#thigh holster my beloved

[acecroft]

Future!Dean Winchester in SUPERNATURAL 5.04 'The End'

[kibbits]

SURPRISE another ask from me >:)

For the color pallet one this time:

Hijinek + Toxic 👀

!!!! Hell yeah!! Thanks so much for requesting my girl Hijinek, too!!! It'd been ages since I drew her so i went a bit overboard fgjkdl

It was super fun to do dramatic lighting, too, something I don't do often! (edit: Also oh my god tumblr made it so small. You can open it in a new tab for like at least twice as much detail)

Lineart version and bonus under the readmore : )

She's 9'8" btw : )

(I did promise you could hold hands fjkldgl)

[vilwil-brr]

empires bangs and pixlriffs fucks severely and I mean this. Also with how much impulse has been talking about mcc, if he’s in this next one? on a team with scar? That’s all any of you will hear from me for the next forever, so sorry in advance

[teddybeartoji]

THE LITTLE LAMB AND THE BIG BAD WOLF

on a hunt for supplies, you stumble across someone's belongings. a little bit of theft is fine, right? the cold barrel of a gun at your temple says otherwise.

☆. contains: toji fushiguro x gn!reader; apocalypse au; horror, detailed descriptions of blood and death, slow burn, crack, reader is simultaneously a scaredy-cat and a baddie, toji looks scary oh nooo

☆. word count: 6k

☆. note: the world is based on tlou!!! i am soooo into this fucking concept like i'm officially sucking my own dick here. tagging my beloveds @staryukis & @awearywritersworld bc omfg apocalypse ideas!!!!!! and also @dollsuguru @venusiansilk @twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat @mossmurdock i love you guys so so much thank you for all your support<3333333

+ here's the masterlist

in a world so fucked up – it's easy to get lost in the darkness.

when the infection took over, everything changed. everything. people aren't people anymore – they've become hosts for a type of fungus known as the cordyceps. it grows all over the brain and takes control of the body, turning the person into something they're not.

if anyone were to ask you how many have you killed, infected or not, you'd be devoid of an answer.

it's hard to find your way when just about everything is out to get you. infected or not – there's always something ready to tear you into pieces, to sink their teeth into your soft flesh – that's just the way things are now.

but you're used to it. used to the feeling of adrenaline pumping in your veins as you run from a horde, used to the feeling of a blade at your throat, used to the feeling of a punch, of a slap. used to the constant grumble in your stomach, used to the sore legs and shoulders, used to cleaning off blood from yourself and your clothes, from your weapons. you're used to the gurgling and clicking, the crying and sobbing, the begging and pleading.

but no matter how much you tell yourself that you've grown used to the horrors of the new world, you cannot escape the anxiety that hides under every inch of your skin. it's always with you – holding your clammy hand as it drags you into the depths, into the shadows. you try to fight it but it's hard.

it's hard forcing away the only thing that holds you so tight, the only thing that truly cares for you. it's is a suffocating blanket that hides you from the cruelty of the world, trying its best to shelter you from it all. it's better to stay inside. it's better to stay away. they're going to hurt you. something is here. just stay here with me, under the warm blanket. they're coming. it's going to hurt. let's stay here forever.

don't you want it to stop?

being torn apart by the cold crippling fear and the warm rotting hands – it's getting harder and harder to breathe. but you've learned how to keep them at bay over the years; always in the line of sight, always on your mind. there's no rest for the wicked.

moonlight leads the way as you make your way to a shopping mall. the wind howls in your ears and sends a shiver down your spine. moss and ivy cover the walls of the massive building, swallowing it bit by bit, making it a part of the nature as the time passes.

the axe in your hand feels heavy, but right nonetheless. the handle is stained with blood; it has seeped deep into the wood and now acts as an extra weight to the blade. a small 9mm handgun sits pretty in the holster around your thigh, a knife hides in its leather sheath on your belt, a bow rests on your shoulder and a few arrows peek from your bag.

despite the armory, your bag hasn't been this empty in a while. the blame falls on a group of men you ran into a week or so back. precious ammo and resources were spent on the bastards, and while the blood reward was good - the lack of food and meds is now becoming concerning. your shoulder still hurts from the fall, a big dark bruise transforming your skin into a painting of the midnight sky.

you shake the flashlight on the strap of your backpack and listen to the batteries bounce around inside it. you give it a stronger shake and it turns on. the broken glass shines as you carefully step inside the big atrium and take a look around. your little light forces back the creeping shadows, now showcasing you the infected bodies that lay dead on the ground before you.

pools of blood conflux together and paint the tiles a dark shade of maroon; the ichor flows in between the cracks and disappears under the soles of your boots when you step further inside. they're fresh. light reflects off the liquid as you squat down to take a closer look. none of the three bodies seem to have bullet wounds – one of the runner has a slit throat while the other leaks from a hole in the side of the head and the clicker... it's head has been completely bashed in, making it hard to even recognize it as one.

beating up a clicker is not easy by any means; though the fungus growing on their face and head blinds them, it also acts almost like armor. they can take a bullet to the head and still keep coming – the call of death rippling through their body as they run at you, hands reaching out to grab, to pull, to hold.

the fact that they did this, either with their bare hands or some other blunt object, just means that they're good. it also begs the question whether they didn't have the bullets to spare or they simply decided not to use them. you just hope you won't bump into them.

standing up, you take another look around. a trail of bloody footsteps leads right up the escalators and you decide that you won't be going there yet. there are a few more bodies, two runners, sitting limp against the crumbling walls as you step down one of the hallways. the broken tiles and the glass cracks below your feet and you cringe at the noise.

never letting go of the axe in your hand, you stroll past the first stores seeing as they're completely ran through. with a sigh, you make your way over to one of the clothing stores. it's almost pitch black in there and you almost jump out of your skin when a mannequin suddenly falls at your feet. muttering out a row of whispered curses, you lower your axe with a shaky breath and adjust your flashlight. the shelves are pretty empty but that was expected; still, when you open up a cupboard door under one of the mannequin stands, you find a stack of perfectly fine sweatshirts. you check the other side of the piece of furniture and find... nothing. scoffing to yourself, you just bag the a sweatshirt and a pair of pants from another shelf before moving to the next store.

glass breaks and you hear shuffling – head whipping towards the sounds, fingers tightly gripping the axe, you take a step back and bump right into the shelf behind you. pieces of clothing fall onto the floor and a cloud of dust rises from the impact; you pay it no mind as your eyes are still glued to the counter, to where the noise came from, but when after a few second absolutely nothing jumps at you, you let your shoulders relax a little.

a stalker, maybe? but they don't tend to live in open spaces like malls, or so you think at least. the majority of them you've ran into in places like office floors and a fucked up basements – meaning they like to lurk everywhere where it's extra dark and where there are places to hide behind. yeah, they do that. little shits, taking cover behind desks and walls, playing a game of hide and seek that you never agreed to. you're never forgiving yourself for taking that wretched route.

you peek over the counter and look all around it but find jack shit. it's the darkness – it's what it does to you, to everybody. the shadows start to speak and move, the floors creak and crumble, and the growths on the wall whisper your name, no matter, how much you tell yourself that they aren't actually doing any of that that.

it's just the old building crying out from loneliness, the haunted ghosts simply looking for company as people pass by, as the infected pass by. you have to keep your head straight. faint blood marks stain the floor but it's too hard to tell whether those've been there for years or less.

you hastily knock on your flashlight when it begins to flicker, leaving you in the dark for just a blink but it's enough to have your heart thumping loudly in your ribcage.

making your way out of the store, you scour for your next location and ah-ha!

a pharmacy.

two bottles of antibiotics rattle in your bag but those aren't enough. you'll always need more of those, you'll always need more of gauze, painkillers, of everything – going in there is a must.

a metal roll-up door closed mid way is going to make this harder, but as if that isn't ominous enough – the quiet cries coming from behind it only makes the situation worse. a runner. but luckily, it isn't making too much noise and you make an educated guess of it not moving around. they do that when there's nothing to catch and tear apart, when nothing has caught their attention. they stay in random spots and whimper and cry to themselves. it makes them an easy prey.

the thought of the metal door sliding shut just as you're trying to pass under it, is making your stomach churn. and so is the thought of you making too much noise by accident and attracting the runner when you're still down on the ground. stop being a pussy. there could be emergency kits in there, pills, there could be a feast of medications in there and you're holding back. it's unacceptable.

you slowly kneel down to the cold floor and inhale sharply before lowering yourself further down. the only light in the room is yours and it immediately finds the twitching runner.

it is cowering in the corner.

you're just fucking glad they don't react to light as much as they do to noise, otherwise you'd be fucked already.

you crawl in the dust as quietly as you can, careful to not touch any of the furniture beside you that seems to be holding up the door. the last thing you'd want is to get locked in here. or get cut in half. you clench your teeth and push yourself up and to your knees the second you can do so and take a second, as you wait for him to turn around and lunge at you. but he doesn't. his back is still turned to you as he waits for you, sobs for you; his body trembling, hands folded in front of his chest – almost like he's hugging himself.

quietly holstering the axe, you pull out your knife instead. it's quieter. you grip the handle, fingers molding into the dents that have formed over time. another step and the light goes out. it's complete darkness. you hear your own heartbeat in your ears and the miserable cries of the infected just a few feet away. your eyes widen as you try to focus on your surroundings. your hands grow clammy in a matter of a few seconds and panic seeps into your body.

you shake the flashlight a few times and it turns back on. your breath is still stuck in your throat as you try to compose yourself. stupid old thing. the light paints the runner's shadow onto the wall in front of him, making it look like he's a part of some shadow play.

one more step and you're with him, a breath away. your hand goes around his chest, holding his hands and body in place as you sink your blade into his neck. it sinks into skin and flesh like butter, soaking you in the dark red ichor that hides underneath as he gurgles something at you (a thank you perhaps).

yanking the knife back out, the splattering ichor coats your skin and you immediately wipe it off against your shirt. his body falls with a thud! and another big dust cloud rises from the contact and your nose itches— it's— it itches— achoo!

your eyes are an inch away from escaping your head as you spin around, making sure that nothing is jumping at you for making a noise that loud. but surely enough, nothing seems to be interested. exhaling deeply, you rub your nose and force down the embarrassment that's crawling on your skin before starting your hunt for supplies.

it doesn't go as well as you'd hoped – only bagging a few stitching kits and a bottle of painkillers. better than nothing.

ecstatic to get the fuck out of a closed, pitch black room, you crawl back out from under the metal door and dust off your clothes.

strolling through some more stores, you're met with more dead infected. two clickers and two runners, no bullet holes. ignoring the corpses, you manage to find yourself a few nice t-shirts, a pack of boxers and a box of 9mm handgun ammo from under the cash register.

when you've gone through most of the wrecked stores on the first floor, you finally decide to take a look upstairs. the bloody footprints haven't left your mind but the fact that it's been so quiet, makes you think that maybe they did really just pass through here.

the moon light your way as you drag yourself up the escalator. the stars in the sky are barely visible because of the dirt on the ceiling window and you frown.

in front of you there are two hallways with stores on the sides and in the middle. the prints lead to the left side and towards the a lonely door at the end of the coridor; the signs on the walls don't indicate what room it might be – a security one, maybe? shaking your head, you focus on the stores ahead of you. the shop in the center is a big sports one; most of the mannequins have fallen over and their limbs are scattered all over the floor, pairless sneakers rest on top of each other and the shelves are a push away from collapsing into tiny little pieces.

stepping over the bloody clothes, you view the baseball caps on the rack when your light goes out again. you feed on the faint moonlight that's coming from the hallways as you scramble to shake the thing again. steps, you swear you heard steps. the last standing mannequins stare at you from the shadows, laughing at your misfortune. a hand touches your hip and you can't hold back the yelp that slips from your lips. you turn and bump into another statue. the light flickers three times before it actually turns on and you find yourself inches from an eerie smile. intinctively, you give it a firm push as you take a step back, hands shaking as the panic settles down once more.

no one else is here. you can't see whoever could've made the noise and by now you're sure that if something or someone is really hiding in the dark – it would've already made a move if it wanted to. stalkers don't play for that long and neither do humans.

a row of protein bars hide in a drawer in the staff room of the store and you happily throw them in your bag, along with some weird looking granola bars.

the right side of the second floor only offers you a new lighter, three pairs of socks, a can of soda, a simple necklace and a broken watch. what's the point of it if you can't tell time? it looks cool. no other reason.

heading over to the left side of the building, you keep a keen eye on the door. the remaining shops are forgotten the closer you get to where the prints lead and you officially commit to checking out the place.

the blade of your axe shines in the moonlight, your steps extra light as you creep up on the door. readying your weapon, you press down on the handle and quietly push it open. it swings all the way and thumps against the wall. the room is lit up, the windows letting in the natural light. you're greeted with rows of computer and tv screens on the tables, three black duffel bags and some lockers and cabinets next to the walls.

you check the corners of the room and let out a relieved sigh when you don't find anything hiding. closing the door, you carefully step around the broken glass on the floor. it seems to be originating from what used to be a glass case showcasing various medals. awards for the best security guards. how silly that sounds now.

the lockers have been cleared out, the only things left behind being two lovely couple's phots with hand-drawn hearts above their heads. you leave them there. the cabinets don't have anything good either. you glance back at the door for good measure before kneeling down in front of one of the bags on the ground. you pull the zipper and are met with treasure – multiple bars of chocolate, the same sweatshirt you found from the floor below, various cans of canned food, two water bottles and a small knife.

your eyes glint and the corners of your lips twitch upward, your body has a mind of its own as it immediately reaches for the chocolate. glass breaks and your eyes flick to the now ajar door as you reach for the gun on your thigh but when you feel the cold metal of a gun barrel resting against your temple... you freeze.

"don't."

...

your stomach drops, eyes glued to the bag in front of you. the voice is deep and it's rasp, confident and sure of himself; the metal against you doesn't move, it doesn't shake.

you hold your trembling hands out, fingers spread to show that you don't have any intention of grabbing your weapons. a deep breath in and a deep one out. you try to turn your head towards him but he just presses the gun deeper into your skin, forcing your gaze right back down.

his big stature looms over your smaller one and you feel like an ant that's about to be stepped on. he lets you soak in the threatening silence, the only sound being your own racing heartbeat.

"s'rude to steal, y'know."

the man doesn't sound angry, he doesn't sound mad or upset. he sounds... annoyed, if anything.

"i asked you a question."

shit.

"i– i wasn't stealing." you stammer out.

he scoffs. "wasn't stealing? just fondling my shit for fun then?"

the teasing tone makes your eyebrows furrow and you try to turn to look at him again, your body slightly raising from your knees but the gun on your head keeps you down. funny, how heavy a piece of metal can suddenly feel.

"it was empty in here! i didn't know these belonged to anyone! i–i'm sorry! i'll leave, i'll leave!" it's a pathetic slur of words accompanied by a pleading tone and you hope that it'll do the trick.

there are strategies for dealing with people and this is simply one of them.

and it does work because the next thing you know, he's lowering the weapon. you let out a shaky breath before turning to him and fuck.

he's... terrifying.

towering over your kneeling body, he's massive. big chest and broad shoulders, he looks like he could snap your neck with his bare hands. the moonlight is only making him more menacing – his dark hair falls in front of his eyes as he stares down at you; there's a scar on his lips and streaks of blood cover his skin, from his cheek to his jaw and down his neck.

dark clothes and a dark jacket – he looks like he belongs in the shadows. the fact that you didn't hear him until it was already too late is making your skin crawl. he probably only let you hear him. for the fun of it.

the terrified look on other's faces can be addicting. the big eyes and the wobbling lips; how they shake and beg – you're no stranger to it, you've had your moments, too.

other than the gun in his hand, there's a second one holstered around his big thigh just like you do. a serrated knife sits his belt and it keeps winking at you, the flashlight reflecting from it as you pull in big breaths of air.

"you're saying i oughta just let you go?" he scoffs, yanking you from your thoughts.

"please..." your stomach grumbles on cue, helping you look meeker than you really are.

you're sure you just saw him wince as he squats down beside you but the thought is brushed away immediately when the man cocks his head to the side and scratches his temple with the barrel of the gun. his scarred lips stretch into a big wolfish grin, showing off his sharp canines and his eyes glint from behind the black strands of hair, making him even scarier now. the big bad wolf.

he's taking you apart with his eyes, dissecting you and your thoughts with a smug expression while you're fending off the waves of fear and try to look as composed as you can. though you feel like it isn't working at all.

"d'ya find anything good from the pharmacy?"

"why were you stalking me?" your bark comes out sharper than you intended and his eyebrows raise an inch, eyes shining with something teasing.

"kind of hard to miss ya when you're making so much noise, sweetheart. and yer in my spot, anyway." he sigh with an eye-roll.

your lips part in a small gasp. "i was not making that much noise! and– and what do you mean 'your spot'? it's a fucking mall, i need things, too!"

"clearly." he motions to the duffel bag resting at your feet and you swallow your next snarky comment.

"sorry."

"what was that?"

just glaring at him, you hate how amused he seems. the fear in you dissipating fast and something akin to annoyance is starting to grow in it's stead.

"i didn't even fucking take anything!"

body leaning forward, fists balled up and eyes on fire – he's thoroughly entertained by your barking and you immediately purse your lips.

"relax, little lamb, will ya? tell me... what'd you find in there?"

you scrunch your nose at the stupid nickname. despite how non-threatening he's being right now - you're still planning on running. you'll give him whatever he wants and you're getting the fuck out of here.

"nothing much. stitching kits and painkillers."

he's hums disappointedly and you can't help but wonder why. is he looking for something in particular? is he hurt? "what do you need?"

"forget it."

"i have antibiotics, if that's what you need."

at that, his ears perk up. "is that so?"

you nod at him.

"well, c'mon then, show me what ya got."

you stare at him for a moment before peeling off one backpack strap. you pull the bag onto your lap and feel his heavy gaze on you as you dig around the thing. it doesn't take you long to find the right bottle, pulling it out and handing it to him.

the floor creaks and it has you both turning towards the sound in an instant. he has the door in his sights but nothing is there. your heart is hammering in your chest again and you can taste the bitter anxiety in the back of your throat again.

you've never seen anyone hold their gun so steady as he does. no shake, no tremble; he's not even really squeezing the thing, he's just holding it. there's no pressure, no anxiety – it's simply an extension to his body. he's comfortable with it, and he looks good with it. a bead of sweat rolls from his temple and mixes with the drying blood on his skin before disappearing under his clothes.

his breathing is normal, he's calm as he lowers the gun back down and starts observing the bottle in his other hand. your eyes are still on the door, still wary of the ghosts that lurk around.

the man squints his eyes at the miniature text on the bottle in the dark and you hold back a laugh.

"need me to read it for you, old man?"

"watch your mouth." it's playful at best, no real sternness behind it whatsoever and it makes you roll your eyes. you're about to ask what he actually needs the pills for but something in the corner of your eye draws your attention.

a pair of dull, grey eyes. staring right back at you. dark veins run all over her face and neck, her shoulders and her hands and she peeks from behind the doorframe.

one second. no more, no less. your sharp intake of air gets his attention just as the stalker lunges from the dark hallway, but she is met with a hole in her forehead before she can even take a proper step inside.

small pieces of brain splatter onto the wall behind her and she falls limp to the ground just a few feet from you. he's waiting for another one to pop up, his eyes still glued to the door and you know that this is your moment. he has the meds, so he shouldn't chase you down anyway. you have to go now.

scrambling up from your knees, you try to speed past him but immediately choke when the collar of your own sweatshirt sharply cuts into your airways. his grip on the material is strong and he pulls you right back into him, back into his arms. he's mere inches from your face but before he can do anything else – he feels a blade against his throat.

you really aren't the little lamb he thought you were.

he's comparing you to a feral cub in his head – big wild eyes, snarling and showing your teeth, trying to act tougher than you are, but when the sharp edge of your blade sinks deeper into his skin, he realizes that maybe you're not actually in over your head.

he already expected you to run, he was waiting for that but he thought it'd end up with you you crying and begging or something. he didn't see this coming – you're definitely craftier than he thought, faster too.

"now... why would you do that-"

you don't let him finish. "are you gonna hurt me?"

"you're the one with the knife at my throat. i should be asking you that." he rolls his eyes as your knife grazes the soft skin below his adam's apple and you're thinking about actually cutting him just out of annoyance.

"you have the pills, why not let me go?" you bark back.

"you're hungry, aren't ya?" he questions calmly. his gun hand is lowered, he's not pointing it at you but his other hand stays on your back, fingers still digging into your sweatshirt. it's warm, his body is warm.

"so what? you gonna feed me like some stray cat?"

"y'don't want to eat?" he deadpans.

...

you bite into the soft flesh of your inner cheek. of fucking course, you want to eat.

"y'can take two cans from the bag. i mean, y'were eyeing them anyway."

"why?"

"for being my entertainment tonight."

the blade on his throat finally draws blood and a drop of it runs down his skin, disappearing under his shirt.

"i oughta kill you for putting a gun at my head."

"yeah?" he cocks his head closer to you, the blade moving with him, making a few more droplets dribble from the tiny wound. "go for it, sweetheart."

his eyes are green. they're green like the leaves that sprout from between the cracks in the asphalt on a sunny day, green like the moss that flourishes on the trees in the forest, green like the ivy that is trying to swallow the world. you feel his heart beat a; calm and steady while yours is amped from the sudden proximity. he sounds so arrogant, like he knows you're not going to hurt him.

(you aren't.)

when you lower the knife to push at his broad chest with a scoff instead, he lets you. his hand falls from you as you take a step back, your face now illuminated by the moonlight. scars litter your skin, bumps and cuts – just like him.

"are you done?"

you hum with a pouty lip and put away your knife, eyes following his figure as he holsters his gun before picking up the fallen pill bottle. when he steps by you, he plucks your flashlight from its place on the backpack strap with way too much ease and proceeds to head over to one of the duffel bags that sits on the table behind you, carefully stepping over the broken glass on the floor.

"hey!"

he shushes you and your fists tighten beside your body. you look at the dead body that lays next to the door with a perfectly centered hole in her forehead. the blood pools around it, soaking her clothes and the ground below her.

you used to think about the infected more, used to ponder about how long they've been like that and whether the person they used to be is still... in there.

it doesn't matter.

you've come across people, who talk about not wanting to kill them – what if they really are still in there? but isn't that exactly why one should kill them? you can't even begin to think about how it'd feel to be stuck inside your own body as the infection takes over, making you into something you're not. how it'd force you to tear your loved ones apart just for the sake of it, how you'd turn into a bigger monster with every passing day, every passing second. you just hope that if you were to get infected, you'd still have the mind to end it. or have somebody do it for you.

you don't want to end up like her.

"i didn't realize there were stalkers here." you mumble to yourself as you tear your eyes from her. "other than you, of course. fucking creep."

he starts digging around in one of the bags and you take the moment to really observe him. his back is almost twice your size and you're sure his one bicep is bigger than your whole head.

the man scoffs. "thought i got them all but... oh, well. should've let ya handle it – was your fault anyway."

"how the fuck was that my fault?" your voice raises at his claim and you regret it, knowing exactly what his response will be.

"you are fucking loud, sweetheart."

"fuck you."

he just hums out a mhmmm. he pulls a piece of paper out of his bag and uses your flashlight to examine the text on it. his eyes. he waves at you over his shoulder. "you know where the cans are."

simply scoffing as a reply, you kneel back down to the bag but his voice cuts in again.

"and don't you dare take that chocolate." he doesn't even turn around, completely focused on comparing the information on the paper to the info on the bottle of pills. you roll your eyes again and curse him under your breath. "i wasn't gonna take your stupid fucking chocolate..."

when you've bagged your goodies, you push yourself up again. the trees dancing in the wind outside catch your eye, they look so carefree. just living from the sun and the moon and the rain, they have nothing to fear. nobody will harm them, no infected, no people. you can't wait for nature to take back everything it deserves. the cities and the buildings; it'll swallow the corpses and the living alike and you're happy for her.

he rustles with the paper, twisting it around a few times and you're about to ask what he's looking for but he cuts you off.

"why not make a run for it earlier?"

you stare at his back with a confused look. "what do you mean?"

"you gave me the pills and then tried to run. antibiotics are hard to find, y'know." he sounds curious. or patronizing.

"i know that... i had to wait for the right moment." you admit, fiddling with your fingers. "i was going to give them to you anyway, old man."

"not a lot going on in that little head of yours, huh?"

...

you let his audacity waft over you before biting back. "oh, i'm sorry... for... being a... good person?"

he turns around and leans his ass against the table, folding his arms over his big chest as he mocks you with his annoying smug grin. "i pointed a gun at you and you still wanna share your little precious belongs with me? that's cute, i guess."

"yeah. you just look like you fucking need them, alright...."

"so, you agree that you're a fucking idiot?"

your lips part in shock. "hey! look– do you want anything else or can i go now?"

"can i have my flashlight back?"

"no."

"wha— " you take a step toward the man and he raises his brows. "but it's mine! how do you expect me to go outside without it?"

"no manners whatsoever."

huh?

your jaw drops again. "excuse me? wha– what's that supposed to mean?"

"first, i catch you stealing— "

"i already apologized for that— "

"—then you try to kill poor old little me, and now you're asking for things without the magic word... tsk-tsk-tsk." he closes his eyes and shakes his head in disappointment.

"i'm not gonna fucking beg for my own flashlight back, bitch."

...

he barks out a laugh.

a loud one, from deep within his stomach. his head falls back and a pout forms on your lips, heat crawls up your neck involuntarily and you avert your gaze. "you're terrible, just terrible, sweetheart."

he takes your prized light and tosses it to you before pulling out his own from behind his back. you flip him off. "funny though, i'll give ya that..."

you grumble a yeah, thanks under your breath as he blinks the light at you twice. "may i go now?"

he stares at you before answering. "yes, you're dismissed."

at that, you knock your heels together and sharply bring your right hand to your temple – imitating a military salutation. "yes, sir!"

something sweet.

he tastes something sweet on his tongue. he wipes the drying blood from his neck and his cheeks hurt.

you're some random feral cub and yet, you've peaked his interest like nothing else. no cries and no wails, no begging and no tears – scared but alive. ready to part with valuable meds just because he apparently looks like he needs them. tch! growling at him even though he's caught you red handed, cutting him even though you weren't in danger anymore.

he hasn't felt this alive in a long time, either.

"don't let me see you again, old man."

playful, at best. you're matching his tone and the corners of his lips are reaching back behind his ears. you bite your inner cheek; despite everything – he's the most normal person you've met since the end of the world. he's not mean nor is he aggressive; everybody points a gun at a stranger these days. he made jokes and he gave you supplies – it's more than anyone has done for you in a while.

you look at the wolf in the shadow and he looks at the lamb in the moonlight. the wolf that offers food and protection and the lamb that cuts and steals.

the wolf that bleeds and the lamb that holds the blade.

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

warlock wizard Wally scribbles... Thinkings! oh and a bonus bard-ish Barnabys in the corner for flavor

outfit ramblings:

first of all that is a Terrible rendition of what Home looks like in my head. i just needed to fill empty space </3

the staff was the toughest part honestly. bc it Had to be paintbrush-themed, but then halfway through scribbling i was like "oh shit. there are only so many ways to draw a paintbrush-wizard-staff and Weevmo already hit it out of the park." so if you're seeing similarities! you're right! i tried to make it as different as i could! there is Inspiration from their marvelous design, however accidental or subconscious! Apologies!

he gets a pointed hood instead of a hat because a) it looks great on him! and b) it has less of a chance of messing up his hair! also c) it helps muddle the difference between Wizard and Warlock. typically hoods have evil/duplicitous connotation - blur the lines! i want his long gloves and forearm wraps to have the same vibe. his neckerchief is a big help in hiding Home's seal!

his layered (loosely apple-themed) capelet (which the hood is attached to) has a nice high collar & hides the details of his loose shirt - eye embroidery! and some flowers on the shoulders but yk, mostly eyes. on one side of the shirt buttons has open eyes, the other side they're closed! there's also one big eye on his back!

his belt buckle is two halves of an apple! he wears tall thigh-high boots w/ low heels to feel Taller! he has a book-holster hooked to the back of his belt, which holds his grimoire! and he has a lil thigh-bag that has been magicked to be Bottomless and warps size! he can fit pretty much anything in there! canvases! paint! apples!

his half-skirt thing (idk what the word for it is!) is really plush, like a quilt - his capelet is the same fabric. soft, cozy. sometimes he'll use the skirt thing as a blanket in a pinch, or as a picnic placemat!

is his outfit a little Complicated? is it annoying to replicate? yes and yes. but im a maximalist at heart and Nothing But The Best for the blorbo <3 layers my beloved <3

[lxkeeeee]

WORSHIP

—husband! scaramouche x fem kitsune wife! reader

synopsis: the balladeer doesn't just kneel nor bow down to anyone, whether you're someone high ranking than him, an adeptus, or a deity; he wouldn't give a shit to who the fuck you are—unless you are his wife, his beloved wife that he would burn the world for.

genre: smut

warnings: switch scaramouche, cheeky little shit, switch reader, slightly brat scara, teasing, marking, uses of pet names like ‘my lady’ or ‘my love/dearest’ and nipple play, and cursing because this is scaramouche we're talking about, reader has mommy vibes. Just imagine Kafka from Honkai Star Rail akhsjanaka

notes: anyone under ages of 18 are warned to read this but I know y'all just turn a blind eye to this or suddenly can't read ಠ⁠_⁠ಠ

the link mentioned in the ask.

Scaramouche doesn't kneel or bow down to just anyone like that. Status? He doesn't give a shit who the fuck you are—a Qixing? An Adeptus? A God? They're just rocks he could just step on towards his path to godhood.

Well, there is one exception. His wife.

His eyes stared at his wife's figure—standing Infront of their shelf of abundant books, her back facing him, a red silk dress adorning her body that highlights all of her curves, a small slit near her left thigh and he can see a holster strapped in the said thigh and equipped with her favorite dagger that of course he gifted to her on her 500th birthday. Her [h/c] ears standing tall and alert, occasionally flinching in each sound, her fox like tail swinging side to side as she eagerly read through the pages of the book she was holding, Scaramouche can't helped but chuckle.

What's up with kitsune's having an obsession with books? He thought to himself as he crosses his arms, making his arms more defined against his sleeveless black turtleneck, leaning his back against the chair he was sitting on as he admired his wife, indigo eyes filled with love yet a hint of desire, a small smirk on his unfairly attractive face like he was sculpted by a god—which he is and was abandoned right after. Can you blame him? She's extremely attractive and with that dress? He has to hold back a moan as he run his fingers through his indigo hair.

Comrade you're so down bad.

Childe's voice echoed in his head, Scaramouche doesn't know what the fuck down bad means. Teenagers.

He shook his head as he slowly stood up from where he sat, approaching his wife.

Her fox ears twitch at the sound of her husband's footsteps, she was about to turn to look at him when she felt his arms slowly wrapped around her waist and his head leaned on her shoulder, her back pressed against his chest, [y/n] chuckles as she can hear a playful hum from him, she raised an eyebrow at him as she felt him nuzzle his head at the crook of her neck.

“What's gotten into you my love?” she asked with a teasing voice as her fingers flipped a page from the book she was reading and Scaramouche just closed his eyes as he continues to nuzzle into her neck, using his hands on her waist to guide her to body face him, earning him more confused looks from her.

The purple haired man just gave her half lidded eyes as he cupped her cheeks, “Do you know what day it is today my love?” he whispered as his thumb caressed her jawline, her eyes widen, “It's not our anniversary right?” she asked with a playful voice which earned her a playful flick into her forehead.

“Idiot it's not our anniversary, it's still months away.”

“Then what is it?” she asked, clearly confused and Scaramouche could only chuckle at her dumbfounded look.

“It's mother's day my love.” he whispered making the woman widen her eyes before she chuckles, “But I'm not a mother?”

Scaramouche chuckled as he leaned towards her, their foreheads touching, “Not yet but you will be once we succeed.” He whispered, subconsciously rubbing her stomach feeling the smooth silk in his fingers. She shivered a little bit before a small pout appears on her lips, “Still I'm not yet a mother, my dearest.” Which Scaramouche shush her up by placing his fingers into her lips, “Then let me treat you so well as the mother of our future children.” He whispered before pulling her towards him by her chin.

Warmth. So soft.

Scaramouche can feel his eyes roll back as he thoroughly enjoyed his wife's lips, sucking and biting it gently. The sounds of her moans fueling his desires for her. Slowly going down, kissing the silk like fabric as he did so, kneeling down, stopping by the dress slit near her leg, kissing the exposed skin slowly and sensually. The female could only look in anticipation as her heart thumps loudly against her ribcage, skin feeling like it's on fire.

The Balladeer can only smirk at the way she looked at him—so eager, so excited.

But then again he can't exactly say he doesn't feel the same way—after all he's like a moth and she's a flame, he's so drawn to her, the fiery personality she has that just clashed perfectly against his.

He even thinks that she's his twin flame, the other half of his soul. She makes him complete.

His hands caressed gently the sides of her thighs, his long and slender hands pulling the silk like fabric up to expose her skin. The kitsune's hands shake with every touch he gave to her, each kiss sending shocks down her spine. Breathing became heavy, desperately trying to keep on holding her book. She let out a stuttery chuckle before taking a deep breath, “You really can't keep your hands off me, can you?” she asked with teasing tone in her voice, [e/c] eyes filled with mischief and dark with lust, her hands immediately going down to cup her husband's face and tilt it up to make him look at her, Scaramouche looked up and see the mischievous look on his wife's eyes, his adam's apple bobbed up and down as he gulped a little bit before giving her a smirk, indigo eyes darkened.

“I supposed I really can't keep my hands off you, My lady.” He whispers before slowly standing up, planting small kisses onto her neck and towards her lips. His slender hands found its way to her waist, pulling her close to him as much as possible, her book has been long gone forgotten and is now laying flat on the floor. Her hands found its way to his indigo hair, tugging the strands harshly making the man groan in between the heated kiss.

Tongues fighting for control, soft moans leaving each other's lips as their lips moved against one another, biting and sucking.

They pull away—one with a smirk on his face and the other breathing heavily, yet equally has a bruised and swollen lips.

Scaramouche smirked before pulling her again to a passionate kiss, pulling away before pushing her against the shelves of multiple arrays of books, pining her hands above her with his hand.

She grunted a bit as she felt her back hit the hardcover books before feeling her hands being pinned above her head, face immediately flushing a deep red as she watched the infuriating smirk on her husband's stupidly handsome face.

His free hand found it's way into her left breast, feeling the silk rubbed against her oh so sensitive bud, making her moan softly.

Scaramouche chuckled as he watched her moan and whine under his mercy, his thumb rubbing over the familiar nub against her silk dress.

“Look at you being a moaning mess against my fingers, so eager.” He teased, a smirk on his face. Her eye twitched a little, feeling embarrassed that his hands really do wonders to her body, “I really like spoiling you too much, My lady.” He smirked as their lips found each other again, He has to hold back a moan as he slipped his tongue into her mouth, exploring every nook and crevices. He slowly pushed her against the shelf, her back hitting the hardback covers of the books, she let out a small grunt at the action, already feeling heat creep up in between her legs which made her rubbed her thighs together for some friction. He pins her hands above her head before giving her a smirk—using one hand underneath her chin to tilt her head up to make her look at him—Scaramouche knows, he wants to fuck you so bad but today is your day and so he has to take it slow. “Ssshh, Let me spoil you my lady.” he sensually say against her ears as he used a hand to slip under her dress and rubbed his hands around her breast, feeling the laces of her bra against his skin.

She softly moaned as his fingers began to tease her sensitive nipples, “Mhm... Ahh~ You're s-such a tease.” she stammers in between moans making him let out a playful chuckle as he continue to cup her breast as he kissed her gently—his slightly chapped lips against her soft ones, which reminds him that he forgot to wear a lip balm today. “Is that a complain I hear? I thought my dearest wife loved my teasing?” he asked against her lips—making her let out small gasps and whimpers, “Ah, ha~ of course not.” she gasped out as she felt his hand moved from her breast to her fox ears, scratching behind it, her eyes rolling back, her hands desperately wanting to hold her husband but her wrist is currently pinned down above her head.

“That's it, just like that my lady. Don't hold back your moans.” he seductively says before speaking again, “Because you'll be doing that all night.”

Needless to say, The Balladeer spoiled his wife that night.

⊰᯽⊱┈───── ✧ ─────┈⊰᯽⊱

notes: well this took a long time to write hahahaha anyways. To the moms, single moms, plant moms, furbaby moms, sugar mommies and all moms out there—belated happy mother's day<3

to my dear anon/s sorry this took a long time, uni has really drained all my energy rip.

[tackytigerfic]

hello tacky darling, sorry for being so late to this - anyone else requested “thigh(s)” yet? no? just my sicko ass then 😏 - Liv

Hello my most beloved sicko!! Just for you I only have a non-pervy thigh WIP though it does mention Weasley cock so that might suffice 😘 I might have shared this before - it's all I have of a ficlet where Harry and Draco are talking about past (first and worst) kisses. This needs a judicious edit but i'll post it as is in the interest of sticking to the WIP thing.

They were talking about kisses, of all things, when everything went wrong. Harry at rest, lying back in the shadowed grass, face turned up to the sky, and Draco looking out at the night so he wouldn’t have to look down at Harry’s face, feeling scooped out or stardrunk or maybe just sick of wanting.

“You lucky bastard,” Draco said up to the sky, and below him he heard Harry laughing. “He is definitely the best Weasley. My Weasley wasn’t half so good.”

“Percy has his charms,” Harry murmured, and Draco managed to kick him gently in the ribs before he started laughing properly. “Or so you told me at the time. At great length.”

“So to speak.”

“Indeed,” Harry said. “And that obviously runs in the family, if Charlie and Ron are any indication.”

“Don’t make me think about Weasley cock any more than I already do,” Draco protested, and then he felt Harry’s hand clasp neatly around his ankle, just at the point where the hem of his trousers met the top of his Ministry-issue boots. It was only a brief reassuring squeeze, but it had the potential of so much heat that it made Draco want to drop down into the grass beside him and roll him over and over, muddy him up, press him down, take him over.

“Okay, so that was your first,” Draco said, to distract himself as much as anything. "But what was your worst?”

“Well,” Harry answered, voice slow and confiding, a low amused slide from baritone to bass growl that Draco could feel in his toes, and Draco couldn't help himself from looking down at Harry then, thinking, wondering, surely he wasn't thinking of—

Because no, no one could say that kiss had been bad—the very opposite in fact, Harry’s hand cupped around the back of Draco’s neck, Draco with his fists stuffed full of fabric where he was pulling Harry in by his shirt, Harry’s lower lip between Draco’s teeth as though he knew he had to take while he still could.

It had just ended badly—and before Draco even got Potter’s kit off too, oh woeful day—with an emergency call-out charm that had both their wands vibrating urgently, Potter’s still in the thigh holster that Draco had only just begun to undo. And after the raid was over, Draco a bit queasy from the adrenaline and all the effort it had taken to very much not think about that kiss, there had been a moment when it could all have tipped over again, a moment where they didn’t look at each other, and then looked at each other a bit too much. And then, like the instant when a Finite is cast, the wild magic of it all subsided and they had to have a completely earnest and awkward conversation about what a bad idea it had been, work colleagues and friends and the messiness of their hopelessly intertwined personal lives. It had never happened again.

[moltengoldveins]

Episode 6 Commentary because I can (first half of the ep. Cause I have the Attention Deficit in High Definition:

Dani low key implying Elyse can run if she needs to, my girl XDDD

Kyana and Dani both scanning for people in white to murder my beloved, I just learned that was a job of the MOH and I’m so happy about it.

Nell in the mother of the bride dress I can’t.

VR-LA is so Handsome, my Son, I Love Him.

Karundetrassi and Hira are just….. the funniest duo I think I can imagine. Bellbottom jeans taken to the cartoonish extreme, jangly pants made of shiny saucers, sheer button up alllll the way up, nips on Full Display, these two don’t know how to dress themselves for a wedding.

Delphine lookin GOOD. DANG.

Gosh darn reporters, why. (VR-LA was like two seconds from teleporting her into the sun my guy XD)

“I guess this is what we’re wearing.” Vahs my beloved.

“Is she wearing white?” “She is wearing white.” “ABSOLUTELY NOT.”

(Wine thigh holster is an amazing mental image and one I find unnaturally appealing. I might do that for my bffs wedding.)

-Aaaaaand it’s KYANA WITH A BOTTLE OF WIIINE!!!! *Air horn noises*-

“Well well well, if it isn’t the consequences of our… fricken… backstories, ah whatever, I Cast Fireball.”

(my phone really hates spelling Vhas’s name. So far I’ve gotten autocorrect to write Bans, Vans, Chas, and Baja. I’m loosing my mind.)

anyway, Vahs&Kyana battle friendship is my new favorite thing :D

Dani!! Taking charge!!! Making plans!!!

“Oi! Bloodbag!” Is my new favorite greeting.

“Ugh, I keep forgetting my dumb wedding and it’s dumb bonus effect to my dumb ac.”

“I WILL HAVE MY REVENGE AGAINST YOU MUSHROOMS!!!!” “I do not see it, I do not believe it.” This just in, Area Man Actively Incapable of Gaining VR-LA’s Respect Despite Multiple Attempts, More at 6

Noir and Sophia’s cold read of ‘She gets knocked down, but she gets up again.’ ‘They’re never gonna keep her down.’ While in the background Kyana carves into the bride like a firm salami is probably my favorite part of this fight so far XD

CURSE AUSTIN AND HIS INTIMATE KNOWLEDGE OF VR-LAS ABILITY TO COUNTERSPELL ONLY ON REACTIONS NO-

…. Vahs Backstory Pog???

aaaaaand the Break

[solohux]

@makekyluxsuffer Day 1 ; Kidnap/Rescue/‘Take Me Instead’ (Post TROS, canon divergence, no Ben Solo & Hux Lives AU)

Hux never wanted to return to Exegol.

It was difficult enough for him being in the darkened skies over it during the final battle against the Resistance, eyes scanning the surface for any sign of his beloved Ren. Eliminating both Darth Sidious and Rey in one battle wasn’t an easy feat but Kylo had emerged victorious, albeit missing an arm and in desperate need of medical aid.

With Palpatine gone for good, Hux believed that all the Force nonsense was over. He believed he and Kylo could rule the galaxy in peace, with order and control. He was wrong.

The scattered Sith acolytes have gathered and chosen Kylo as their next leader. Or rather, chosen to clone him and use his blank slate to mould him into their pawn, their weapon, their very own leader.

And of course, they need the original Ren to clone.

They’re chanting when Hux enters their temple. It’s buried deep within the chambers of Exegol, rooms filled with equipment and tanks ready for their new offspring, with detailed analysis of Kylo’s body and health scanning through the screens as though he’s a piece of data and not a living creature.

Hux has come alone, dressed in his black and red stormtrooper armour, minus a helmet and modified with better weapons and more room for agile movement. His backup are waiting outside; if he can’t rescue his husband then no one else is going to have a chance.

When Hux finds him, Kylo is lying on a stone slab like an animal readying for sacrifice. His robes have been torn from him, leaving him naked and shivering. There’s a tight collar around his neck that is glowing red, an eerie crimson colour that reminds Hux of the glow of a red kyber crystal. The cuffs around his wrists and ankles are the same, seemingly pulsing with dark energy.

At the foot of the stone slab are eight figures in red, hooded robes, their faces hidden from sight and their chants low and mysterious. Hux doesn’t understand what they’re saying but he doesn’t need to. His twin blasters are on them as soon as he enters the temple’s chamber.

“Let him go,” Hux says, his tone laced with power. “Let him go now.”

The acolytes do not stop chanting. They don’t move, unfazed by Emperor Hux’s entrance. He takes the opportunity to tend to Kylo, touching his cheek and whispering his name.

“H-Hux,” Kylo breathes, wheezing. His eyes are barely open, barely conscious. His skin is littered with cuts; he would have put up a damn good fight before he was taken and stripped.

“It’s alright, Ren. I’m here. I’m taking you home.”

The chanting stops abruptly, startling Hux with the sudden silence. Seven of the hooded figures take a step back, leaving one at the front.

“You will not speak to the vessel,” it says, speaking as though a serpent would, hissing. “He is ours.”

“He’s mine,” Hux growls, standing up and staring down the acolyte. “You won’t touch him again.”

The acolyte huffs, “The boy has great power. The dark side is strong with him, his blood is worthy of the Sith. We will clone him and take his essence. You may have his empty shell when we are done.”

Low chuckles emit from the group of hooded creatures. Hux remains tall.

“Take me instead,” he says, tears brimming in his eyes as he looks down at Kylo, counting the bruises that litter his pale skin. “Let him go. I’ll take his place.”

The acolytes erupt into laughter.

“You!” The main one shakes their head. “Armitage Hux. A runt and bastard child of an old commandant. You are not worthy. You know nothing of the Force or the dark side. You will be punished for coming here and interfering with the boy’s destiny.”

The acolyte raises a pale, wrinkled hand as though to summon powers but nothing happens. Only Kylo’s heavy breathing echoes throughout the chamber.

“Unworthy,” Hux smirks, placing his twin blasters back into their holsters strapped to his thighs. “I’ve heard that word my whole life. I’ve proved everyone else wrong and I’m about to do the same to you.”

Slowly, he unclips the stormtrooper armour that covers the back of his hand, removing the black glove underneath. His lips purse together in a satisfied grin as he reveals his palm to the group of hidden figures, showing them the ancient symbol that sits there. The Sith. Sidious.

“No! It cannot be!”

“Impossible!”

“He is our saviour, not the boy!”

Hux shakes his head, “I may be a Hux in name but I am a Palpatine by blood. You call me a bastard but my mother was the Emperor’s legitimate daughter. You insult him by insulting me. You’ve tested me by taking and hurting the one I love and for that, you’ll pay.”

“No! Emperor, please!”

“Mercy!”

“I’ll show you who’s unworthy,” Hux grits his teeth in rage, unleashing his collated Force powers onto the acolytes, making their minds suffer as he pollutes them from the inside.

No one takes what’s his.

The red hue of Kylo’s restrains dims as Hux calls forth all of the darkness around him, fuelling his powers to destroy the acolytes until they collapse as mindless bodies, drained of their life by the grandson of the leader they once blindly followed.

When Hux is satisfied that they’re taken care of, he turns to his beloved. It would seem as though Kylo passed out before he had the chance to see any of what’s just happened. It’s probably for the best, Hux thinks, as he pulls back on his glove and armour; this way, he can keep on protecting Kylo from afar like he has done since the day they fell in love.

[birdmomblogs]

so like,,, i’ve been doing a lot of digging because i’ve been wondering who the two mystery “links” are in the banner of the Linked Universe blog,,,

with 100% confidence i want to say the one of the right (the second mystery link) is the first hero.

the most unique similarities include: the scarf,,, the very fancy pauldrons,,, the thigh slit in the tunic,,, the buckles around the wrist guards,,, the belt design looks similar,,,

other less unique similarities are: left handed sword holster,,, short hair,,,

the chain is also in a time where NOTHING HAS HAPPENED YET!

i seriously doubt that anyone in hyrule would forget a demon king, an evil sorcerer, a calamity, etc, etc unless dink brought them SO far into the future that they actually were mere legends at this point. buuuuuuuutttt i don’t buy that for one second. the second mystery link looks too much like first for this to not be the era of the goddess hylia.

and i think it’s very likely that jojo can draw inspiration from the skyward sword manga since there is inspiration drawn from the four swords manga, no matter how little it may be!

as for the other link,,, this one is hard,,, i’m not as confident but i think it may be dink’s humanoid form. there’s several iterations of a shadow link or a dark link. but to me, whoever this link is seems to draw upon warriors’ dark link and twilight’s dark link from the games and jojo’s old sketches of warriors and twilight, when this banner would have been made.

there’s the left-handed shoulder holster, the thing on the front of the holster that looks like twilight’s shadow crystal, the grommets on warriors’ old tunic style and the mystery link’s, bandage-like wrist guards on twilight and mystery link, the high neck under shirt and top of the tunic cut on mystery link looks just like twilight princess dark link, regular length tunic sleeves,,,

the only thing stumping me about the mystery link character design is the belt. the only reference i can think of is the fancy buckle being a way to emulate warriors’ pauldron and the thing hanging from the belt is emulating the fabric twilight wraps around his waist???

so anyways, i think it’s a pretty solid theory at this point considering we know dink is here and has the ability to take multiple forms,,, also this,,,

looks a little humanoid :) doesn’t it :)

those are probably my most supported theories at this point! i’m pretty knew to interacting with the lu fandom on tumblr so i don’t know it anyone has written this all out before or not but i have seen people throw headcanons around that the mystery links may be dink and first.

but maybe we are all wrong,,, maybe one of the mystery links is actually our beloved hero of koridai /j

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Runaway - Chapter One.

So... because of certain criminal activity from my beloved @withmyteeth​, the first chapter is here! I will leave it up to you guys, with how fast you want the chapters to come. 40 notes will unlock the next, but the majority vote on whether you want that to be immediate, or twice weekly will win, so be sure to let me know below in the comments. Chapters are all around 2k words or under, so a nice, quick read :) 

Previous chapters - Prologue

Taglist - In the comments

Words - 2,017

Warnings - 18+ content throughout, minors DNI!

The Locust and Fly. She’d been there once before with Shonda, she recalled, many years ago now. It was quite upscale, Hannah not figuring it to be the first place the biker who pulled up outside it would take her, but then again, he had stated he’d take her to the nearest bar, and that was just what it was.  

Climbing off the huge motorcycle, her legs still juddering from the powerful thrumming, she straightened her dress, glad it had been stretchy enough to hitch up over her thighs, and wide enough at the bottom to gather in her lap as they rode. Anything tighter wouldn’t have lent to motorcycle riding, not that such a pursuit was a factor in her original decision.  

She took a deep breath, pulling her little compact from her clutch and checking her appearance. Her face was fine, but two miles on the back of a bike with no helmet had played havoc with her neat updo. Rooting in her hair, she began to yank out the many pins holding it up, Manny removing his helmet and shades as he leaned back against his bike, waiting patiently for her to finish picking her hairdo apart.  

“So, I gotta ask. Why’d you run?”

Her reply was temporarily halted as she shook her head upside down, her shoulder length blonde waves finally free of their pinned prison, straightening once more. “I think that story will require the presence of drinks.”  

He snorted softly, straightening up. God, he was tall. Reaching, his fingers touched a pleasant warmth against her collarbone as he retrieved a hairpin that had hung on, holding it up between his long fingers. “Missed one.” Looking down at her, he was free to notice the simplicity of her beauty, very pretty in an unfussy way. Bright blue eyes, blonde hair, pale skin, a good facial symmetry. White girls weren’t who he usually went for, and he never had before, but her? He could go for her. He probably shouldn’t, given the circumstances, but he could.  

Hannah noticed it, too, the flicker of desire in his dark eyes. It made her stomach roll pleasantly, dropping her head for a moment, viewing the scattered pins upon the floor, all in a messy array. How fitting for her life at present, in the metaphorical sense. Looking back up at him, she watched his full lips curve into a smile, a set of perfect, pearly whites glistening in the mid-morning sun. “Let’s get you inside for that drink then, mamas.”  

She nodded, smiling, lifting up the fishtail of her gown as she followed him, suddenly pausing to look back over her shoulder, scared they might’ve been followed.  

“’Sup?” Manny spoke, noticing her reluctance.  

“Just making sure none of his family followed us, or Michael himself.” Her eyes scanned the traffic a little more before turning back to him.  

His eyebrows furrowed a little, holding out his hand to her. “Ain’t nothing gonna happen while you’re with me, Hannah. S’all good.” She could believe that, too, noticing the semi-automatic holstered beside his left hip. Reaching out, she took his hand, letting him lead her into the bar. They took a seat at the bar itself, the girl behind it taking their order, one beer and a large vodka with cranberry juice. Manny was just about to ask again about the story that had led to her jumping on the back of his Harley, when they were interrupted.

“Did you just get married? Oh, congratulations!” A middle-aged woman gushed as she approached.

“We did, and thank you,” Manny spoke before Hannah had chance, winking at her in a ‘go with it’ kind of way.

“May I see the ring?” she asked, taking Hannah’s left hand, but finding it lacking the presence of a wedding band. “Oh, you’re not wearing one?”

“My wife and I don’t wear our wedding rings on our fingers,” he then spoke.

“Oh! Is this a modern thing? Where do you wear them, then?”

She was a little slow on the uptake. “Use your imagination, darlin’.” His chirp, delivered with a devilish grin made the woman blush immediately.  

“Oh, oh I, I see,” she floundered. “Well, congratulations again.”

Hannah couldn’t help the snort laugh, covering her mouth with her hand. “You’re bad.”

“Oh, y’all got no idea.” he winked, and her stomach fluttered. Oh yes, he was gorgeous, she couldn’t help but notice. “So, the runaway bride thing. Do enlighten me.”

She truly had no idea where to begin with explaining it, sinking her drink and calling for two more before she did, taking her phone out, ready to pay. Manny immediately closed his hand over it though, shaking his head. “I got this. No lady pays for shit when she’s with me. I ain’t a gentleman in many ways, but this one I am.”  

“And if I argue?” she broached, cocking her head, her tongue touching the corner of her mouth.  

“Then you need to remember who saved your ass and do as you’re told, don’t you?”

She couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh, he’s sparky, huh?”

He leaned in a little closer, absently passing a twenty-dollar bill across the bar to the waiting server, her laugh making his insides feel warm. “As I said, y’all got no idea.” Catching his scent, Hannah tightened her crossed legs, the aroma of Armani He flooding her nose. She’d attempted to get Michael to wear it in the past since it was her favourite, but he never would.  

“Anyway, about the running,” she began, taking a sip of her fresh drink. “I think I always had it in the back of my mind, that he wasn’t right, but tried to supress it. I thought it was my last chance at thirty-eight, that my age meant I was running out of options. And I am, really. The dating game is tough out there right now!”

His eyebrows fluttered. “Tell me about it.”

She found that hard to believe, being as good looking as he was. “So, anyway. It just hit me suddenly, when I turned around in the church and saw so few of my family there. Not even Shonda, my best friend attended, said she couldn’t watch me go through with it. That was when it dawned on me that she, my brothers, my grandparents, my other friends, my cousins, they were all right. So, I ran.”  

“Makes sense that you did it then. Now or never, like Elvis said,” he began, sipping his beer. “So, what did Shonda and the rest of your family and friends have against him? What’s the beef there?”

She took a breath, realising that listing all his faults would likely make it all the more real, how stupid she’d been for it all to only hit her upon her actual wedding day, that he wasn’t the right man for her. It also wasn’t lost on her, how comfortable she felt with the stranger before her, enough to begin reciting that list. “He was, I don’t want to say controlling, because it wasn’t that, but it was things like everything had to be his way. He chose where we went, what we ate, what we watched, who we saw, live bands and the like, and all of my ideas were rejected.  

“Also - and this grinds my gears the most - he expected me to look and act a certain way, too. I always had to be put together Hannah, you know? Like, I could never be Hannah who wanted to just be casual in her AC/DC t shirt and a pair of cut offs and Converse, I always had to be cute outfit Hannah, fully made-up face Hannah. Don’t get me wrong, I like looking nice, I’m an elegant woman, but not a hundred percent of the time! Even this fucking wedding dress, I chose it because I knew he’d approve of this one more than the one I really wanted!”

Manny raised an eyebrow. “Hannah?”

“I know what you’re gonna say,” she cringed. “It just hit me as I heard myself listing it all, I know, I know!”

“That’s controlling,” he confirmed, shaking his head. “What did the dress you wanted look like, then? I gotta say it, though. You look a total knockout in that one. Damn.”  

The way he bit his lip as his eyes took a tour of her made her giggle, Manny pulling a questioning face at her. “Sorry, it’s just a never got a ‘damn’ from a guy quite as good looking before. In fact, that wasn’t even a damn. That was a dayum.”  

“You might get a few more yet,” he winked.  

Oh, the charm in him! He was smoother than silk, and god, how she enjoyed it, despite the utter chaos of her life, being flirted with by her knight in... denim, flannel and well-worn leather. There was a shiny bike, but no shining armour.  

“As for the dress, it was shorter, just above my knee. Kinda made me look like a ballerina, which would have been fitting as I do ballet, not professionally or anything, but for fun and exercise,” she explained.  

“Yeah? Can you get up on your tippy toes and all that?”  

“I can,” she confirmed, sipping her drink. “It hurts like hell, but yep, I can dance on pointe. I do stuff for the local ballet academy, but yeah like I say not professionally. It’s a vicious world, and you can’t eat. This gal loves a big assed burger way too much to survive on a diet of steamed rice and vegetables. I have a loathing for healthy food other than fruit.”  

“Agreed, it’s bullshit,” he snorted.

“Right? I like real food, and usually getting into a huge mess while I’m eating it. That’s another thing Michael hated, that I could be perfectly content with sitting back, watching the football, big ole’ bucket of KFC on my lap, but he’d want to go out someplace fancy.”

Manny snorted, sinking the rest of his beer and picking up the fresh one. “The more I hear about this Michael, the more I think you had a lucky escape, mamas.” He then reached for a menu from a little further down the bar, giving it a glance. “Half pound cheeseburger. I could go in for some of that, after your mention of big assed burgers. You hungry?”

“You know, I actually am. I didn’t eat breakfast, I was so nervous,” she revealed, Manny raising an eyebrow.  

“Too nervous to eat the best meal of the day? Pffft, that should have told you everything. No one should be nervous, heading down the aisle. Excited? Yeah, I get that, but nervous? Nah. Nervous is for people who ain’t sure what they’re doing is right.”  

She pressed her lips together thinly, nodding. “You know what, Manny? You’re absolutely right. I think I let my whole fear of being alone get the better of me, for way longer than it should have.”

“Why?” he immediately questioned, attracting the bartender and ordering the food before he continued. “I mean, I don’t know you, but you seem like a real down to earth chick, you’re beautiful too. Ain’t like girls who fit that description have problems finding a guy. Oh, and you mentioned football and fried chicken there, too. Who’s your team?”

She snorted softly into her glass, pausing from sipping. “Erm, Raiders! Like there’s any other team worth supporting!”

He rolled up his sleeve, revealing the tattoo of their emblem. “Right answer. Even though I’m originally from Arizona and so thus have love for the Wildcats too, Raiders were always my team. I’m kinda bummed they moved ‘em to Vegas, but no matter, man. I still love ‘em.” He paused for a minute, thinking it how uncanny it was. There she was, a girl who was gorgeous, nice, and liked burgers and football. And she’d literally ran from her wedding, right on into his life. Was it kismet, he wondered?  

With nowhere to be, and nothing to do other than enjoy her company, he guessed he’d find out.  

[luckyluan]

Mr. + Mr. Sharpe

FEBRUARY 19, 2024 - 9:02PM

[WRITTEN IN NEW ORLEANS, LOUISIANA. GARDEN DISTRICT] 

*BEFORE DINNER* 

“Hey, you.” Maxim mused. “I’ll be home in a few. You need anything?” 

The crisp slice of an exquisitely sharpened knife perforated the silence. Maxim listened as his husband diced his vegetables while he practiced his breathing. 

“I’m good, baby. Just bring your ass home. Straight home.” Antwan said. 

“Where else would I be, Ant?” Maxim chided. 

“I don’t know. You're the international man of mystery. You could have a double life.” 

Maxim rolled his eyes. 

“You think so little of me, husband.” 

“I think of everything, my beloved. How far?” Antwan asked. 

“You tell me.” 

Maxim mashed a button on his visor and the arage of The Sharpe Family home responded in a swift sliding motion. The garage beyond lay strewn with bikes, child sized replicas of luxury cars, and legos as far as the eye could see. The car’s headlight shown on the family name ‘Sharpe” was painted on the back wall in wide violet strokes as Maxim’s mustang went quiet. 

He moved fluidly from the car gathering his briefcase and gym bag, opening the car door, and pushing inside the house through a small set of double doors. He was sure to lock the door behind him. 

Their silver washing machine thundered and rolled as he moved through another large door and Antwan did not look up as Maxim’s lithe form pushed into the kitchen and wrapped his arms around his waist. 

“Good evening, Mr. Sharpe.” Maxim breathed at his ear. 

Antwan’s answering smile intersected with Maxim’s lips as he kissed the corner of husband’s face. 

“I thought you were going to be late.” Antwan quipped. 

“I told you I was on the way, man. Be easy with all that.” 

Maxim did not remove his hands from Antwan’s waist as he turned to face him. Instead, he planted a kiss on his forehead and then his nose and, finally, his lips. 

“Good evening, Mr. Sharpe.” Antwan mused. 

“That’s more like it.” Maxim smiled. “The kids?” 

“With Berry.” Antwan smiled back. 

Maxim’s face turned up in an accusatory stare. He pulled back and shook his head hard. 

“Nigga, you left our kids with Berry?!” 

“What? Not the first time. She’s a good babysitter and she doesn’t mind. Everbody wins.” Antwan countered. 

“Aight. When our kids come forward rolling through the doggy door with a glock holstered to their thighs, you’ll see.” Maxim teased. 

“Shush.” Antwan said. “Go shower so we can eat and...” 

Antwan moved his hand to Maxim’s crotch and squeezed. Maxim’s eyes glittered in agreement and he slowly backed away. 

“Don’t move.” Maxim said. “I mean, move around so you can finish cooking, but don’t move. You know what I mean.” 

Maxim took the stairs two at a time as he shed the layers of his tailored blue suit. He let his brown belt fall at the top of the stairs and kicked his shoes off before he hopped over the bed and dashed into their bathroom. 

The shower water ran hot and the steam stung his throat, but he hummed his favorite song as the steaming water washed the pink soap down the drain. 

[buttadog]

Alejandro Fluff (sunny afternoon)

(This is my first post the general idea is Alejandro fluff of a sunny afternoon with his girlfriend (It's you!). Anyways there is some Spanish, I don't speak Spanish so if there's errors, I'm sorry.)

Sugar, Spice, and Something Nice:

The warm scent of cumin was the first to hit Alejandro's nose as he clomped past the threshold of their small home. Conscious of the tongue lashing he’d receive from his beloved should he drag mud into the house, he carefully slips free of his steel-toed boots. Groaning softly as Alejandro stretched and pulled at his vest trying in vain to yank the fabric over his head. 

“Este maldito chaleco-” With a resigned sigh, Alejandro yanked the zipper down, pulling fabric from his shoulders. He bent down grumbling as he slipped his slender fingers to clasp his thigh holster unbuckling the equipment before carefully placing the holster on the mud room’s table. 

Finally, Alejandro noticed a couple of things; having shed his many layers and holsters, the soft melody of a Spanish acoustic guitar bounced from wall to wall, carrying the sweet tune to his ears as the bronze afterlife of the sun bathed his face in warm tranquil light. Stumbling his way blindly through the light he snaked around the cream-white corner, leading to the kitchen. 

There he could see his girlfriend, bathed in the sun’s last parcels of light. She stood looming over the pot wielding a wooden spoon as if it were a weapon, softly swaying her hips to the tunes. If he could, Alejandro would snap a picture of such a heavenly sight after a long day. Instead, he leaned against the doorway watching his love sway to her tunes. 

Y/n sways her hips to the soft tune, embracing the warmth of the sunlight and completely unaware of the giant man taking up her door frame. Humming softly to herself, y/n turns around and shrieks before flinging the wooden spoon at the shadowy person standing in the doorway. 

“Vete a la mierda, te dispararé!” The wooden spoon made a muted thump as it connected with the doorframe an inch from Alejandro’s head. Y/n shoulders drop as her eyes shine in recognition. 

“Me asustaste, mi amor” Y/N breathed out huffing slightly as Alejandro chuckled at his lovely girlfriend's antics. Alejandro peeled himself from the doorframe groaning at the pull and strain of stiff muscles. 

“I’m sorry for frightening you,” Y/N grumbled grumpily as her heart began to slow from its adrenaline-pumped state. Alejandro chuckled at his girlfriend's anger and stepped forward, hugging her from behind and resting his chin on her shoulder. Breathing in the familiar smell of fresh oranges, cinnamon, and amber that reminded him of home, that reminded him of her. 

“What are you making, mi amor?” Alejandro swayed to the music floating through the air. Y/N gave in and swayed to the music enjoying Alejandro’s warm embrace. 

“I’m making homemade birria. You ordered it last week and said it was your favorite so I thought I’d try to make it.” Alejandro's heart melted at Y/N’s words both that she had remembered his favorite dish and had put in the time, effort, and money to try and make it for him. 

Alejandro’s arms tightened around Y/N as he dug his head between his shoulder and neck, his exhales tickling Y/N’s throat. Y/N shrieked at the feel and attempted in vain to wiggle free of Alejandro's hold shouting out. 

“Ally nooo stop I can’t breathe.” Y/N smacked at Alejandro's arms hissing like an angry cat. Alejandro did not release Y/N instead cackling evilly and nipping at her neck and snorting at her shrieks. 

“Ally let’s make a deal, how about you go get changed, shower, and I’ll plate up your food for you. Then we can cuddle and watch a movie, how does that sound?” Alejandro smiled at the idea and relented letting go of Y/N, cheekily winking at Y/N and strolling out of the kitchen headed for the bedroom to shower and change, then spend the rest of the night watching a movie and falling asleep with his girl in his arms.

(Forgot to add this)

"Este maldito chaleco" = This fucking vest

"Vete a la mierda, te dispararé." = Fuck you, I'll shoot you!

"Me asustaste, mi amor." = You scared me, my love.

[sitp-recs]

Hidden Gems by sdk | @unmistakablyoatmeal

What can I say about this unsung hero with 211 HP works in her catalogue? Sdk is an author I revisit often because everything she writes is GOLD - both Drarry and rare pairs that check all my boxes with exciting UST, light angst, charming banter and mindblowing hot smut. Age gap, femslash, triads, it’s all here folks. Sdk is every multishipper’s dream writer and there’s something bold and compelling about the way she explores ship dynamics that makes me drool in anticipation, I just know its gonna be a deeply satisfying ride. I can’t say how much I appreciate someone so prolific exploring old beloved tropes and delivering so much top quality content over the years. I had to put my horny hat aside (not an easy feat) to make sure this list included a variety of themes reflecting how resourceful and brilliant Sdk is. The best thing? They’re all pocket size reads, and that means you’ll get obsessed just like me but will be able to go through all of them today. I hope I did a good job (this is my longest reclist yet!) but I still urge you to go check her catalogue and give those brilliant drabbles some love as well. Happy Friday!!!

Drarry

Three series (2013, E, 3.5k) - insanely hot Draco/Teddy & Drarry+Teddy, Sdk was delivering the goodies before this triad was cool 😌🙌

Draco's never one to miss an opportunity. Especially when it comes twice in one night.

Pub Night (2014, E, 7k) - Loo sex! Loo sex! Loo sex! Always a fave, fwb to lovers, sweet sweet get together

In a cramped loo at The Bitter End, what Harry and Draco do is only about one thing: getting off. ...Isn't it? Read my rec here.

Swish and Flick (2013, E, 7k) - really fun and cool time loop fic with pub romance and meddling friends, btw this Ron/Pansy/Hermione triad gives me life!

The Swish and Flick is the last place Draco wants to spend his Saturday evening—especially when he discovers Potter is also in attendance—and he can't wait for the night to end. Unfortunately for Draco, time is not on his side.

Save My Wonders (2014, E, 21k) - gorgeous and sensitive fic about healing and self-love. Chubby Draco, falling in love, found family. A must read!

Immediately chocolate assaulted Draco's senses. Warm melted chocolate mixed with his mother's roses and... something else. Something new. Freshly scrubbed skin and maybe a faint sheen of sweat. It was so familiar... And it only intensified when Potter came up behind him.

The Wand Slipped (2019, E, 35k) - all-time fave! Thrilling case fic with family drama, lots of hot smut and a gorgeous pining Draco that will take your breath away 🥺

After a messy, public divorce and a disgraceful exit from the Auror Department, Harry is trying to rebuild his life as a private investigator. But when his ex-wife ends up in St. Mungo's, and Harry's tasked with finding her attacker, he'll have to confront the mistakes of his past, and rely on an old enemy, in order to get closure and move on, and incidentally, solve the case. Read my rec here.

Rare pairs

A Selfish Desire (2020, E, 1k) - delicious Ginsy short feat. second person POV and anal sex, yes pls!

Ginny has you bent over the kitchen table before you have time to smirk.

Coax to Bliss (2019, E, 2.4k) - exquisite Sirry smut with pining, peak UST and lush shower sex and praise kink, all my favorite things in one place 🔥

Harry likes to break the rules but he's very good at obeying when he wants to.

Always (2012, M, 2.5k) - perfect Harry/Teddy vampire fic full of angst, devotion and trust. My heart!

Harry would do anything for Teddy. Even this.

Bounty (2017, E, 2.7k) - Millie wears a thigh holster and Ginny can’t resist, and we don’t blame her. Super sexy PWP with a hopeful ending, so good

After her divorce, Ginny discovers a new experience might be just what she needs.

Flatmates (2011, E, 5.5k) - what’s a little drunk sex between friends, amirite? This is the only Drarry + Romione you need to read: scorching hot, funny, organic and with amazing chemistry and characterization. A+ content

Hermione is just as bossy inside the bedroom as she is out of it. The reason Draco knows this is because Harry's walls are too thin. Read my rec here.

Make Me Feel, Make Me Hurt, Make Me Whole (2019, E, 6k) - it’s about the yearning!!!! Brilliant “angst with a happy ending” Pansmione with lots of pining, semi public sex, and background Drarry as a treat.

Hermione and Pansy fall in love.

Shut Up and Kiss Me (2018, E, 7.7k) - the sweetest Harry/Teddy AU you’ll see this week with cute smitten Harry and grocery shop romance, we love to see it!

There's a reason Harry walks an extra ten blocks to go to the shops and it has nothing to do with onions.

[reddeadmort]

Arthur Morgan x f! Reader | “Silvery Threads” | Part 4

AO3 LINK

Words: 2.4k

The man in black isn't someone you can escape from easily. Especially not now you've pissed him off......

Notes:

Warnings: one brief mention of being groped, no description.

This is turning out a lot longer than expected! Next chapter may take a while, I'm not too sure where this is going.....

-------------------

“I said, run!” Arthur tried to push you off, succeeding only in causing himself more pain. 

“No!” You desperately tried to tie the knot in the cloth, hands so wet from the blood the material kept slipping through your fingers. 

“Bloody woman” Arthur grunted, reaching down to his holster to grab his pistol. “Get ready to fight then.” 

He had barely finished his sentence when a bullet whistled past your head, slamming into the ground a few metres away. Arthur immediately raised his gun, pointing behind you, and tried to lift his head to get a better view. 

You stiffened as you felt the cold metal press into the back of your skull, felt the click as the hammer was pulled back. 

“Ah reckon ya might want to drop that weapon there Morgan.” The contempt was palpable in the man’s voice. Arthur placed the pistol carefully on the floor as you raised your hands up.

“Ah no missy, nice try” the man sneered as he stepped away slightly, removing your opportunity to attempt to grab the weapon. Gun still trained at your head, he slowly walked around and kicked Arthur’s pistol out of reach. 

“Good work there Patrick.” You tried not to react to the cold, deep voice as the man in black stepped into view. 

“S’no problem sir. Excellent shooting.”

“Hmm, not quite. He’s still alive.” The barrel of the rifle was less than a foot from Arthur’s head as the man moved his finger to the trigger. “This….oaf interrupted my game. Before I could even get paid.”  

“Don’t ya worry sir, someone’ll pay for him.” The tall man turned to face his accomplice, one eyebrow raised in a questioning expression. “That’s Arthur Morgan. One of the Van der Linde gang. And from the way she was gripping his thigh, I’d guess that this is his little bitch.” Patrick spat at you, catching you in the face; you saw Arthur’s arms tense out of the corner of your eye, but he knew better than to move. 

“Interesting…..” the man murmured, rifle slowly lowering. “You’ll have to excuse my ignorance, but I don’t tend to involve myself in gangs. They make too much noise, too many loose ends. Exactly who will pay for this brute?” 

“Law, pinkertons, probably O’Driscolls. Dutch van der linde maybe.”

“Hmm…. can’t say I’m too interested in the money, but something to make up for today’s inconvenience would be appreciated.” The man cocked his head to one side, weighing up the options. “On second thought, it’ll make things too difficult.” 

As his rifle swung upwards, you launched yourself forwards on top of Arthur, blocking his head and chest from the weapon. You wrapped your arms around his head, gripping tightly as the accomplice tried to yank you back by the hair. 

“Don’t touch her!” The man in black snarled, pushing the other away. “Her suffering is mine to control.” Beneath you, you felt Arthur’s arm slowly move upwards, the movement blocked from view by your body. You stayed perfectly still as he slipped his sheathed hunting knife under the waistline of your trousers, down the side of your thigh. 

“Speaking of suffering, I wonder if she’ll enjoy being watched by her…beloved..as I turn her into my next art piece”. You finally lifted your head as the barrel of the rifle was wedged under your face, pushing you back up off Arthur. 

“Tie them both. Before you stick him on the back of that horse however, make sure to dig that bullet out of his leg. We don’t want him dying…. Not yet anyway.” You stared up into the dark eyes, the flecks of gold seeming to flash as the man revelled in the fear you were struggling to hide.

As the horse you were strapped to, hogtied, was led away, you tried to block out Arthur’s muffled scream and groans. 

—--

Dutch, Charles and Bill had thundered into Valentine only to discover chaos. The bodies of the sheriff and the deputy had been dragged onto the porch of the office. As they rode through town, they caught snippets of conversations; there had been a gunfight, multiple people on horses had fled the town. Dutch slid off his mount to chat to the locals, while Charles made his way up the street, around the back of the office. It was no good; far too many trails and footprints. He sighed, hoping that you two had sensibly gone to find somewhere to lie low for a time. As he spurred his horse round to return to the others, a scrap of fabric caught his eye. The bloodied bit of cloth on the ground, half trodden into the path, matched your shirt. He called out to the others and started to trot out of town.

—---

The cellar underneath the shack was cold and damp, the only light coming from a small window near the ceiling. Once again, your wrists were bound and strapped above your head to a post. You stayed staring at the floor, refusing to look up at Arthur, bound to a chair in front of you. You hoped he didn’t see the way your face twisted in pain as the bucket of salt water splashed over the fresh wounds. 

“Got to make sure you don’t die too fast my dear.” the man cooed at you, face so close to yours you could almost taste the scent of mint and tobacco. “You’ve been a good girl so far.” You held back a shudder as his tongue languidly brushed up your cheek. “Tell her how good she’s being.” This last part was directed towards Arthur, a kick to the leg making him groan. 

Arthur stayed silent, staring intently at the man. Even after hours of this, his rage had not quelled; you could see the muscles in his arms flex as he pulled against his bindings. His silence did not please the man, who moved to stand next to him. 

“I said, tell her.” He drove the handle of the whip down hard into Arthur’s leg wound, causing him to slam his head back and let out a strained moan. The whip was pulled away and Arthur looked back down, panting. Through gritted teeth, he spoke. 

“You’re doin’ good girl”. 

The tall man laughed, satisfied with his little victory. “Time for a little rest I think. I’d rather you not bleed all over me for the next part.” He strode away up the stairs, towards the door, silver tipped boots clattering on the stones. You heard the click of a lock and the slide of a bar as the door was shut behind him. 

As soon as you were certain he was gone, you let out the half-groan, half-whimper you had desperately been trying to hold in. Arthur was slumped forwards in his seat, not looking at you. 

“Darlin’, I’m so sorry” he muttered, repeating the last few words as he sighed. As he spoke, you pulled down on your left wrist, hard, ignoring the pain in your thumb as your hand slipped through the hole you’d managed to spend the last few hours widening. 

“I shouldn’t have barrelled on in to rescue you myself. Should've got some help. I’m just too dumb.”

Your left hand now free, you reached down inside your trousers and pulled out the knife, before swiftly slicing the rope that held your other arm above your head. Thank god the idiot accomplice had been more focused on groping you than actually searching for any weapons when removing your gun belt. 

“I’ll….I’ll get you out of here, I promise.” There was a slight tremble in his voice, betraying the lack of conviction in what he said. He looked up with a start as he heard you whisper in his ear.

“Sure thing, cowboy”. The knife sliced through the rope with ease and Arthur brought his hands to his lap, rubbing at the wrists, trying to find some relief. They were rubbed raw, cracked and bleeding. As he moved to stand, you quickly took your place at his side, offering support. Resting his arm on your shoulders, he took one step forward before instantly groaning and slamming back into the chair. You both froze, waiting to see if the noise had alerted someone. Upon hearing no movement upstairs, you once again tried to hoist Arthur up out of the chair, but he pushed your hands away. 

“Darlin’, you know we ain’t both gettin’ out of here. I can’t walk, and as much as you might like to think you can do everything, you can’t lift me.” Ignoring him, you tugged at his forearm, trying to pull him up.

“Shut up, you know I can’t just leave you like this.” One large hand enveloped yours, pinning it in place against him.

“I have to insist. You’re bein’ stupid.” 

“No! You wouldn’t abandon me, and I’m not leaving you here to suffer.” 

“Oh, but I did.” With this, he prised your fingers off his arm, forcefully pushing you away once more.

“Arthur, avoiding me around camp is not the same as me leaving you here to die!” You were growing more and more frustrated with the man. Why wouldn’t he help you? You needed to hurry, you had no idea how long it would take your captor to return.

“I ain’t talking about camp. I’m talkin’ about the woods. I’m talkin’ about that girl in tattered clothing, begging a man on a horse to take her. Take her anywhere than the hell she was facing.” Arthur’s voice was unusually flat, none of its usual warmness present.  

“Don’t lie Arthur. I know the girls told you the story. No matter what you say, I ain’t leaving you.” You moved to grab at him again, but his hand instead gripped your wrist, uncomfortably tightly. 

“That little gold ring weren’t worth much ya know. Barely even got a dollar from the fence.” 

You froze. How - how could he know that? You’d left that out of the sanistised tale you told the girls. You barely even let yourself admit it. It made you feel better, persuading yourself that the man on the horse had just been scared, that’s why he didn’t help. 

“Did feel a bit bad for snatching it out your hands as you offered it up. And for leavin’ ya standin’ there.” Arthur continued. “Faded when I got next to nothin’ for it though.” 

“Arthur no…please stop.” You were in shock, staring down into his blue eyes. They seemed so cold, his expression so hard. 

“Pretty sure I heard ya scream, but didn’t even slow. Needed to get me a drink.” You could swear you saw the hint of a sneer cross his face.

“Stop!” You gasped, pulling yourself away, almost falling backwards as Arthur released his grip. 

“See, Y/N, I ain’t a good man. I ain’t worth savin’. I deliberately left you to suffer, and you need to do the same to me.” 

“No… that’s not you. You’re…you’re different now. You didn’t have a choice….” You went to step forwards, but hesitated, and instead moved backwards. 

-----

Arthur could barely get the words out. He couldn't stand talking to you like this, seeing the look of betrayal starting to appear on your gorgeous face. You'd never forgive him. Against all instinct, fighting the urge to pull into his lap and hold you close, he pushed forwards with his plan. Anything to get you safe.....

-----

“Oh I had a choice.” Arthur’s voice dropped to a growl. “Still do. Still choose to beat poor men up in front of their starving families, force them to repay a debt that we tricked them into owing in the first place.” 

“But… you’re kind. You help your friends.” You were still struggling to process what he had said, what he was trying to do. It can’t have been him. You’d seen this man bring picture books back to camp for Jack, write down donations in the ledger against other people’s names. He’d blasted into that office with no fear for his own safety, shielding your body from harm. You felt safe with him. Tears started to stream from your eyes as you tried to choke out more of a response. “Arthur….”

“A few moments of kindness don’t make a good person. They just make ‘em harder to leave.” 

A loud scraping noise at the door alerted you to the fact that you were very quickly about to have company. Arthur swiftly moved his hands behind his back once again, as you lurched towards the wall nearest the stairs, the cold stone bringing slight relief to your still stinging back as you pressed yourself into it.  

“Go, Y/N. Save yourself. Get Dutch, the others, or don’t. It don’t matter as long as you leave.”  

As the boots strode down the stairs, Arthur called out, trying to maintain the man’s attention. 

“Ahh, Patrick! My favourite parasite. Come to have a closer look at a real man?” 

“Shuddup Morgan. I ain’t the one tied up like a prize hog.” He was so enraged by the Arthur’s taunting he didn’t notice the lack of your body hanging from the ceiling, or your quiet footsteps treading up the stairs behind him. You almost stopped at the loud thump, followed by spitting, but pushed forwards up and out of the cellar door. 

—---- 

That punch hurt. Blood filled Arthur’s mouth as he spat out a tooth. 

“Still prettier than you boy” he laughed in the furious man’s face. The second punch landed square on his nose, forcing Arthur’s head back and his eyes to shut.

“Yep, that’ll do it.” Arthur half-chuckled as he tried to wriggle his nose. Yep, definitely broken. His fists bunched behind his back, but he refused to move his arms. He had to make sure you were clear of the cellar, keep the man’s attention on him. 

The third punch to the gut made him gasp, but allowed him to lean forward enough to see up the stairs. His heart jumped slightly as he saw no sign of you. He knew he wasn’t going to be able to drag himself up those stairs after you; in the dark you hadn’t been able to see that the bloody patch on his leg had grown much larger. He just prayed that he had sufficient energy left to give you enough time to escape. 

“Fucking van der linde. Always actin’ like yer so much more righteous than the rest of us. Yer a fool for fallin’ for that …charisma.” 

Arthur let the man talk as he fiddled behind the chair, re-positioning his grip on the handle of the knife.

[halsteadsass]

THIGH HOLSTER JAY, MY BELOVED.