from the cutting board. You turn your face upward, cracking reddened eyes open to peer at the sky. 

Big clouds– white, ozonated mountains beyond imaginable reach– float by lazily. 

Another sniffle escapes you, but the dam of your eyes has been rebuilt, and the tears secede. Your sinuses still burn though, sending a horrible ache to the back of your throat. 

Swallowing, you return to chopping onions. 

Other than Abigail’s humming and the incessant clucking of hens in the distance (Grimshaw and chickens alike), the camp is quiet. 

Shady Belle is certainly an improvement to dirt-ridden tent floors and crickets in your pillow, but it’s rather gloomy at times. You’re sure that it’s simply the haze of Bayou Nwa and the spectral creeping of ivy along chipping, gray paint. But it would be foolish, and most of all, naive, to ignore the simmering discomfort lingering under everyone’s skin. 

Kieran’s death. Jack’s kidnapping. Dutch’s… nerves, if you were to give it a name. 

Arthur feels it, and so do Abigail and Hosea, but all four of you are unwilling to mention his waning psyche for fear that it’ll only darken the already half-lit moon of his mind. It isn’t worth it. 

And frankly, Arthur’s loyalty to Dutch is suicidal. 

He will hem and haw, but in the end, orders are followed with abandon. Loyal to a fault, you tell him. It’s all I know, he says back, gently smiling as if an inside joke has been said. This ol’ dog can’t learn new tricks, and he’ll chuckle wryly at the quip, head shaking like the sins of the world have been settled and folded into the intestines of his mind. 

You can only let him wallow for so long when he gets like that. 

Though you’ve learned (after too many years as friends and a few more years as something quaintly more) how to put an end to it: a routine. Artfully mastered, a precariously balanced act that includes a succinct scold paired with a slap to his shoulder before pressing a soothing kiss to his cheek as he grovels over his journal like an overgrown child. 

But another layer to the quiet and unease around camp is unarguably Micah's presence. Filthy, bastard leech of a man. Suckling away at Dutch’s good faith. 

The fifth horseman of the apocalypse: treachery.

The way he saunters about is simply nauseating— skinny fingers pricking and prying into people’s souls. And he’s always been particularly taken with you. Disappointingly. 

Micah finds sheer amusement in laying out your arteries on cork board, needles stabbing; displaying your heart like a prize butterfly, blood glittering like topaz stained glass. 

It was simply infatuation at first, back all those months ago. 

A game he had played with many women before and one you brushed aside easily. And then he discovered that you and Arthur were something— and Micah became a true savage, fueled by both contempt and his peculiar fascination with having taken women. 

Even now as he makes his rounds with the gang, purposefully adding to the gloom, his eyes linger on your figure. 

Micah veers closer, and you take a step towards Abigail. Her shoulders straighten, so do yours– a useless attempt to create some sort of fortress. He’s approaching in your peripheral and Abigail slams her cleaver down onto another trout, a singular clawed scale landing on your blouse. 

You’ve moved from onions onto potatoes, your knife cutting away skin in precise shallow strokes.

When he’s close, Micah says your name– a horrible rasp of letters strung together by cigar smoke and glowing ash– the depths of hell holed up in his esophagus. You ignore him. And in turn he grins wildly, as if presented with riches beyond King Midas’ imagination. Your jaw clenches, eyes set on the knife and the naked, golden flesh in your palm. 

“How’s Morgan’s broodmare?” 

Abigail side eyes him. Your next slice is thicker than the last, heavy handed, taking off more flesh than you��d like. A waste. 

“Or has he moved on after all these years? Got tired of the same fuck.” 

You set the nude potato aside, picking up a new one. You imagine it’s Micah’s prick: dirt ridden and calloused. You begin to skin it too, taking extra care to needle out any dark spots. 

“Been awhile since he’s been back in camp too. Makes you wonder.” 

“Oh piss off, Micah,” Abigail hisses, her cleaver resting threateningly against the dark wood of the table. A sharp, glaring warning. 

His smile widens. 

He shifts his stance, shoulders slackening as his thumbs hook on the flap of his pockets. “Hit too close to home? Remind you too much of Johnny and how he ran off?” 

“Micah,” you finally interrupt, picking up a new potato. “Shut up.” 

“So that’s how I get you to talk.” 

You stay silent, returning your attention to vegetables and other honeyed daydreams of skinning the Devil alive. 

“Ignoring me again.” His eyes linger, thinking of horrifically creative ways to dissect and tear you apart as you stand. “Wouldn’t you be worried though? He’s been gone for a week.” The statement is mocking and cruel. 

He wouldn’t know what concern was if it ate his face off, ravaged his eyeballs and devoured his tongue. 

Abigail glowers, this time pointing the cleaver at Micah. “Yer just jealous.” 

Micah sneers, the cylinder in his revolver shaking off a warning like a rattlesnake curling up to bite. “Jealous of what Miss Roberts?” 

“Jealous she ain’t with you.” 

Micah opens his mouth to retort something evil and violent, obvious in the way his pupils have contracted, gray eyes gone silver with wrath. You stab the knife into the cutting board, punctuating the air. 

Both of them have stilled, turning towards you. 

“Quit it.” You snarl. Abigail gives an apologetic look, but not before sending Micah another scowl. She’s back to chopping off fish heads. 

And Micah, damn him, always needing the last word spits out a, “Bet he got himself killed,” before he rushes away, seething and gnashing his teeth. 

It’s quiet again. 

You get through six more potatoes before speaking. “You didn’t have to do that.” It’s a gentle chide towards Abigail, one that makes her huff.

“I just hate how he talks to us. ‘Specially you. And I hate how you don’t do anything.” Her hands wring together harshly, not having any more trouts to dismember. 

“It’s best to ignore him. He gets off on it, the sick freak.” You keep your gaze fixed on your work. 

Abigail relents, fingers stilling momentarily. 

Her gaze rises, eyes trained on Jack’s small silhouette at the far edge of camp, playing in the weeds and brambles. He seems completely ignorant to such plights. What bliss. 

Abigail’s raised him well. 

“Ain’t ya worried though?” She says suddenly, spinning to look at you. You pause your ministrations, glancing into her perturbed blue eyes. “I mean,, well, Micah had a point, I guess.” She’s annoyed at the admittance, even if it is her own. “Arthur’s been gone for a while. It ain’t like him.” 

You sigh. “It is like him,” your teeth chew at the flesh of your cheek, “but you’re right. He wouldn’t leave for a week without saying something.” 

Abigail nods but her fingers have knotted and tangled once again. “Hunting trip?” 

“Yeah, but with how long he’s been gone you’d think he’s trying to take down an entire herd of angry caribou in heat.” 

She snorts. “He would try. Strong enough for it.” 

“Bullheaded, that’s what he is.” And you scowl, starting to dice the potatoes far too quickly; bound to cut yourself. Abigail sends you a sympathetic, knowing smile. 

“So you are worried.” 

“Whatd’ya mean?” 

“I mean you ain’t as calm and cool as yer pretendin’ to be.” 

You continue chopping away, somehow not having cut yourself. Years of practice you suppose. 

“Course I’m not. I’m always worried when it comes to him.” 

Abigail snorts. “Well, ya never act like it.” 

“Because if I act like it,” and you finish dicing off the last potato, ‘then that means something bad would actually be happening’, “then who would you have to talk to when you’re worrying?” And you give a knowing smirk.

She laughs, shaking her head, hands coming to a rest. You feel your own face brighten to a smile. 

That’s the way it is with her; with all the girls. Quilted conversations complaining about men and life and backaches all riddled with coy smiles. 

The breeze picks up then, and Jack comes tumbling along it, hands rusted with the red Lemoyne dirt and beaming at his mother like a little sun; too bright; seen without looking. 

His eyes barely peek over the table, but he’s determined, placing a bundle of messy daisies next to dismembered fish, yet to be fileted. 

“For you Mama,” he adds with his gift, hands clutching the edge of the table to watch her. And Abigail smiles tenderly, picking the flowers up. They drip, raw with dew and fish blood. She tries, ever so delicately, to wipe away the crimson stain on their petals. 

“Thank you kindly, Jack,” she says. And he gives a toothy grin and runs off— on the breeze once again. Abigail ponders the daisies for a moment before offering you one with a teasing smile. “M,lady,” she jests, giving a sloppy curtsy. A true country princess. You snort, but fawn delighted shock, pricking the flower from her nimble fingers. 

“Oh how romantic,” you add, putting a hand to your chest. Pocketing the daisy, Abigail does the same with hers, now fully smiling. 

And with a few giggled words you separate; the chores around camp  looming as Grimshaw’s eyes sharpen into blades, her tongue preparing to tear you both apart. 

You help Tilly with the laundry. 

Karen and you care for spare guns. 

Under the shade, you patch up holes in socks and shirts and handkerchiefs all while Mary-Beth tells you about her new book— a romance, of course— about an outlaw and upper class woman finding love. 

It makes you snort.

Amusement brewing in agitated, annoyed swirls in your chest as you’re reminded of Mary.  

You’re too smart to be reading those kinds of things, you tell her, needle pricking your finger as you push it into the cotton of Dutch’s union suit. She shrugs; tells you she likes it. 

You don’t blame her. You used to too. 

And the sun has begun to set, casting long shadows on long faces after a long day. And people begin returning. 

Javier and Bill from a home robbery. 

Lenny with a wagon of purchases from Saint Denis. 

John and Sadie each with a few rabbits in hand. 

But no Arthur. 

It’s a bit disheartening.  Like a sunshower with no rainbow. What’s the point of the rain then? 

You’ve grown anxious, your hands fussing the linen of your apron though there’s nothing to wipe away. And you don’t have the stomach to eat or the heart to make conversation— so as the gang begins settling in for the night you grab a basket, your revolver, and leave. 

Charle’s, keeping watch, eyes you like a ladybug in winter, but keeps quiet. 

You thank him with a glance. 

And you’re not stupid. You know it’s dangerous in Bayou Nwa— whether it be under God’s sun or the Devil’s moon— crawling with bipedal predators and freaks of nature beyond comprehensible understanding. Arthur has warned you. Don’t you go out, firm words with even firmer hands on your shoulders. Not without me.

But you go.

You need to, if only to catch your breath; to steel yourself away from prying eyes if he doesn’t show up for yet another week. 

And in the tall, marsh grass and bundles of cattails you’ve found something quiet and private; a place where you can crouch and pick away at plants with a frown you don’t have to hide. 

And your fingers are shaky and uncalculated as you rip apart the oleander and sage, like a newborn colt, teetering across grass. You shove the foliage into your basket as if it took Arthur away personally. As if they’ve laced their way into his veins, choking and drying him out. 

You’re upset, but you won’t cry, obviously. There’s no reason to, it’s hysterical and ridiculous, but you’re frustrated.

Because even if Arthur is painfully terrible at communicating, he at least has always told you how long he’d be gone for. 

It’s a luxury you’ve gotten used to. And out of all the silks, jewels, and luxurious baths the world offers, it is your favorite.

The promise of his return. 

“Yer mutterin’.” 

The voice would’ve made you jump if it weren’t for the far too familiar rumble of it. Too often has it soothed you and brought you to climax for it to scare anymore. 

You look at Arthur over your shoulder, glaring. “I do not mutter.” 

“Sure ya do,” he says, stepping over a log to reach you. 

His horse stands in the distance behind him, grazing and chuffing indignantly at the occasional alligator. Flighty things, horses are. Arthur’s is braver than most. 

You turn back around before said man reaches you, hands resuming to the ripping and the pulling and the tearing. 

“I told ya not to come out here without me,” he’s standing right behind you now. 

“I know,” you grunt. And it’s quiet— heavy under the screeching of crickets and cicadas— until Arthur sidles his shins up to your skirts and places his hands on your shoulders, leaning. 

“Yer mad.” 

“I am not mad.” 

“Sure ya are.” 

“I am not,” and you look up, seeing him gaze out into the bayou with a gentle smile. “I’m annoyed,” you correct. 

“Did Reverend chat ya up again?” And he chuckles, stepping aside to finally crouch beside you. 

His knee brushes against yours, a touch starved way of saying hello.  Under the golden sky, his blue eyes have filtered into grays and greens, seafoam and jade alike. 

He looks tired but that pleasant smile is still there; too happy with your presence to be bothered by such ridiculous notions as the human need for sleep. And as much as you’d love to sooth the eyebags away, you continue frowning. 

“You may be surprised to learn that Reverend was astonishingly quiet. For a week.” You add the last part roughly, hoping Arthur gets the message. 

For a second, you think he doesn’t. 

But then his hand raises, the pad of his thumb passing over the furrow of your brow. Achingly attempting to pacify you. To tell you he’s sorry. 

“What’d I do this time?” And his voice rumbles over the question, soft and sweet, a tone he takes only with you. You sigh, turning back to the plants. 

His hand retracts as you pick away at the leaves, but his eyes are heavy on your face, as if he trying to kiss you with just his gaze. 

You’re sure he wishes. 

“I just don’t like when you leave like that without telling me, or anybody really,” you say. And with Arthur, you always keep things succinct and out in the open because lord knows he won’t read between the lines. 

He’s not like you, where you can tell he’s in a bad mood just by the way he drinks his coffee in the morning. 

And Arthur takes a deep inhale, and then an exhale. “Yeah, I know.” 

You look up, raising a brow. 

“Sorry,” he coughs and you know it’s the most you’ll get out of him. It’s always that way with Arthur. Hands-on approach. Not much in the way with words. 

The only way he failed Hosea. 

“Abigail was worried too,” you add absentmindedly, finally letting yourself dawdle a bit now that he’s by your side again. 

Arthur scoffs. “She’s always worryin’ about somethin’. Jack, John, you, me.” 

You can’t argue with that, but you can’t blame Abigail either because you worry too. You just hide it better. 

And you look up, less angry this time. 

He left with a stubble and has returned with a beard. And though you’re sure his hair hasn’t grown much in a week, you notice the way the sandy blond locks brush against his shoulders— like golden willow on blue hills. 

Finally, you acquiesce. 

Your own hand raises, reaching out. And before you can even touch him, his fingers brush against the skin of your forearm. Ferns to sunshine.

You meet his cheek, wiping away at a smudge of dirt before tucking a stray strand of hair behind his ear and hat. 

“Your hair’s gotten long.” 

Arthur looks amused, leaning into your palm not unlike the way a puppy does. 

“Want me to cut it?” 

You shrug. “That’s up to you. But at least take care of this.” And now both hands are on his cheeks, rubbing childishly over his beard. You beam at the way his nose crinkles. 

“Wha’ I thought you liked my beard?” 

“Not when it’s this long. You’d give me a rash every time you kiss me.” 

Arthur smiles, dropping his head to laugh quietly. 

And you stand, hand reaching to pick up your basket, but Arthur already has it in his grip, rising too. 

“Oleander. Sage.” He notes expertly. You hum. “Tryin’ to poison someone?” He asks. 

“You,” is your easy reply as you step away from him and to his horse. He follows in a pavlovian fashion, well trained. 

“That mad about me leavin’ huh?” Long strides quickly bring him to you, arm brushing against shoulder. 

“I wasn’t mad. I was annoyed,” you correct once again.

Arthur makes an entertained sound as he grabs for his horse’s reins. You finally notice all the carcasses strapped to the poor creature. A doe, a fine pelt, geese and rabbits hooked here and there. “Ya missed me?” He teases.

And before you can snort and tell him off, he leans down to kiss you. His hand cups the back of your neck gingerly; giving you all the ability to pull away if you’d like. 

But you don’t. You never would. 

Instead, your eyes slip closed as Arthur presses further. His lips are uncomfortably chapped, dried from the days on the road but so incessant in their need to feel you that you wouldn’t dare tell him to stop. 

Instead your hand rises to hold his wrist loosely, a move that’s always made him melt for one reason another. 

Then just as quickly, he pulls away, brushing his nose against yours. 

“I missed ya.” And he breathes in as you breathe out. 

“Me too,” You admit, though it’s not a secret. He knows. His favorite little luxury it is; the promise you’ll be there, awaiting his return. 

Hasn’t gone a day without it since meeting you. 

Admittedly, 1891 was a bad year to meet Arthur. Grieving, and angry; Eliza and Isaac freshly dead. 

But you were there, picked up by Dutch, almost like a feral animal. Rabid enough to shut down Arthur’s (correction: everyone’s) bullshit immediately, yet organically compassionate to soothe him through bad nights. Even when you barely knew each other. 

That was you. 

Strained it all was at first. Funny, what time can do to two people. 

Unraveling knots and kinks to smoothly twist two lives together. 

And you watch as Arthur starts walking, not bothering to clamber onto his mount— even if the exhaustion in his step is obvious, like meatpie in a patisserie. 

“You’re not gonna ride?” 

He pauses and shakes his head, turning to look back at you. 

“Personally? ‘M tryna get as much time alone before we have to be surrounded by fools and degenerates.” 

You snort, strolling over to his side. “So what kept you away for a week?” 

The back of his hand brushes against yours as you both begin walking. 

“Heard about a wolf in Cotorra Springs. Wanted to check it out and well,” he eyes the pelt. “ Didn’t think it’d take me that long to hunt her down, but she was sneaky.” 

He shrugs. “The rest of this I got on the way home, knowing how Pearson’ll be if I don’t come back with somethin’.” 

You nod knowing how the man can get. Feisty about food, placid about most everything else. Sometimes he reminds you of a bear going into hibernation, and you doodle it on scraps of paper— messy, untrained caricatures of the gang. 

They make Arthur laugh. 

“Me and Abigail joked about you hunting caribou in heat. Not to give you ideas.” 

Arthur flicks a brow. “I wouldn’t do that.” 

“You would if there was money in it.” 

“Is there?” 

“I’ll say no for my own sake.” 

Arthur laughs at that, and you grin, his joy infectious. A bad disease you’re willing to catch. 

“So what have you been up to then, if not grumblin’ and mumblin’?” Arthur asks, eyes sweeping your frame. 

“Cooking. Cleaning. Sewing.” You shrug. Arthur frowns a smidge. 

“You gotta get out more.” 

“I wanted to go out to Saint Denis but I got caught up with Grimshaw, I guess.” 

All he can do is press against you a bit closer. “I’ll go with you soon then.” 

An incredulous look is sent. “No you’re not.” 

And Arthur looks so genuinely offended you have to laugh. 

“What do you mean I’m not?” 

“You hate Saint Denis.” 

“I know but-“ 

You lean your cheek into his bicep. “Thank you, but you don’t have to torture yourself for me.” 

He pouts. “It ain’t torture.” 

“Mhm, sure.” 

Voices in the distance become louder, the echo of Molly’s gramophone and Uncle’s drunken singing coming to a crescendo— smashing and breaking the isolation in a gradual blunder. 

And you pull away, taking the basket from Arthur’s hand as you do. 

Charles greets as you approach, and you hand him the spoils of your anger-fueled gather with another silent thank you. He nods politely, in his own grateful way. 

And as Arthur hitches his horse— cooing with all the affection in the world— you leave him, going up into your shared room. 

You know he has to take care of a few things before you can really have him for yourself: 

Talk to Dutch. 

Contribute money and check the ledger.

Load the hunt’s catches into the kitchen. 

Help with any last minute chores. 

Say ‘hello’ and ‘how are you’ to Hosea, Jack and John; Abigail and Tilly; Sean if he’s in a good mood too. 

So you sit. Passively reading and waiting as you lean against the bed’s headboard. 

And half an hour later, Arthur pulls open the door and then shuts it tight. Like maybe if he held it closed for long enough, the walls would thicken then burst fantastically into a hot air balloon; sending you beyond reach of civilization. 

Under the yellowed light of the lantern, he seems entirely exhausted; the slope of his shoulders dooming, his usually straight back hunched. 

Ain’t no rest for the wicked, Arthur jokes at times. 

He sits down on the bed. For awhile he’s like that; just sitting and staring at the white canvas of the wall. And his eyes are flicking back and forth, like he’s sketching whatever he’s seen in the past week on the molding wallpaper. 

It’s strange when he gets like this. 

It’s not that he’s sad or upset, just caught up in his head. 

“You should get undressed,” you command gently, sliding off the bed as you undo the buttons of your blouse. 

Arthur watches. You pause. And then you deadpan. 

“Are you serious?”  But he says nothing, and neither do you, not as you come to stand between his knees. 

You take his hat off, shoving the worn leather jacket down his arms, and he rests his head against your collar bone, pressing impossibly close into the revealed skin there. 

Like maybe, just maybe, this time your atoms will combine and he won’t have to leave your side ever again. 

When you begin unbuttoning his shirt, his hands finesse to undo the clasps of your skirt and you have to momentarily brush him aside, slapping his hands like a toddler gone for the cookie jar. 

“Hey,” he protests, blue eyes pleading. But the way they blink slowly and idly tells you everything. 

“No. Sleep. We can do that tomorrow.” 

Arthur groans but listens; hands dropping, head knocking against your chest. “A week,” he grumbles. 

“And whose fault is that?” 

He’s quiet as you work, up until he catches a look at the thin silver chain around your neck. His finger notches on the ring that’s hooked to it. 

“I wish you would wear it,” he mumbles languidly. 

“I can say the same thing,” and you glance at the gold band he keeps tucked away on the rope of his hat. “Maybe if things get better.” 

“When,” he amends. “When they get better.” 

“Sure.” 

He glares, the lines of his face darkening. “Don’t be like that.“ 

“Arthur.” And you cup his face, kissing him quickly and quietly. “It’s late.” 

He stares up at you, an odd mix between enamored and frustrated. 

A huff then escapes his lips, and he unbuckles his belt as you finish with the last button of his shirt. Your hands toys with the hem momentarily as if gripping to the tendrils of his soul. 

But you let go, and turn away. 

Getting rid of your own clothes is quick work, but Arthur makes even quicker work of kicking his pants and boots away, collapsing onto the furs and blankets of the bed. And as insistent as he was, he’s out quicker than nightshade, his arousal forgotten. 

You’re sure he’ll remember it in his dreams. It’s happened before. 

And you dim the lantern, laying yourself next to him in your chemise. Even though his back is facing you, a half-hesitant hand runs through his hair. 

He’ll need a wash tomorrow. 

You’ll force him into it, chase him around with a bucket if you have to. But for now, you let him rest; let sleep capture him like a firefly cupped between two soft palms. Pleased, your cheek presses against his bare shoulder blade. 

Obviously, you wake before him. 

Already dressed before he can even become lucid enough to call for you, hand reaching out to grab your missing form. You bend down, press a hand to his forehead, and whisper for him to forget you in favor of his dreams. 

His soft snores ensue. You drift away. 

And today, like yesterday, is quiet. But it’s less gloomy, more of a peace that’s settled because, praise be, Micah is out for the morning. It is both surprising and delightful, and nobody takes it for granted. 

And you drift around the manor and camp, helping with the odd chore, saying hello, sipping at coffee. 

At some point you walk off, where the ground is more solid and less swamp to have a quick word with God in the early morning breeze. 

He doesn’t reply though you knew he wouldn’t. Still, you hope he heard. 

At your return, Grimshaw unloads a torrent of harsh words, quickly placing you on dishes duty. You accept it. 

Mean spirited, but kind hearted, that one. Always has been. You don’t have the will to complain though— not since Arthur’s come back. 

He pacifies you, Hosea has teased, a coy smile hidden by the brim of his hat. At first it was embarrassing, but soon you came to realize denying it is like looking for oranges in an apple orchard. Psychotic and pointless.

Abigail has said the same thing, John nodding along enthusiastically. 

It’s annoying and the truth, and you have no energy to argue. 

Arthur is still asleep by the time you’ve scrubbed both the cast iron and your skin raw. Unsurprisingly. You’ve seen him passed out for nineteen hours once. 

You wish you had that ability, especially with how hot and sticky the Lemoyne air is; boiled molasses in your lungs. You would sleep the entire afternoon just to avoid it all. 

But in the slowness of the day, and your boredom, you approach Dutch, reading as always. 

“Anything interesting?” You ask, readjusting the basket of laundry at your hip. It’s a conversation you have often— ever since you’ve joined the gang your time to read has dwindled— being much more preoccupied with needles and guns and terrible men instead.

He hums, flipping a page. “A collection of essays done by Ralph Waldo Emerson. I presume you know him?” 

You nod, stepping closer. “He wrote before the war. A Transcendentalist, wasn’t he?” 

“Yes,” and Dutch smiles. He’s always told you that you’re too smart for your own good. Smarter than he deserves— than the gang deserves. But you never indulge in his compliments (at least not too much).

And you’ve never really been sure if they’re true.

He’s kind, though that may not be the word. Merciful. Insightful. And perhaps that has fueled the compassionate part in him. 

But as of late it’s all been brought into question you suppose. His sanity. Whether or not he’s still the same old, reliable Dutch that he always has been. 

But you brush it aside for now, letting yourself pretend it’s all normal and everything is okay. A happy family. 

“Which essay are you reading?” And you lean against the doorframe, fixing your apron. 

“Man the Reformer. Do you know it?” 

“Only parts. I think. Care to read me some?” You tilt your head, tucking one ankle behind the other. 

Refined with him, always, even with his penchant for savagery. 

“For you, my dear? Anytime,” and his eyes scan the pages, flipping through to find a piece he likes. “Ah,” he says after a moment, knuckle tapping the paragraph. He clears his throat, then starts. 

“Hence it happens that the whole interest of history lies in the fortunes of the poor. Knowledge, Virtue, Power are the victories of man over his necessities, his march to the dominion of the world. Every man ought to have this opportunity to conquer the world for himself. Only such persons interest us, Spartans, Romans, Saracens, English, Americans, who have stood in the jaws of need, and have by their own wit and might extricated themselves, and made man victorious.” 

He turns away from the page, his face lilting towards yours. “Isn’t that lovely?” he asks you. “Just gorgeous, isn’t it?” 

And Dutch, like most men, has a strange idea of what gorgeous is. Finding it in bloodied knuckles and revenge. In essays about man and power. 

In hatred. In violence. 

You’re unsure why you suddenly remember this— but when you were young, still attending school, you had read that Moses was not allowed to enter the Promised Land. 

It had confused you. Hurt you even. 

And when you had asked one of the nuns: Why? What was the reason? Why couldn’t he? What was the point if his fate was to die? 

And you remember that nun, with reverent eyes and sad smile, told you: 

“For freedom to be reached, the memory of subjugation has to die.” 

And that is why Aaron, and Miriam had died as well. Zipporah too. 

You stare at Dutch. 

“Do you see yourself as Moses?” You ask. It’s a blurted question, not entirely thought through, and you’re embarrassed the moment the words leave your mouth. 

Dutch stares back, his own dark eyes swirling with momentary surprise before he laughs, hitting his knee. Shoulders slacking, your own breathy chuckles escape as you watch. 

“You’ve heard The Good Word?” he questions, almost shocked. 

“Read it.” 

“My, aren’t you full of surprises?” 

“Are you calling me a sinner, Dutch Van Der Linde?” 

He tilts his head, raising a brow. “Aren’t you?” It’s said as if it were common sense. 

“Maybe I’m not a saint, but I don’t think I’m a sinner.” 

Dutch hums, bouncing his knee. “You pray?” 

“When I’m dying,” you tell him, half joking. 

“And how often is that?” 

“More than I’d like.” 

Dutch doesn’t laugh, but a warm, hearty chuckle rumbles in his chest and he picks his book back up. 

“Isn’t that the truth.” 

Looking away, your eyes flick about the greenery outside his window. The chickens cluck incessantly, bouncing about like cotton ball clouds on grassy mountains. 

You can make out the outline of Jack, bounding around a tree with a stick in hand, occasionally swiping the trunk. Abigail keeps a watchful eye. 

And it’s all very domestic. 

A little green rectangle of quiet love, framed by rotting wood and sin. It seems so far away, you can’t tell if it’s real. But you know for a fact it is, and it makes the deep, longing pain in your chest all the worse. It’s a dream really, one you think of often and one you and Arthur have only discussed either after sex or in the early morning— when everyone is still asleep and when things are a little imaginary. 

When dreams rule the plain of existence. 

Suddenly Hosea passes by the room. His gaze stabs through you, a knowing familiar look he’s sent over the past few months. 

Like you’ve discovered a dirty secret. 

And it seems you’ve both come to a conclusion you’re both equally unsure of. Same with Abigail. Same with Arthur, even if he denies it. 

“I should get back to work,” you mumble, pushing yourself off the doorframe.

“Atta girl,” Dutch simpers, but you’ve already walked off, head full of fears and doubts and thoughts you know you’re not supposed to have. 

Hanging laundry is one of the easier chores, one that eases the nerves. Gentle afternoon breeze, as humid as it is, drifts by, wafting the smell of soap and swamp water. Earthy and clean, rolled into a lavender clay. 

Jack hovers around your skirts as you work, and you easily indulge him in poems, songs, and stories, all with a gentle smile. 

He glances at the manor. “Uncle Arthur sure does sleep a lot.” 

“He does, doesn’t he?” 

“Where did Uncle Arthur go?” 

Clipping a bedsheet to the line, your eyes gleam, turning to Jack. “He went beyond civilization” and you crouch down, making claws with your hands, a playful grin at your lips, “hunting wolves.” 

Jack beams, grabbing at your hands, easing the claws. “I wanna hunt wolves!” 

You laugh a little, pulling away and reaching for a pair of drawers in the basket. 

“You’re still too small— they’d eat you up.” 

Jack frowns. “No they wouldn’t.” 

And you hide an amused grin with the back of your hand, thinking of John. After a moment, you nod. “You’re right. They wouldn’t eat you, you’re too skinny.” 

“Hey!” And Jack pouts, tugging at your skirts. You finally laugh, dropping a hand to pat his head, fingers sifting through soft brown locks. 

“I’m sorry. I wouldn’t let them eat you. None of us would.” 

Jack seems appeased. “Do you think Uncle Arthur will take me next time?” 

And not wanting to break his little heart, you say, “I think that’s something you have to ask him.” 

And Jack seems to be somewhat miffed by the answer, reserving himself to sit by the laundry basket as he watches beetles and ants march along the dirt. 

Little brown capped soldiers. 

“Have you ever hunted wolves, Auntie?” 

You hang up the drawers, humming. “No. But one time Uncle Hosea took me hunting for a bear.” 

“A bear!?” And Jack crawls a bit closer. “I don’t remember that?” 

“It was before you were born.” You add gently. 

“Ohhh. Was it scary?” 

“Well only at first. It tried to eat me, but Uncle Hosea wouldn’t let that happen.” Embarrassment bubbles at the memory. The way Arthur had laughed when you sulked, telling him and Hosea you would never hunt again.

Jack smiles. “Do you think Uncle Hosea will take me bear hunting?” 

A downturned smile marrs your features. “I hope not.” 

Jack complains at that, and you gently assert that bears are much worse than wolves, and they wouldn’t care how skinny he is. 

And the moment is sweet and funny and utterly ruined when a horrible, rasping voice says, 

“There she is.” 

Micah’s back. 

Setting your shoulders, you gently tell Jack to find his Ma. Tell her those stories I told you, murmured by his ear. And he scurries away, an excited smile on his face. Your full attention is then granted to the laundry basket and the sodden clothes inside. 

Micah stands on the other side of the clothesline, watching you between the flaps of bedsheets and button ups. A fabric jail cell keeps you separated. 

“Heard our workhorse is back, hm? Where is he?” 

A sock is hung up, next a union suit. 

“Oh, so you won’t even talk about your darlin’ Mr. Morgan with me?” 

You’re running short on clothespins. 

“You gettin’ tired of him?” 

There’s still enough for now. 

“Mr. Morgan, running off for days on end, only comes back to fuck his little mare good and then runs off again. Ain’t that just sad?” 

You could use a new skirt maybe. You’ll head into Saint Denis tomorrow. For now though, another sock is hung. 

“I could take care of ya, while he’s gone. He’ll never have to know.” 

Two blouses are clipped on the clothesline and you’re officially out of pins. 

“So, what d’ya think? Offer stands.” 

You step away from the hanging laundry, your eyes meeting Micah’s. It startles him but turns him on just as quickly. 

And then you walk away, to the manor in search of more pins. Micah doesn’t follow, though you feel his eyes burning holes into you, gaping pits of Tartarus on your skin.

You’re surprised to see Arthur leaning against the windowsill, cup of coffee in one hand, the other scratching away at his journal in long precise strokes; a wolf. And he’s trimmed his beard and hair, his skin clean. 

Washed away of filth and stress. 

An easy smile comes to him when he turns to see you— he downs the rest of his coffee, closes his journal, and steps over. 

“Good afternoon,” you say. 

“Afternoon,” and Arthur glances around for peeping eyes before kissing you chastely. “Thought we could go to Saint Denis today like ya wanted,” he offers. 

You shake your head. “I can’t today; maybe tomorrow?” 

He pulls away, looking bemused. “Always ‘tomorrow’ with you, woman.” 

You laugh, shaking your head. “It’s too late to go to Saint Denis anyway.” 

“We could rent a room.” 

“I am not spending money on a bed I have here,” you chide. 

He raises his head to look at the ceiling, hat tipping back slightly back as he does. A stiffness overcomes him, like a thousand rocks have settled into his stomach. “You always gotta make things difficult.” 

“Shut up,” and you pat his chest, stepping around him to continue your search, “I’ll see you tonight.” 

That seems to help him digest the rocks but he still grabs at your wrist, stopping you. And there’s a deep longing in Arthur’s eyes; lust and sorrow mixing to create something entirely desperate. 

“I love ya,” he mumbles quietly. 

And it’s not something you say often, never really finding the need to. You know. He knows. You’re on the same page. 

But sometimes, you’ll indulge each other with those three little words. 

And Arthur lightens when you smile and nod and tell him you love him too. It’s like he’s seen the ocean for the first time, eyes sparkling in wonderful adoration. So he lets you go, assured he has you no matter what. 

Expectantly, you barely see eachother for the rest of the day, each preoccupied with your own tasks. Small glances are thrown, like pebbles against windows, but nothing more. 

Not until night falls. 

You’re sitting around the fire with Abigail, snorting over a not so appropriate story Karen is telling when you see him in the distance, past the embers, crawling back into the manor. Admittedly, it is late but not late enough for Arthur to call it a night. 

Usually, he’d stay with the group– drink a bottle of beer and sing a tone deaf melody with Tilly and Javier. But not tonight. Tonight he’s waiting you out. 

And so when Karen finishes her story, you give one last laugh and leave. 

Arthur is sitting on the bed when you come in, writing something slowly; the clear mark of verbal constipation.

And the lantern is lit low, warm and golden like a dying star. He only looks up from the page when you close the door, his hand pausing. There’s a droll moment where you stare at him and he stares at you– the little lift of amusement curling your lips can’t be helped. 

In a brisk moment, you’re standing between his knees; but this time it’s him who undresses you. And you let him take his time with the clasps and buttons, resting your palms on his shoulders.

“Jack asked me if I’d take him wolf huntin’,” Arthur mumbles, standing to kiss at the junction of your neck and jaw. In nothing but your chemise, it’s easy to feel the hard line of him press against your hip. “Did’ya put him up to that?” 

You laugh, hands rising to undo his own shirt. “Maybe.” 

A rough palm presses between your shoulder blades, the other cupping your cheek as he nudges you to tilt your head with his nose. 

“Yer evil,” Arthur mutters into your skin, “making me be the one to say no to him.” 

“Was he angry?” 

“Nah,” Arthur sighs, knocking his hips with yours, “just said I’m no fun.” 

And you slip his shirt off, revealing broad shoulders and firm muscle, laced and sewed with scratches and scars. 

You run your hand down a particularly marred one at his ribs. Knife fight. 

“Did he hurt your feelings?” You tease. The hand at your cheek drops, bundling the hem of your chemise up your thighs. And before you can poke his ego again, the hand dips, grazing against your bundle of nerves. 

You sigh, leaning into him as he lazily dips a finger in and out, in and out. 

“John looked like he was ‘bout to have a panic attack,” Arthur rasps right in your ear. “If I had said anythin’ other than no I think he woulda killed me.” 

“Can’t have that,” you hum, and Arthur snorts. 

“Ya need me around to fuck ya, is that it?” 

Scoffing, you pull away. “You’re ridiculous.” Your chemise falls back over your thighs, covering the slick Arthur built up. And he gives a soothing smile, hands lifting yours to twine fingers together. 

“Did I hurt yer feelin’s?” And though you’re frowning, you let Arthur guide you to the bed— let him push you down onto the mattress. At your silence he runs his lips across your face; kissing at your brow, your nose, cheeks and chin. “I didn’t mean any harm by it.” 

Lifting himself on his forearms, he watches you. You’ve softened exponentially, pliant and willing under him. 

Only him. 

And the look on your face is so fond— too loving and so soft, that he feels as if you must be a figment of his imagination. A sick twisted trick his mind is playing to feel something. 

But you’re here, breathing against him, and looking like a drop of sunshine under the lantern’s light. 

He’s struck gold. 

Bending down, Arthur kisses you and in turn you breathe him in, arms coming up to wrap around his neck. You roll your hips, and a groan verberates in his chest— the sound makes your bones rumble— the first sign of an avalanche. 

He lifts the chemise once more and a knee comes up to sit between your exposed thighs. Arthur dips his hand again, this time spreading you open on two fingers. 

The both of you have gotten very good at being quiet after so many years of barely any privacy; a tarp or tent at most; but in Shady Belle, bless the heavens above, you allow yourself little, quiet whimpers. 

The gift of walls. 

And Arthur feels himself pulse as he edges you on, fingers increasing in speed. His thumb brushes against that bundle of nerves again and you choke back a moan, hands gripping onto the sheets. 

“Arthur,” you pant, eyes shining with adoration. And he pauses. You stir something in him, some sort of odd childlike devotion he hasn’t felt since he was in his early twenties. 

Not since Mary. 

And he remembers when you had first gotten together, back in ‘94, you had told him you wouldn’t ask him to stop loving Mary. I could never, ever do that to you. It’d be cruel and unfair of me, you had whispered. 

And you knew he never would stop because that’s how first loves are. Permanent. 

But maybe now, maybe in this moment— just like every other moment with you— he has stopped loving Mary. Perhaps not entirely, but he wouldn’t chase after her like he used to. 

Not when he has you. Not when you beg his name. 

And Arthur rises, lifting you up with him as he sits up against the headboard, huddling you into his lap. His skin is warm, as it usually is, and you can’t discern whether that’s just him or if the Lemoyne heat has to do with it too. 

It’s overwhelming and you’ve barely gotten started. 

Making a pathetic little noise in the back of your throat, you see the way it lights his eyes on fire, as if you hold the keys to enter the Gates of Hell. And it’s almost too easy for him to pull off your chemise, leaning forward to press his lips against yours. 

He’s scarily and surprisingly gentle. Always has been. But tonight there’s an underlying torture in the way he bites at your bottom lip, then soothes it, admonishing his own efforts. 

And Arthur, this sweet, sad man who has killed, murdered, and torn apart men from sanity has resorted to fluttering his fingers against your hips; as if you were a prized butterfly, ready to fly off at any second. 

For one reason or another, it makes your heart ache. 

Your own hands cup his stubbled jaw as you lean down, opening your mouth and letting his teeth gently collide with yours clumsily. 

There’s another rumble in his chest when you kiss the corner his mouth, an apology for your gauche actions. And you can’t tell if it’s a breath or a moan, but you assume that it’s something good. 

A quiet plea for you to continue. Don’t stop. 

Because if you do Arthur’s sure he’ll sob in a pitiful, defeated way that would leave him rutting into the mattress. 

To his relief, your thighs press against his hips all the more, and your chest meets his. One of his own hands slides up your side, and he moans into your mouth at the feeling of your skin against his palm.

Silk against stone. Soft where he is rough– ruined by bullets, knives and meaningless labor. And he decides then, he’ll preserve this. Preserve your warm humanity, if it’s the last thing he does. 

And he is a fool, but he isn’t insolent. He knows you’ve seen and experienced things that would have him reeling with nausea. 

You’re a woman, of course you have. 

But if he can help it, he will keep you like this. Coy and kind. Too good for him and too good for what the world has to offer. 

Arthur realizes he’d gotten engrossed in his worship when you pull away to look down at him, giving a shaky exhale. Running your fingers through his scalp, you let your hand settle at the back of his neck, peering at his face as if he were a saint. 

Arthur can only stare back. Fervently and biblically.

He follows every unspoken order you give him with a ferocity bordering desperation that only stems from his complete adoration. And you’ll never know how or where it started and you won’t ask, in fear of an answer that that any other man could give you. But this outlaw, brute, grunt; this man of all men has become an angel under your gaze and touch. 

It’s intoxicating.  

For awhile this continues. The kissing– the petting and exploration. Whispered ‘I missed you’s’ brushed across your lips, neck, breasts. At some point, Arthur wraps his mouth around one of your nipples, and you stifle a whimper against his temple. 

A hand pushes into the curve of your back, imploring and needy, making you keen. The other, brushes against your core unexpectedly and you almost yelp from the sudden contact. But he dips his fingers into you gingerly, restarting the ministrations from earlier. 

You all but melt. 

You’re panting into his neck, gripping onto him as he plays with you. It’s shameful how a week apart has ruined you so terribly. 

You’re oversensitive and overstimulated. 

When your breathing becomes more desperate (which happens quicker than you’d like) Arthur pulls away again. And he likes this game; the build up before breaking you. An annoyed sigh puffs out from your lips, and you find yourself grinding into his lap for some form of relief.

His trousers have become a hindrance. 

Arthur’s leaning into your chest, eyes half-open and cheek pressed against the space between your breasts. His mouth is hot and open, panting as you grind further into him.

And though you can feel him twitching against you, it isn’t enough. He’ll need more than the dull pressure of your core. But for now, he lets your hips roll, watching brightly as your slick coats the seam of his pants. 

“No more,” he suddenly rasps, the first words said in a long time. “Please, no more teasing.” 

You ponder him for a moment, then nod.

The trousers are off in an instant. 

And his skin against yours is a relieving sin. Hands on your hips, he rubs you against him— and all you can do is sit it out and watch with bated breath. Arthur, at the feeling, lets out a stilted, raspy whimper. 

Before he can do more, you lower a hand, pumping him up and down, up and down; a choked sound catches in the back of his throat when you do. 

He’s bigger than average, but not impressively so. The real volume of his size comes from his width, noting that your thumb and middle finger don’t and have never connected when you jerk him off. 

And you do this for some time, listening to his gasps and mumbled moans, only stopping when he begins pulsing in your palm. 

Arthur whines when you pull away, eyes gleaming almost angrily, and you have to smile at the hypocrisy of his behavior. He bites back a curse at the way you look at him, too entranced to be upset. 

Then, pushing him flat onto the mattress and straddling his waist, you kiss him. His hands land on your back once more, begging to press you closer, further. 

Wanting nothing more than to simply have you against him. 

And finally, you slide onto his length. 

It’s jarring at first, uncomfortable in the way it splits you open. And you feel his every millimeter and every movement. It takes a minute for your body to adjust, to realize it’s him. Arthur lets you wait it out, lets you take your time as you finally sink down completely. 

He thrusts, once, shallow and uncertain, brows furrowed in concentration. And your eyes close shut with a gasp, squeezing your legs even tighter around his waist. 

Then, you lift your hips off him and sit back down. And then you do it again. And again. And again. 

The pace you’ve set is slow, but it allows you to further assimilate to the stretch. Furthermore, the friction is accumulative. You quickly find that Arthur’s hands have lifted to clasp around your own shaking ones in an act to sooth you. 

To quell whatever ache has settled in your abdomen (for the time being). 

And his eyes are shining with an indiscernible emotion as he watches you; something that makes you want to cry out of sheer wonder. 

You’re so sure it’s love. It has to be. You refuse for anything else. 

You refuse to be a broodmare or quick fuck. 

And something must flip inside of Arthur because suddenly, he flips you two over, and moreover, he turns you over onto your stomach. 

“Arthur,” you mutter, as you lift yourself up on your forearms. And he bends down pressing a kiss to the vertebrae in your neck as if they were jewels on a crown. 

His hands return to your hips and bring you towards him. 

“I know,” he replies. It only takes a second for him to slip into you again, letting a deep, pleasant groan out. 

In this position he’s quicker, rougher. Less careful. 

Arthur utters the occasional incoherent word and you can only pant in reply. After a while of this— of his hips slamming against yours— your shaking arms collapse under you, and your cheek presses into the mattress. 

Arthur doesn’t stop though, nor does he slow, and the whole thing overloads your nerves. 

Yet somehow, his touch is still loving— even as he takes you so harshly. It’s an odd dichotomy. You’re not quite sure he knows his own strength in this moment. Maybe he never does. 

And you can’t help but be utterly grateful that this is the only way Arthur uses his strength on you. To fuck you into a mattress. 

And the only noises you can make are broken little gasps for air, an entire lifetime’s worth of vocabulary forgotten. He’s moving in and out of you at a far quicker pace than you had initially anticipated; and you feel yourself begin to shake, quivering for help beneath him. 

“Please,” you beg. 

“Please, what?” 

Your face flushes, hot and embarrassed even if you’ve done this hundreds of times before. “Arthur,” you whine, and he gets the message, quickening his pace as more broken, unintelligible syllables bumble out of your lips.

He brings one hand away from your hip to cup under your chin, lifting your face slightly so he can press his cheek against yours. 

A loving act that tells you this is more than lust and cum. 

Your hands claw into the mattress and his other hand leaves your hip to land on top of your own— fingers moving to curl into the spaces between yours. You’re crying now, sobbing quietly for some form of release at the absolutely brutal pace he’s set. 

And you feel yourself coming close to climax, warmth pooling and subsequently dripping from your abdomen. 

Arthur’s close too. You can tell by the way he twitches inside of you and by the way his groans have become hoarse and breathy. 

He then removes the hand from your jaw and you sink back into the mattress, his fingers reaching for that bundle of nerves and rubbing it. You leave an open-mouthed whimper into the bedsheet, your breath and spit creating a hot and sticky spot. 

Delicately, he pushes your body over the edge.

The orgasm rushes over you like a snap— quicker than lighting but drawn out like thunder. It singes and quakes as you quiver around him, moaning dumbly and begging for some form of sanity. Your back, arching, pushes him further into you, ignorant of your own overstimulation. 

Arthur’s grip is tight on your hips as he watches, having to stop himself from spilling into you right then and there. He would. 

He would if things were better. He would if he were stupid and ignorant. 

But he holds himself back, teeth gnawing at his lip. Eventually you calm, the bedsheet loosening in your grip, leaving linen hills in your wake. And as soon as you take a quiet, deep breath, he continues to thrust just as quickly. 

It’s now his turn to gasp and whimper, and you’ve never heard him so desperate— properly crying as he presses his face into your neck. 

Your own tears bead at your eyelashes as you let him use you, abandoning any and all self respect for yourself. 

But it doesn’t last long, as he’s quick to follow you over the edge. His hips begin to stutter and you know it’s over. 

Arthur pulls out, and you feel him throbbing against you as he cums into his hand. He’s practically collapsed on top of you as well, his body gone boneless and weak from the aftershock. 

He’s still for some time, catching his breath and his mental faculties. 

And you’re not sure how much time has passed until his lips press against your neck and shoulders gently; but you sigh quietly at the feeling, pleased and sated. 

He reaches under your body, cupping your waist so he can roll the two of you over to lay on your sides. And Arthur curls himself around you protectively, like he could obstruct everything evil with the slope of his shoulders. 

It’s quiet and peaceful, as the aftermath of sex usually is. 

And each time he kisses your skin indolently, you press back into him— a silent message that you want to kiss back. He seems to understand.

After a while, he mumbles your name. 

You don’t expect it, his usual preference for silence being the norm. But either way, you hum in reply, entirely lost in comfort and bliss. 

“I’ll kill Micah.” It’s said so simply, like an everyday part of his itinerary. Cleaning, hunting, murder. Well, maybe it is then.

You don’t open your eyes though. This is not a new conversation, nor is it one you like. 

“You heard him today I’m guessing.”

“When you were doin’ the laundry.” 

You want to frown. “It’s fine.” Is all you can say. 

“No it ain’t.” 

You pull away from him a little. “I don’t wanna talk about him. Ever. He doesn’t matter.” 

Arthur’s quiet again. But then he nods and closes the space you created. 

“Okay.”