#I miss them and this is just a miserable town too

[k20spock]

how am I going to survive living here for three months I hate it

[coridallasmultipass]

Vent/grief

[vorerilla]

i think about my ex every day and it haunts me bc i never resolved it/told them all of my feelings of how i loved them but that theyre also an asshole who didnt treat me right and made me feel so insecure and stupid and i wish i could just PUT THE THOUGHTS AWAY FOR NOW

[pepprs]

last few hours in boston :(

[loving-barnes]

LOGAN HOWLETT - DEFEND YOUR HONOUR

A/N: And another one-shot with my precious Logan. This has angst and some fluff. Enjoy!

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Mutant! female reader

Warning: angst, some fluff

Words: 3700+

Important note: Hugh Jackman!Wolverine (which means he's tall as fuck!)

FULL MASTERLIST | LOGAN HOWLETT MASTERLIST

LOGAN HOWLETT - DEFEND YOUR HONOUR

It was a wild, exhausting day. Well, more like five days. The last time I visited my parents was almost a year ago. They knew nothing about my new life, only the lies I told them.  That’s why I didn’t have time to see them as often as they wanted to. 

I missed them. That’s why I came back. I thought my short vacation with them in my home town would be without incidents and fights. Oh how wrong I was. 

It was eleven in the evening. I was sitting on the front porch, wrapped in a fluffy blanket. The night was cold. Autumn hit with full force. I wished I could return to the place where I felt more at home. Unfortunately, the school was over four hours drive away from my hometown. 

I had my phone in my hands, contemplating whether to call the person who could make me smile or not. My eyes were on the contact name, and I was not sure whether to press the button or forget about it and head back to bed. It was too late for a phone call even when I knew he’d be up. After a couple of deep breaths, I decided to tap the screen and call my boyfriend Logan. 

<< Hey baby. 

Hearing his voice made me smile. Logan picked up the call quickly. “Hi. I hope I didn’t wake you up.” 

<< No, of course not. I’m reading that book you got me before you left. Damn, good choice, baby. 

I laughed. “Yeah, it’s that good? Glad you like it. Maybe I’ll get you to read more. Even if they are historical memoirs or anything that has to do with history. We could start our own club, just the two of us.” I heard him laugh. Quickly, he changed the topic.

<< So, how’s the visit going? Everything good? 

I sighed, not knowing what to say to him. I didn’t want to complain. I already told him something about my parents - how they treat me even when they care about me. My relationship with my family was complicated. “It’s okay,” I said simply. “It’s okay. Really, okay.”

<< One more and I’ll believe ya.

“It is what it is. I always believe it’ll be better and it’s not,” I admitted. “Only two more days and I’ll head to the mansion. I have the bus tickets and everything planned to get back.” 

<< What happened, darlin’? You know you can talk to me.

“I know,” I kept shaking my head, nodding to no one. “I just don’t want to complain. I hate complaining. I’m a big girl. I can handle it.” 

<< I get that you hate it. But maybe it’s time you did complain a little. I am here for you, darlin’. I’ll listen and we can talk about it. I don’t want you to feel miserable. Just… can’t believe you decided to visit them when they treat you like shit. 

He was right. They always treated me like shit. As an only child, I was the black sheep of the family. Or they saw me as one. My parents didn’t mind ridiculing me in front of our other relatives or their friends. Even as an adult, they continued to do this to me. I was dumb enough to let them. 

<< Tell me what happened, Y/N.

“We visited my relatives, my father’s sister, and they all ganged up on me,” I said. My voice was low. I whispered most of the time, not to wake anyone up. 

I didn’t trust anyone from my family. They didn’t know I was a mutant, where I was working or that I saved the day multiple times since becoming an X-man. They lost my trust the moment they decided to invade my privacy as a teen and snoop around my messages, diaries and stuff. It wasn’t just that. I was ridiculed for liking books, and for being too excited about the little things in life. My taste for music was weird and laughable. My lack of interest in boys was concerning. It was a whole story. 

“My friend and I wanted to go to a concert in a few months. I got excited someone wanted to attend with me - no, baby, you don’t listen to that kind of music -  and they decided to make me feel miserable for my excitement,” I explained. 

<< Darlin’, why do you always let them do this to you? 

“Because I am dumb,” I rolled my eyes. “Because I hate fights and any type of quarrels. I don’t like conflicts.” 

Logan knew I never mentioned to my family that I was seeing someone. I wasn’t ashamed of the relationship - the opposite, honestly. My family didn’t deserve to know anything about me. 

<< I think it’s time you cut contact with them. I know it sounds horrible when I say it. As If I tried to influence you in some way. Just, fuck, I hate when they make you miserable. Baby, to me, it seems like they don’t care and don’t give a shit about your well-being. 

I knew he was right. And yet, I was afraid to do that step. “They are my parents-”

<<Whom treat you like shit, Y/N. I am so fucking angry at them. I should have come with you. I’d be there to teach them a fucking lesson about respecting the woman I love. 

Those words made me smile. Never in my life have I had someone to defend me like Logan would. The grump, my grump, was there for me when no one was. He was mine for over a year now. 

“You love me, yay,” I said happily. 

<< Baby, you know damn well I love you. I should have been there tonight. I should have been there to let them know how shitty they are. 

I hummed. “That’s okay. I know you’d defend my honour. And I love you for that. I need to survive two more days before I head back to school. The bus drive will be the best thing from this trip.” 

<< The school is your home. So, come back home. Change the bus tickets and leave. I want you here with me, darlin’. 

“No,” I shook my head. “That would be rude. I need to toughen up and survive these last two days. Afterwards, I’m done. Besides, I don’t have a good emergency story.” 

<< You don’t need one. 

“Logan, come on,” I sighed. “I’ll be back in two days. I miss you. Can’t wait to be with you. I’m staying.”

<< Miss you too, darlin’. Two fucking days.

I had to laugh. He was cute and he didn’t know that. After that, we ended the call. I remained sitting on the porch swing, looking at the silent street. Everyone was asleep. The whole neighbourhood calmed down as their residents rested for the night. 

The air got colder, so I moved from the porch, back to my old room and headed to bed. What if I was exaggerating the problem with my parents? What if it was me creating conflict when there wasn’t any? With a heavy sigh, I went to bed. 

The next day was a chaos. Around lunch, my father’s aunt and her family came to the house. “Didn’t your mother tell you? We’ll have lunch together and we wanted to be with you some more before you leave again,” my aunt chuckled at her words. 

“Great,” I said, but I wasn’t thrilled at all.

Her kids were loud, spoilt brats. They’d let them do anything they wanted. It pissed me off. I knew they were my cousins. Unfortunately. As much as I wanted to teach them a lesson and tell them no, their mother would always allow everything. 

Both boys were running around the house, screaming and throwing toys around. To calm them down, they got tablets to do whatever they wanted -  a movie, a game? Why not both? 

Logan was right. I should have left. I didn’t want to spend the rest of the day with them. And with lunch approaching, I knew it would be a stressful one. All the yelling, the bitching and moaning…

We were about to head to the dining table when we heard the doorbell ring once the food was ready to be served. “I’ll get it,” I said. I was the closest to them. 

As I walked to the door, I put my hair in a messy bun, to keep them away when I’d eat. I expected to see a neighbour or another family member that I wasn’t interested in seeing. When I opened the door, I gasped.

“Hey, darlin’.” 

Logan was leaning against the doorframe. He had black sunglasses on his face, dressed in those damn jeans and a green-blue flannel shirt. A brown leather jacket was resting on his shoulders. Dressed to kill… me. Fuck. He looked hot.

“Holy shit, what are you doing here?” My eyes widened, lips twitched because they wanted to curl into a smile. I grabbed him by the leather jacket to pull myself closer to him. He smelled like cigars and nice minty body spray. 

“I came to rescue my princess from this hellhole,” he said, voice firm and serious. 

I coughed. “What? Baby, we’re having an unexpected family lunch,” I made a face. “Holy shit, I can’t believe you are here,” I hummed with a smile. “Wait, did you ask Charles to help you get here? You went through my file!” 

“I needed to get here somehow,” said Logan innocently. “And it seems I am on time for lunch. I am starving.”

My mouth dropped to the floor when I heard him say that. I wanted to say something, anything. Unluckily, my mother decided to make herself present by approaching us. “Oh, hello, is everything okay?” she asked us. 

Logan put down his glasses and grinned at my mother. “I came to see your daughter.” 

“Oh?” 

I looked up at the ceiling, cursing mentally. I felt stress crawl up my back. Not because Logan decided to show up. It was my mother’s subtle reactions. How her brows rose, how I could sense the tension in her body. Or was it thrill?

“This… is… Logan,” I lazily turned to my mother. “He’s my boyfriend.” 

“You have a boyfriend?!” she squealed. “And you didn’t tell us?” It seemed she was offended. “You never tell us anything! Ah! This is a big deal. Oh my god!”

Deep breath in and slow exhale. I did it multiple times. Immediately, Logan approached me as I tried to calm myself down. He rested his hand on my lower back. 

One last deep breath. “Uh, we’ll be right there. I need to talk to Logan for a moment, okay?” 

My mother nodded, grinning like a maniac. She clapped her hands and ran back to the dining room. I knew she would let her mouth run wild and comment on what she saw. Lunch was about to turn into a nightmare. 

“You okay, baby?” Logan asked me gently. 

I pushed him outside and closed the door behind us. I was panicking a little. “This day is crazy,” I mumbled. “Oh my god.” I panicked a little. 

As I got closer to Logan, he wrapped his arms around my body, pressing me to his chest. “Everything will be fine,” he assured me. “You angry at me?” 

“No,” I said. “Quite the opposite. I’m glad you are here,” I inhaled his scent which helped me calm down a bit. “Fuck, you are like a gift from heaven. I should have listened to you and headed back to school. I’ve been receiving shit since the very morning. And now, my aunt and her family are here and… I want to run away.” 

He pressed a kiss on top of my head. “So, let’s go. Fuck them,” he said. “I’ll get your stuff and we are out of here.” 

“It’s not that easy,” I sighed. 

He growled, thinking. “Okay, listen to me,” he pushed me enough to look into my face. “Here’s the deal. One shit, one stupid thing from them, we are out. I don’t give a shit they are your family. They will not disrespect you. I won’t allow that.” 

I didn’t have the chance to say something. Logan took my hand and led me back into the house. He trusted his instinct which led him to a room filled with my family members. The moment we stepped into the dining room, all eyes were on us. 

First came the introductions. My father tried to be intimidating. My uncle used his dumb intelligent humour to impress Logan. Neither of us found it funny. My aunt was too touchy. I wanted to step on her foot for that. My cousins didn’t give a shit. They were interested in their mobile games. 

“How long have you been together?” 

It was the first of many questions. Logan and I sat next to each other. My mother brought a plate for him. One of his hands found my thigh, squeezing it reassuringly. “It’s been over a year now,” he said, voice low and gruff. 

“Where did you meet?” my aunt asked. 

“At work,” I said quickly. “We work in the same building.” 

“Really?” My father didn’t believe that. “He doesn’t look like someone who would work in a big corporate company.”

“Dad!” I glared at him. 

No one knew what I was, what was my real job. I told them a story about my life in New York, working for a big company. For them, I was the daughter who moved to New York. I wasn’t the mutant, the whiny girl they used to call me. Of course, Logan knew it all.

My aunt eyed Logan once more. “They take you seriously with that hair?” she asked him. 

My eyes almost popped out of my head. I couldn’t believe she dared to say it. “Excuse me?” was all I got out of my mouth.

And it got worse. 

“We always believed our Y/N would move to Europe and live her life there. Empty promises how she’d become a writer, leave the country and live a better life,” my mother laughed. “We believed she would be the one to leave the county and do great things. And here we are.” 

“Still can’t believe she didn’t settle down. But what do you want from someone who’s not fond of kids? She always hated kids, so be prepared she wouldn’t want a family with you,” said my aunt. 

“She never went to college. She lied to us about applying, her interest in decusation.” 

“Always complaining and crying.” 

“She was a sensible child.”

“She suffered from depression and anxiety.”

Logan smashed a hand against the table. All the plates and cutlery rang. I closed my eyes, ready to release my last breath from all the humiliation. My family went rampage - saying shit that even they knew was not true. But here we were. 

“Everyone shut your goddamn mouths,” he snarled, slowly rising from the table. “She is your goddamn daughter and you’ve been treating her like shit the moment I sat behind this damn table. How the fuck do you think you make her feel?” 

“Language!” my aunt glared at him. “Children are present.”

“I don’t give a fuck about your two spoilt bastards,” Logan glared at her. “You can’t even make them put the damn tablets down while eating.”

“Who do you think you are?” my mother asked. She was offended by Logan’s behaviour. 

“I am the guy who needs to put you in your fucking place. You do not respect your daughter and you keep humiliating her in front of me. Instead of saying something nice, something positive, you’ve been running your mouth off with a lot of bullshit and I am sick of it.” 

Logan grabbed me by my arm and helped me get up. I barely listened to a word they all said. My mind was spiralling. I felt like the biggest loser, the black sheep of the family. Someone who shouldn’t be born.

“Don’t you fucking dare say one more word about her,” Logan spat at them. “Or I swear, I will make your lives miserable. She’s the most amazing woman in this godforsaken world. She means the world to me. She’s the definition of goodness, kindness and love. And fuck, I don’t deserve her. But I will defend her and show her how worthy of love she is because it seems you never loved her in the first place!” 

Silence. Everyone was glaring at Logan, shocked by the words he said. As if they all forget how to speak. 

“Y/N? How can you be with this rude man?” 

“Rude?” I raised a brow. “You’ve been rude to me the whole week I was here. Logan defended me when no one else did. Even I couldn’t stand up for myself and send you to hell and back! You are the rude here, not him.” 

“That’s not true,” my uncle chimed in.

I got up from the table. “I’m gonna go pack and we’ll be on our way.” 

“I’ll wait for you in the car,” said Logan, quickly pressing a kiss to my temple as I walked by him. 

The packing took me less than five minutes. I threw everything into my suitcase. I made sure I had my documents. The moment I got downstairs with my belongings, my mother was the first by my side. 

“You can’t be serious,” she said. 

“I am.”

“And with that man?”

I stopped and glared at her. My feelings were battling inside of me. I wanted to scream, shout nasty words and throw a tantrum like a child would. However, I would never do that. I hated conflicts. I hated this moment.

“Bye, Mother,” I said and left the house. 

Once I stepped out of the house I grew up in, I felt relief and grief. A chapter, that was supposed to end sooner, finally closed. It was not a happy ending, but it had to happen to move on. Without Logan’s help, I wouldn’t be able to do that. Thank god he came here so unexpectedly. He got my back.

Logan was leaning against the car, cigar in his mouth. When I approached him, he took my suitcase and put it inside the car. 

“Thanks,” I whispered. 

I ended up in his tight embrace. The cigar long forgotten. He had to put it off on his hand. “Come on, beautiful. Let’s get going.” 

“Take me home,” I said with a broken voice. 

“Home?” I knew he was smiling when he said that.

“Yes,” I nodded. “ Like you said - the X-mansion is my home. You are my home. Not this, not here.” 

Logan lifted my head by pressing a finger under my chin. Our eyes met. “I’m sorry they never treated you right. I’m sorry they saw you as something damaged, broken, now worthy of their time” He took a deep breath. “I’ll do everything to show you, that you are the best thing that ever happened to me. You…” Logan sighed. “You are the love of my life.” 

“Logan,” I gasped. We told each other many times the three beautiful words. This was something new, deep. It was an undiscovered territory that didn’t feel intimidating. 

His lips found mine in a simple kiss. I tasted the cigars and the coke he had during unfinished lunch. It was perfect. Like a definition of our relationship. “Let’s get you home, darlin’.” 

[loganhowlettshousewife]

animal

chapter 5

friendly reminder that i am not a writer, i'm just a girl who loves logan howlett and wanted to write something exploring his animalistic side since i so rarely see it done. my first language is also not english, so please do not be rude when giving me any feedback.

warnings: swearing, drinking/alcohol, smoking cigars, violence, angst

series masterlist │my masterlist

your relationship with logan is strained, breaking apart at the seams.

ever since your conversation the dynamic has shifted. you don’t want to lose logan, and so in the light of day you kiss and cuddle and he watches you complete your chores. he makes dry comments as you cook together and you talk and laugh over dinner. he carries you into the bedroom and kisses the insides of your thighs until you’re begging for him, clutching at his hair as he eats you out.

but in the dark, when night falls, so does the facade of your relationship. he still sleeps in the guest room, but you no longer go join him when he has nightmares. if he wants to pretend like everything is fine and doesn’t want to talk to you, you won’t pressure him to do so. you’re following his lead, and it’s making you both obviously miserable.

he hardly ever actually sleeps, and you know that - sometimes you still wake up to his screams of pain and horror. he spends most of his nights drinking, sitting outside on the porch with a bottle or two. you often find him there in the mornings, watching the sunrise, face pale and eyes lined with thick, dark bags.

he asks you to buy him cigars when you go into town and you do. he smokes them on the porch while you bring him coffee, grabbing the empty bottles of liquor to throw out. he mutters a “thanks” but says nothing else, and you return to the kitchen to eat your own breakfast alone, without him.

it always takes a few hours before he can shake off the lingering tensions and horrors that follow him at night, before he can really be a version of himself again.

he’s angry too, all the time. that feral, violent edge to logan that you’d noticed through his animal behaviours seems heightened now. his claws come out more, becoming a familiar sight. he never takes it out on you, he’ll walk away before he ever gets close to doing that, but he becomes destructive in his anger.

he punches the walls, claws piercing through the drywall along with his fist. but he always fixes it after, and he seems less tense when he’s using his hands like that. to fix and patch-up rather than destroy.

he takes to fixing things around the house, changing the shower head so it has better water pressure, repairing the old hinges on the doors to the cupboards that always creak. he builds you a new bookshelf as an apology - or at least you think it is, though he never says the words outright - after getting shitfaced and yelling at you one night.

and yet you feel so distant from him. there’s a painful ache in your chest every time you see his handsome face, a longing to touch him and kiss him and crawl into his skin. the physical proximity does nothing to alleviate your loneliness. you miss him, so much.

he’s laying under the kitchen sink, shirt off and tossed on the floor beside him, and you take a moment to admire him, the thin sheen of sweat covering his chest, the dark hair that you want to bury your face into.

you shake your head, snapping yourself out of your daze and proceed outside. you have things to do, and there’s no use getting distracted by logan when you know it won’t amount to any changes, won’t make this thing between you better.

honestly, you’re counting down the days until he tells you he wants to leave, find his own place, start his own life. or restart, you suppose. you expect it to happen any day now, when he runs out of things to fix around your house and can no longer keep himself busy and distracted.

and then one night he returns home drunk. he’d gone out without telling you, skipping dinner together to go to some bar or another. you ate alone, hardly picking at your plate, appetite gone. 

you’ve never seen him like this and you wonder how much he must have drunk to get to this point, slurring his words and stumbling, a heavy weight that you struggle to hold onto, keeping him upright so he won’t collapse into nearby furniture. he has a half empty bottle in hand and you gently pry it out of his grip, placing it down on the nearest surface you can find, just to get it away from him.

he’s muttering words you can’t quite understand, talking to himself more than he’s talking to you, but it’s more words than you’ve heard him say in a while. you blink back the tears that threaten to rise on your waterline as he holds you against him, close your eyes to focus on the scent of him that surrounds you, the sharp tangy smell of alcohol lingering on him, cutting through his usual musk, cigar smoke and wood and him.

“i’m gonna put you to bed,” you say gently, because as angry as you are with him right now, as much as you’re trying to put distance between you, he’s still logan, and your heart beats for him regardless.

you lead him to the guest room, but he shakes his head and wrenches his hand out of your hold, stumbling towards the door to your room, to what was once yours and logans before he’d started fading away. breathless, you follow him, watching him collapse onto your bed, face buried in your pillow. he lets out a deep groan, wiggling around in your spot until he’s comfortable.

you’ve missed the sight of him in your room, missed falling asleep to his face and waking up in the warmth of his arms, the sound of his steady breathing surrounding you with a sense of peace, his hands tracing your face as if you were a work of art. you don’t even notice you’re crying until you feel warm tears rolling down your cheeks.

“don’t cry - hate when you cry,” logan slurs as he reaches out his arms towards you, beckoning you to come closer to him.

it makes you cry harder, and within moments he’s holding you. you’re straddling him, legs bent against the comforter at an odd angle but you don’t care. he presses his hot mouth to the top of your head, a barely-there brush of his lips that has you warming up from within.

“shh,” he tries to shush you, rocking the two of you back and forth in a horribly uncoordinated rhythm, “don’t cry. i love you.”

it’s the first time he’s said those three words to you, and you wish you could have heard them under any other circumstance. not when he’s drunk out of his mind, not when you’re barely holding yourself together, not after weeks of hardly speaking. it’s not the right time - hell, it’s probably the worst moment he could have picked.

“don’t say that,” you tell him, voice raw, “if you don’t want me to cry, please don’t say that.”

“but-” he protests, “do you love me?”

it’s bittersweet, this moment you’re sharing. you can’t remember the last time he’s been so honest with you, so forthright with his feelings, and yet you can’t be certain he’ll even remember this conversation in the morning. you can’t be certain this will change anything at all.

you sigh, and hope that logan’s mutation doesn’t involve him remembering everything that happens even when he’s shitfaced drunk. you don’t want your first admission of love to be a sad one, but he’s looking at you with the biggest puppy-dog eyes, your logan, and you can’t leave him hanging, can’t just not answer. and you can’t lie either, he’d be able to smell it in your scent, to read it in the way your heartbeat quickens.

“yes, logan, i do.” you whisper, pressing a hand against his cheek, the scruff of his beard.

“why are you mad at me?” he slurs, and you scoff.

“because you’re pretending everything’s fine and you’re pushing me away,” you reply, “you don’t talk to me anymore, and i can’t read you like i used to. you barely show any emotions, you just close everything away. i’m mad because yes, logan, i love you, and that means i want to know what’s going on with you.”

“but ‘s better now,” logan protests.

you frown. he sounds so sure of himself, and you wonder how he could possibly see the state of your current relationship and think of it as better. maybe you were right, maybe this is all ending.

“how?” you whisper, “how are things in any way better?”

he buries his face in your neck, warm breath forming condensation on your skin. when he speaks you can feel the words more than you hear them, muffled as they are. “i was an animal before. a monster with no control. ‘s better that i act human.”

you laugh but it’s unhappy, “it’s not better at all. i want the real you, whoever that is, more human or animal, i don’t care. but i want the version of you that spends time with me instead of a bottle, the version of you where we can talk through our issues. because i get that things are different logan, i hear your nightmares and i don’t expect you to be the same now that you remember all those awful things. you’re traumatised, i understand that. but i wish you could try to open up, let me love you. don’t push me away. and i want you to love me in the ways that are natural to you, that make you the happiest, whatever that means.”

you wake up to an empty bed, the spot beside you still warm but steadily growing colder. you blink open your eyes, blearily, making out the dent in the mattress where logan had slept, the smell of cinnamon and sugar invading your senses with each new breath you took.

you find logan in the kitchen, wearing one of your little aprons, far too small for him, the strings barely long enough to meet at the back. the sight makes you giggle, silly and domestic as it is. he’s pulling fresh cinnamon buns out of the oven, and you fight the urge to look around as if someone is about to pop out at you. 

“want one?” logan asks. in your daze you hardly noticed him turning around to face you. “they’re uh- an apology. i used your recipe and i’m good at following the instructions so they should be okay.”

he refuses to meet your eyes, shifting on his feet, restless energy thrumming through him like he’s expecting to have to run away at any moment. before, you would have said that he doesn’t seem like the kind of guy to run and hide when things get hard, always fight and never flight. it seems right for him, with his gruff demeanour and the violent edge to him. but you’ve lived through him avoiding you, running from his problems. you refuse to let it happen again.

he’s skittish, nervous even, and you take a moment to appreciate the sight. it’s lovely, gorgeous even, compared to the anger and depression and irritation that you’ve gotten accustomed to from him. but you don’t let him linger in silence for too long.

“an apology?” you repeat his words, placing your chin in your hands, “for what?”

“pushing you away.”

so he remembers. you wonder if he recalls every word you spoke to him under the cover of darkness, made brave by the thought that he likely wouldn’t remember, that none of this would come back to you in any way, or if it’s more of a vague image that floats around in his mind, edges blurred and sections of the night skipping through.

does he remember the way you told him you loved him, the words tinged with sadness and desperation? you weren’t expecting the sudden change of heart, the way he so easily said the very thing he’s been avoiding admitting for so long.

“you don’t have to apologise for that,” you say, though you appreciate it, “you were going through something. you still are.”

“i still need to apologise,” he argues, and you smile at the determination in his voice, “it’s- fuck- i’m not good with words. i messed up. i know that. but i’m almost two hundred years old, you know that? and i remember every single, shitty day of it. i haven’t had a good life, princess. i hurt and kill everyone that gets close to me. and i don’t wanna hurt you.”

you stride right up to him and he looks terrified when you raise your arms, but all you do is wrap them around his neck, standing on your tip-toes so you can press a kiss to his cheek, feeling his scratchy beard against your lips. his hands find a place on either side of your waist, the position so natural, so comfortable.

this is how you’re meant to be, in each other’s arms, not fighting or hiding away from one another.

“you did hurt me,” you say, watching the way his jaw tenses at the reminder, “but i’m tougher than i look. and i don’t believe that your past defines you. who you are right now, how you treat me, that’s what decides my opinion of you. although right now you’ve got some grovelling to do.”

he grunts in agreement, “i’ll make it up to you, darlin’. however you want.”

taglist: @mystiquesvendetta @raeinyourdreams @babey-fruit-bat @meetmypointlessaddiction @kneelforloki @deaky-with-a-c @hypermarvellove @littlepeanut03 @the-ruler-of-death @aliengutzstuff @misscrissfemmefatale @mynamesstevenwithav @teaganthemorningstar @blackkatzz @leryg0 @fries11 @forksloree @i5uckersblog @dragovegogrimborn @quillycrow @melday0105 @just-a-little-cellist @scorpiosaintt @akasha157-blog @insanesosciopath @eridektbh

if your name is in white it means i couldn’t tag you for some reason. i’m very sorry :(

[fairyysoup]

it will come back

part one

a.k.a. sever the blight (eddie's version)

pairing(s): werewolf!eddie munson x fem!milkmaid!reader

summary: You don’t go into the woods. You don’t talk to strangers. And you don’t, under any circumstances, approach a wolf. Unless one shows up bleeding at your door.

cw: dark themes, mature content, animal cruelty, animal death mention, gunshots, physical abuse, reader is a servant to an abusive master, misogyny, suggestive themes, fairytale au, some kind of historical fantasy period, inspired by The Company of Wolves by Angela Carter, eventual smut (in later parts)

a/n: hiiiiiiii :) so remember when i said i'd stop posting fic on tumblr? well one mental breakdown later i decided that was literally making me miserable and ruining my hobby! so i'm back. it's me, hi, i'm the problem it's me <3 this is a reupload

ALL MY WORKS ARE 18+ MINORS DNI

Don't let me in with no intention to keep me, Jesus Christ, don't be kind to me, Honey, don't feed me, I will come back.

There are things they tell you about the woods from the time you are born, weaning you on them just the same as you are weaned on milk. Don’t go into the woods on a full moon. Don’t talk to strange men. Likewise, if you see a strange man alone in the pines on the full moon, run and don’t look back. And don’t, for any reason, approach a wolf at any time. They’ll kill you before you turn the other cheek.

In your twenty-some-odd years, you have never seen a wolf. You’ve heard them howling, distantly, so deep in the forest that you don’t even feel the need to be frightened by it. They exist in there, somewhere, going about their business as wolves do.

Sometimes you hear about the wolves wandering into town. Old Mr. Thatch, from just over the creek, said his pigs were slaughtered in the night. He’ll have to spend a fortune to get a few more. Torben Plack from the end of Warder’s Row saw one drinking from the horse trough outside the inn last month. 

There are whispers of wolves when a baby is missing from its crib. There are whispers of murder in the night. There are accusations that some of the townsfolk themselves are wolves in disguise.

Nonsense, the lot of it. Or, that’s what you believe. That’s what you choose to think about it– even though you’ve been told time and again that a pretty girl doesn’t think, a pretty girl believes and does what she’s told. She doesn’t go into the woods. She does her chores and she says her prayers and she marries a boy with a healthy income and lives quietly, rearing children until she can’t anymore.

(You don’t believe that, either.)

You don’t have the luxury of making any other choices, though. You are a servant, a milkmaid in the employ of a rather cold Master– you have no time for philosophy or discerning what you do and don’t believe about the local folklore.

You milk the cow. You chop the firewood. You feed the chickens. You harvest the cabbage and you don’t complain. You sleep on your bed in your shack– or, servant’s quarters– behind the grand house and you don’t, under any circumstances, question the Master or his wife. You wash the bedsheets after he sloppily takes his wife to bed, and you try to hide your disgust. 

You usually do what you’re told. Usually. 

On a night when the moon hangs round and full in the sky, lighting the stretch of land beyond your small shack in a milky blue haze, you’re building a small fire in the fireplace when you hear it. The howling. It’s so much closer than you’ve ever heard it, almost as though the wolves are just beyond the treeline that backs up to your master’s land.

You pay it no mind. Normally, the wolves are on the hunt for something– small animals that titter through the woods, unassuming until it’s too late. The howling will be distant soon, and you’ll be able to sleep soundly while the rest of the town frets about the dangers of the wolf-men, locking their windows and bolstering their doors. 

Just as you thought, the howls drift away slowly. You snuggle down into the covers of your bed, and you barely flinch when Mr. Thatch fires off a pistol over the creek, ringing through the dead night louder than hell. These things mean little to you. You’re more interested in what the land of dreams holds for you tonight– it’s one of the only reprieves you get from your long days of work.

It isn’t until ten minutes later, when you are mere inches from sleep, that you hear a soft whining outside your cabin door. At first, you think it’s the wind. Then, when it gets louder, you wonder if you’re imagining it.

And when it turns into a soft howling, well. That’s not your imagination.

You wrap a woven blanket around your shoulders and leave the door open when you step out into the chilly night. You don’t have a candle– you could always knick one from the Mistress, but that might risk getting caught, and you don’t love that idea. So, you contend with the little amount of light that spills out of the open door from your small fireplace, and you squint into the dark toward the source of the sound.

It takes shape in the form of a wolf. A big one, covered in black fur and curled up beneath the gabled roof, as though attempting to make itself smaller. It shivers and whimpers miserably, tucking its paws close to its body. 

You shrink back in the doorway, drawing your blanket closer around your shoulders. The hum of crickets in the bushes and in the grass across the pasture covers the shakiness of your rapid breathing. You don’t know what to do. You couldn’t possibly be expected to bother the Master this late at night– even if it is a wolf, the barn is shut up and the animals are safe. You’d probably be expected to just stay put in your little cabin and wait for it to go away on its own. Maybe in the morning the Master will find it and skin it for the Mistress’s bedquilt. 

The image makes you shudder. This poor thing– even if it is nearly as big as you, even if it’s a nasty predator in the eyes of everyone else– is clearly looking for some sort of reprieve. Just the same as you do at the end of the day. You can’t let it be skinned alive just for searching for safety.

“Hey,” you whisper softly, and you know the creature hears you, because it flinches badly. Almost as though it may bolt away in a panic. “No, no… don’t be frightened.” 

You lower yourself down towards the ground, tentatively inching forward as the creature turns its head to blink up at you. Water brims its dark eyes, sparkling in the low light from your open door. Streaks of tears flatten the fur on its snout; the wretched thing lets out a noise like a sob, hanging its head like it doesn’t have the energy to stand you off.

“I’ve never seen a wolf cry before,” you tell it quietly. You’ve never seen a wolf, period, but you don’t need to tell it that. You’re not sure that it can understand you, anyways, but you keep talking like it can. “Are you hurt?”

The wolf snorts, sneezes loudly, and then trembles. There’s a high pitched whining, a heart-shattering noise that cuts deep into your chest as the beast cowers away from you. The whine turns into a low growl when you move a bit closer, but it doesn’t sound like it really means business. More like it doesn’t know what to do with your closeness. 

“Hey,” you say again, more insistently. You inch your way forward, crouched low to the ground, holding your blanket around you with one hand as you reach the other out toward it. You’ve never tried to approach a wolf. You don’t know if it’s similar to trying to gain a domesticated dog’s trust– hold out your hand, let it catch your scent. Show it that you mean no harm, allow it to come to you. “I’m trying to help you, okay? Let me help.”

The wolf growls for a moment longer before finally relenting, and reaching its head forward to sniff curiously at your hand. You don’t know what you expect– perhaps that it would drop its head again, or back away cautiously. Instead, the wolf surprises you by pushing its head into your outstretched palm like a sad puppy.

“Oh,” you coo, stroking the wolf’s soft head as it trembles. Its ears twitch against your fingers, and it snuffles a few times, its body shaking with each, like an all-too-human fit of sobbing. “Okay, baby. Let’s get you inside.” 

Again, it’s a shot in the dark. You back slowly away from the creature, whose watery eyes blink up at you, and then you stand, and open the cabin door wider. The wolf doesn’t move, still continuing to shake with its uneven breathing.

You take a step into the door, and watch as the wolf slowly struggles up out of its cowering position. On all four legs, it seems to be favoring its right front leg, lifting its left paw limply upward. When you take another step back into the cabin, and it follows, it shudders a breath and limps badly on its left leg. 

“Good job, honey,” you tell the wolf gently as it tentatively follows you into the cabin. 

You don’t know whether to leave the door open or to shut it; you’re not sure if there’s any wisdom in shutting yourself in close quarters with a wild animal, but you also don’t want the Master to find it come morning. You suck your teeth and swing the door shut, quietly latching it and hoping the damned thing doesn’t suddenly decide it’s too hungry. 

You turn, and take two steps before dropping to your knees in front of the fireplace, where the most light hits the ground. You drop your blanket to the floor, and pat your lap as you look at the creature shivering a few feet away. “C’mere. Lay down.”

As far as you know, wolves don’t normally lay down and play lapdog for strange humans, but this one does. You wonder at it, remarkable in its size and beauty, as it flops down tiredly onto your floor and rests its head in your lap. Through your cotton chemise, the wolf’s chin is warmer than the heat of the fire.

You pet the wolf’s head again gently as you examine its left leg. It doesn’t seem to have any major wounds except for a spot of wetness on the side of it. When you lift it, the wolf in your lap whines loudly.

“I know, baby,” you coo at it, trying to pet its head as soothingly as you can while you look over the mangled leg and paw. Through the fur and dirt, you see a patch of pink skin matted with bright red, and your own hand comes away smeared with blood. There is a bad gash, enough to still be bleeding. 

You don’t want to jostle the animal now that it’s relatively comfortable, so you bend backwards and sideways to reach the cup of water on the shelf at your bedside. It’s what you have on hand to clean the wound– you suppose you could sneak into the grand house to steal some soap, but just the same as the candle, you’d rather not risk it. You take your time in pouring cool, clean water on the wolf’s wound, rubbing dirt and blood away from the gash. In your lap, the beast huffs softly in response.

“I don’t know what you’re doing out of the woods,” you tell it as you tenderly clean its wound, expecting that you’re only speaking to settle your own nerves, “but you ought not to come around here too often. The men here are bloodthirsty. Don’t want you getting any more beat up.” 

The wolf heaves a sigh. For what it’s worth, you take that as some sort of acknowledgement. 

“I can’t do much else for you besides this,” you continue softly. The wound is clean now, the fur gone wet enough that you can pull it aside and peer at the gash itself. It’s quite deep, straight, and slices from the middle of its leg upward at a diagonal. It continues to ooze even as you examine it, painting your fingers red. You tip a little more water onto it. 

You grab one corner of the blanket you’d used to wrap yourself, and rip a strip off along the grain. The light pink fabric looks almost comical when you wrap it around the wolf’s leg, tying it and tucking the tails in gently so that it won’t fall off too easily. You figure, eventually, the damn thing will come off while the wolf goes off on its merry way. You don’t delude yourself into thinking you’ve got a pet, now.

“I wish I could give you more,” you tell the beast, petting your hand down its mane, feeling the silken fur slide through your fingers like the plushest finery that you’ll never be able to enjoy for yourself. “But, I suppose, you can rest here tonight. If you promise to stay polite.”

The wolf doesn’t fuss when you slide a stiff pillow under its chin, and slip back under the covers of your bed. You gaze at it, curled up in a big black mass on your floor in front of the hearth, and you wonder why on earth a wild animal would be so well behaved. 

You wonder how a wolf is capable of crying.

You wake in the early morning light expecting to find a big black wolf sleeping in front of your hearth. Instead, when you rouse and rub the sleep from your eyes, you find that the wolf is gone.

In fact, there appears to have been no wolf at all. No blood on the floor, no black fur on the pillow that has inexplicably reappeared on the foot of your bed. Your water cup is full. And the door to your cabin is latched, just the same as it had been last night, after you let the wolf in.

By all appearances, nothing happened last night. There was no wolf. You half expect that you dreamed the entire thing. And you would continue to believe so– but, the end of your pink woven blanket is still torn, missing a strip from the end, frayed along the grain.

You slip from your bed and fling open the door to your shack, emerging into the cool morning air. You look down at the nook beside the door where the wolf had huddled in the dark, seeking shelter away from harm. There is nothing there to suggest that it had been there last night. 

But you know it to be true. You know it.

How could a wolf, a four legged creature with full use of only three of them, manage to unlatch your door, step out, and then relatch it from the other side? How could your water magically refill itself? It’s a mile to the well in the town square, and it’s not like the wolf could have done it. 

Broken from your thoughts, you hear a shriek of your name. You lift your head to see your Mistress, fully dressed, feeding the chickens. The daily chores have already begun.

“What are you doing outside in your underclothes?!” your Mistress yells, flinging grain down at the birds. “Go inside and dress yourself this instant, you wretch! And begin your morning duties!” 

You jump, darting back behind the door. You hadn’t thought anyone would be out yet. “Sorry, Mistress!” 

You rush to grab your stays from the end of your bed. You’ll pay for that one, you think. 

There are a million reasons why you prefer doing your chores out of the house. 

One, the Mistress isn’t around to rag on you over every little thing. Two, you don’t have to be watching over your shoulder to make sure you aren’t in the Master’s way. And three, you can take all the time you want to do other things as well, as long as you get done before dinner has to be served. 

Your skirt is filthy, but it’s a beautiful day, and the creek that separates your Master’s land from Mr. Thatch’s land is babbling quite a bit, and it makes doing the washing up much easier than it otherwise would be. Which you’re happy about, since your arm is so badly welted you can barely curl your fingers. 

You sniffle and lift your apron to wipe your nose. Then you wring out the Mistress’s petticoat– of which there are far too many for one woman to reasonably have– you whine at the strain on your injured hand, and you move to the basket of other soiled clothes. You think about blowing your nose in the Master’s linen shirt, and you’re about two seconds from doing it, too, when you hear a splash nearby. 

“Shit,” says a man’s voice. There are a couple more splashes around the bend, and then yelps, and then there’s one enormous splash, and a laugh. 

“Hello?” you call, trying to peer around the bank of overgrowth beside you. Then, there’s a cacophonous amount of splashing, which makes you screw up your face, and a man emerges from around the bank of greenery.

You pause, holding your Master’s laundry in your hands over the water like you’re wondering whether to dip it in or not. Really, you’re just shocked to see a strange man on your Master’s property at all. He’s out of breath, rosy cheeked and soaking wet from the chest down.

“Um,” is all you can say.

“Hello there,” the man says with a rakish grin that flashes sharp teeth at you. You blink a few times, just to make sure he’s really there. And when you do satisfy yourself with the fact that, yes, he’s very real, you then have to acclimate yourself to the idea that he’s also absolutely beautiful.

His very pretty face is framed by long, dark hair, and his eyes are strikingly dark. There’s something on his skin peeking out of the open collar of his burgundy blouse, but to look at that from this distance means to look at the way his shirt clings to his body, and then his trousers, and if you weren’t already struck dumb, now you are.

“How– how are you– um.” You wave your hands around, gesturing to the general area around you. “Whatareyoudoinghere?” 

“I think I was going for a swim, of sorts,” the man laughs, holding one arm out a bit to indicate his damp appearance. 

“Who are you?”

“Now, there’s a question for the ages.” The man tromps forward through the water, splashing along gracelessly and with exaggerated steps, like he’s trying to make you laugh. “Generally speaking, no one really cares who I am, just what I want.” 

“Okay,” you snap, irritated by the man’s jovial attitude and his need to speak in riddles. “What do you want? Why are you on this land? What business do you have here, and with whom?” 

“Whoa, hey–” the man holds up his hands, and grimaces like it’s painful to do so. Then he recovers with a flashy smile. “I don’t mean you any harm, princess. I have no business anywhere, I was just following the creek and seeing where it leads. Guess the time got away from me.”

“I’m not a princess,” you grumble back at him.

He tilts his head, his smile lingering as he looks at you. “Just an expression, no need to be nasty.”

You scowl down at your master’s clothes, and then plunge them into the water like they personally offended you. “Following the creek from where?” He points his thumb over his shoulder, towards the trees. “You came from the woods?”

“Thereabouts.” 

You squint up at him. “What’s your name?”

“Eddie Munson, at your service.” He bows dramatically and takes another step towards you. “And may I ask who you are? Or shall I just call you ‘My Lovely Lady of the Creek,’ for time immemorial?”

You tell him your name flatly, and turn your face away as he gets closer, suddenly very invested in getting sweat stains out of your Master’s linen blouse using a cake of lye soap. “You should know not to go into those woods alone. There’s wolves.” 

 “Oh, I think I can handle myself in the woods, sweetheart.” Eddie smirks down at you. “Anyways, who wants to be in the trees on a day like this?” 

You grunt. You don’t think the man will be going away anytime soon, which is bad news for you, because the closer he gets, the more inclined you are to look at him. Then, you’re more inclined to talk, and you’ve already been punished once today. You don’t think you could handle another.

The man, Eddie, sits himself down on a large rock jutting out of the water next to you. He watches you for a moment, scrubbing with one hand at the cloth on the board in the water, and then he points down at your arm. His billowing sleeve flashes red in your peripheral vision, along with the silver of the rings on his hand.

“What happened here?” he asks softly, his voice losing its humorous tone.

You look down at the welted skin. It stings, but the cold water numbs the pain just a bit. Now that he’s brought your attention back to it, your eyes prick with tears again, and you sniff. “My Mistress caught me outdoors in my chemise.”

“She should count herself lucky. It’s a sight to behold.” 

“What?” You blink up at him. From this angle, him looming over you on a boulder, the sun rings his head in gold like a halo. “How would you know?” 

“I’m… supposing.” Eddie bites his lip, staring off to the side for a moment, as if suddenly at a loss for the right words to say. “You’re a very… beautiful girl. I can only imagine.” 

“That’s forward of you.” 

“Besides, it doesn’t answer my question,” he rushes out. He scowls back down at your arm. “What did that to you?” 

You heave a sigh. “Well, the Mistress told my Master. And the Master is very heavy handed with a cane.” A small sob constricts your throat for a moment, tears pricking your eyes again so badly that you have to stop working and close them. Your sinuses burn from the effort of holding it in.

“You were beaten because you went outside without a petticoat?” Eddie remarks incredulously, “That’s ridiculous.”

“Well, I… I was also late to start my chores,” you admit in a wobbly voice. “So I suppose I got off easier than most would…” 

“It’s cruel. I’d love to see how he would take it, if the tables were turned.” Eddie’s dark eyes flash dangerously when you look up at him; there’s something in the set of his jaw and the steely expression on his face that makes you think of the growling wolf last night. After a moment, he softens towards you again. “Why were you late to your chores?”

“I…” you trail off. You think about telling him about the wolf, but you wonder if he’s the kind of person who will go into town and yell about the wolves trying to steal women in the night, and you could do without the embarrassment. “I had a nightmare. Slept too late.”

Eddie clicks his tongue and rocks backward a bit. “A nightmare,” he repeats, considering the word like it’s a part of life’s philosophy. “What about?”

You don’t respond for a few moments. You’ve moved on to washing a pillowcase now, which is significantly less soiled than your Master’s blouse. “Why do you care?”

“I care because I hate to see My Lovely Lady of the Creek in distress. Even if she is completely vexed by the sight of me,” He says lightly, as you tilt your head down to hide the way your cheeks burn. He reaches up his right hand and produces a silver coin from behind your ear. You stare at it in puzzlement as he hands it to you. “What was your nightmare about?”

You hesitate just a moment before taking the silver coin. “Is this bribery?”

“Absolutely,” Eddie announces with a wry smile. “For your thoughts.”

You sigh. You could use the coin, you’ll admit. Maybe you could buy yourself a new robe, or a loaf of bread from the baker, or any other of the myriad things you’re in want of. 

You tuck the coin down the front of your bodice, where it slides down and gets stuck between your ribcage and your chemise. Eddie’s eyes follow the path that it takes between your breasts with a hungry glint in them. 

“There was a wolf,” you tell him quietly, going back to your work. “It came to my door bleeding. I brought it inside and nursed it. But when I woke, there wasn’t a wolf. It was just a nightmare.”

“Oh,” Eddie hums amusedly. “I wouldn’t call that a nightmare. I’d rather call it a dream.”

“A dream?” you echo with a scoff. 

“Yes. A lovely dream, with a heroine and a lonely beast in need of kindness.” He leans towards you, his hands on his knees. “But, you know what they say about wild things.”

You huff with indignance, but humor him, because you’re curious in spite of yourself. “I don’t know. What do they say?”

“You shouldn’t show them kindness,” he whispers, so close to your ear that you can feel his breath on your neck. “They’ll keep coming back for more.”

You startle, standing up with a noisy splash of water as you yank the last of the laundry from the creek. There’s a flush under your bodice that you don’t like, sticking to the coin that’s going hot against your skin as you think about it even being there. That it was produced by his hand. The more you think about it, the more you imagine it as an extension of his body, touching you just beneath your breast. 

Eddie snickers to himself as you hurriedly, shakily, smack the last piece of laundry into the basket with the rest, and pick up the washboard from the water. With a frustrated huff, you stand and rest the basket of laundry on your hip. You gaze out across the creek, and then away towards the trees, and finally, when you’re sure you can form words, you turn back to him. 

“Goodbye, Mr. Munson,” you say stiffly, so that you don’t trip over your own tongue. It comes out icily as a result, and you turn away to hide the way that you blush.

“Until we meet again.” Eddie presses his lips together, as though he’s stifling a laugh. Then he says, in a slightly bossy tone, “Take care of that arm for me, princess. Don’t want you getting any more beat up.”

You whirl around to ask him to repeat that– what the hell did you just say?– but when you do, the man is already gone. Along with any trace of his presence by the creekside. 

Except, the coin he bought your dream with still grows warm against the heat of your skin, under your bodice. 

[suzdin]

One Day

Tim Rockford x f!sex worker reader

Summary: You’re Detective Rockford’s favorite girl at the local brothel.

Warnings: established relationship, terms of endearment are used a few times (precious, baby, sweetheart), sex work, possibly derogatory term of sex workers used (whore), oral / fingering (f receiving), nipple play, cop!Tim, dom!Tim, soft!Tim, possessive!Tim, sweat kink, soft belly appreciation, spanking, rough sex (consensual), nipping, handcuff play, bondage, some fluff if you squint hard enough, unprotected p in v and a resulting creampie, pining for more, brief mentions of homicide, poverty, and general cop knowledge and jargon

Word Count: 3,600+

Tags: @ohheypedrito @kateispunk @kellybelly1978 @berryispunk @natdeandar @morallyinept @chronically-ghosted @daddy-dins-girl @guelyury @heavennumber2

It’s another sticky, muggy night in the city of Houston, Tim’s antiperspirant failing miserably as he tries in vain to dry the large semicircles of sweat under his arms, angling the air conditioning vents toward his pits in the hopes it will do the trick.

He grumbles when it’s ineffective, partially because of his thin patience, knowing he’ll have to get his shirt dry cleaned tomorrow before the stains can set in, and partially because he isn’t sure why he chose a white button up instead of something lighter and cooler. Not that it would help the sweat problem much in this weather, but maybe it would make it less obvious.

Although his salary is much better here than in the sleepy New England town he came from, he would move back in heartbeat if not for you. The heat and big city life were not well suited to a man such as himself.

He navigates the darkened streets in one of the many derelict neighborhoods surrounding downtown, the route as familiar to him as the lines on his hand, his need to see you heightened more than usual due to a recent string of homicides that has him on edge and the whole precinct in a tizzy. He hopes you aren’t occupied already, but he’ll wait if he needs to, like he always does.

He pulls the unmarked cruiser into the driveway of a rundown, two story Victorian just south of the 610 Loop, cutting the engine, sucking in a deep breath as he stares at the faint glow in a few of the ornate windows.

He hastily shoves open the door and climbs out, stuffing his keys and wallet in his pockets, his shoes crunching quietly on the gravel path as he makes his way toward the wraparound porch, decorated in various potted flora, tables, chairs, and even a porch swing.

He loves to imagine sitting out here with you in the mornings, drinking coffee and watching the sun crest over the city skyline.

One day, he tells himself. One day.

He reaches the front door, raising his fist to knock, but it flies open with a rush of cold air before he has a chance, his arm hanging limply in the air as his eyes lock with one of the house madams.

Sylvia, a lovely Latina woman whom he would guesstimate is around his age, beckons him inside, the cool air conditioning striking his face a welcome reprieve from the oppressive heat.

“Detective Rockford,” Sylvia purrs. “Good to see you again. It’s been several weeks. I almost forgot what you looked like.”

Tim nods, his brow furrowed, clearly not amused by the teasing cadence in her voice.

The lobby is quiet and mostly empty, two of the girls sitting on a bench near the window and gossiping about something or other as they share a package of cookies, wrapped in thin lace robes that leave nothing to the imagination. They wave and smile at Tim, a familiar face to most of them.

“Been busy,” he replies gruffly, handing Sylvia his wallet to hold as collateral. “Is she available?”

“She is,” Sylvia says, a gentle smirk gracing her ruby lips. “While it’s been busy on your end, it’s been slow for us. She misses you.”

He frowns, diverting his attention to the dusty antique carpet, grinding his jaw.

“Yeah,” he grumbles. “Miss her too.”

Sylvia smiles, leaning against the wall as she crosses her arms.

“Would you like a drink?” she asks.

She always asks, and he always declines. “No, thank you,” he replies.

Sylvia hums and purses her lips, cocking her head toward the back of the house.

“She’s in her room. You know where to go.”

—

The smell of incense perfumes the air as Tim draws nearer to your room, the faint glow of lamplight spilling into the corridor from your open doorway.

He reaches your room, his dark slacks already tight as he observes you silently, taking in and appreciating how beautiful you look like this, lost in your thoughts.

You’re lying on your stomach, naked aside from a black lace thong, your feet swinging in the air as you hum a familiar tune, scribbling something in a notebook.

It takes him a moment to realize you have earbuds in, which is why you haven’t acknowledged him yet. He smirks to himself, gently rapping his knuckles against the open door as he murmurs your name.

You yelp, jumping to your knees on the edge of the mattress when you’re caught off guard, having been in your own little world, your eyes wide and wild for a moment before reality sinks in, a breath of relief and joy escaping your lungs.

You rip the earbuds out of your ears, not even bothering to put them in their case as you bounce giddily off the bed, running to greet Tim, practically leaping into his arms.

“Hey, baby,” he croons as he lifts you up, your legs circling his waist, his fingers digging into your backside. “Didn’t mean to scare you, but I’m glad to see you have catlike reflexes in case there ever is a real threat,” he teases, hearing the smile in his voice, even though you can’t currently see his face because you’re too busy planting kisses along his neck and jaw.

You giggle-snort and you inhale his scent, a much needed comfort. He kicks the door closed and embraces you tightly, walking you backwards in his arms and plopping you onto the bed, climbing over you, caging you against the mattress with long, heavy limbs.

“What were you listening to, precious?” he asks, his voice a low rumble in his throat as he begins kissing and worshipping your bare breasts, his tongue deftly circling each nipple, alternating between the two.

“Smashing Pumpkins,” you reply, whimpering as he takes a stiff peak into his mouth, pulling it gently between his teeth before popping off with a wet smack of his lips.

“Mm,” he hums, grinding his erection into you. “Thought that tune sounded familiar.”

He wraps you in his arms, his weight heavy and comforting on top of you, his eyes boring into yours.

“I missed you,” you say, your voice hardly above a whisper.

“Missed you too, precious,” he rumbles, nuzzling your neck, mustache tickling your skin. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you say, your breath catching when he grinds against you again, your arousal already soaking clear through the lace.

You press your nose to the perspiration darkening his shirt, inhaling deeply, the smell both a comfort and an aphrodisiac, making you tingle in all the right places.

“You smell so good,” you mumble against his shoulder.

“I’m sweating like a goddamn whore in church. I’m not suited to this Texas weather,” he grunts in disagreement.

“Hey, hey, hey, mind your tongue. You may not believe this, but you’re actually talking to a whore right now,” you tease with a grin.

“And besides,” you add, poking him in the ribs, “I’m rather fond of your sweat.”

He groans in mock annoyance with a low chuckle, shaking his head as he grabs your wrists and pins them above your head.

“What would you like tonight, Detective?” you purr, both legs hooping around his waist.

“Mmm,” he grunts, pressing his hips against yours, rolling them forward at an agonizingly slow pace. “I have an idea…” he says. “But only if you’re up for it.”

“With you, I’m up for anything.”

One corner of his mustache curls into a wry smirk, his eyes flashing with lust.

“Well then,” he says, sitting up to shrug his leather harness off, his hands moving to unbutton his shirt. “Take your panties off, sweetheart.”

You don’t waste a single second, shimmying them down your legs, dangling the black lace from your foot, extending it toward him.

He takes the scant fabric from you, bringing it to his nostrils and inhaling deeply, his pupils dilating with lust.

“You smell so fucking pretty,” he growls, putting them to the side with his harness. “Spread your legs for me.”

Your legs part, your folds blooming open for his hungry gaze, glistening with slick.

“So. Fucking. Beautiful,” he whispers as he climbs onto the bed, pushing your legs further apart, positioning his broad shoulders in between.

You giggle, your skin warming as you look down at him, his lips hovering inches from your core.

“I thought you wanted to try something different this time,” you say with a playful grin.

“Mm,” he rumbles low in his chest, planting kisses along the soft inner flesh of your thighs. “I do. But I want to make you come on my tongue first,” he explains, his dark brown eyes meeting yours over the ridge of your mound.

Your hips flex involuntarily closer to his mouth, a small whimper escaping. He’s one of very few clients who actually cares about your pleasure, and the only one who sees you as a person rather than a toy for fast and easy gratification.

With a devious grin, his face dips between your legs, his fingers spreading your folds as he drags the flat of his tongue agonizingly slow up your seam, entrance to clit.

He pauses at the pert bud, circling it slowly before lifting your hips, slinging your legs over his shoulders to grant him better passage to your sopping wet heat.

With a soft groan, his tongue plunges into your core, a deep hum in the back of his throat as he tastes your essence.

“Always so fucking sweet for me,” he murmurs against your flesh, lavishing a few more slow, steady swipes up your seam, making your hips twitch.

He brings one arm up to bar across your pelvis, holding you in place as his attention shifts to your clit, his lips suctioning around the sensitive bud while he sinks two fingers with the opposite hand into your silken tunnel, slowly pumping them in and out.

You mewl as he curls them slightly in a ‘come hither’ motion, brushing against the sensitive patch of nerves, his lips steadily sucking and tongue swirling your engorged clit.

As the onslaught continues, your fingers tangle in his dark, graying curls, your hips sputtering with the exertion of trying to move despite being pinned down, a satisfied hum vibrating against your core as he keeps you from wriggling beneath him.

“Tim—“ you whine as he presses your body more firmly into the mattress, his fingers gradually speeding up. He’s been fine tuned to your body for a while, and he can feel you how close you are.

“Fuck… Tim…” you whine again, your heels digging into his back as you come hard and fast, your walls fluttering and tightening around his fingers.

He groans against your sex as you come, catching every last drop of you on his tongue, the vibrations only intensifying your release as he works you through it. His eyes lift to see you, watching you fall apart for him.

He pulls away when he’s satisfied that you’re completely done, his mustache and chin glistening with evidence of your pleasure, a thin, shiny string of come still connecting you to his fingertips briefly.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, placing reverent kisses along your inner thighs, his dick straining painfully hard against his zipper.

“What now, Detective?” you ask softly, mussing his curly strands with your fingers.

He grins up at you, dark brown eyes somehow becoming impossibly darker as he crawls off the edge of the bed and hovers above you, liberating his upper half of the sweat-stained undershirt he wears beneath the button up.

You love to marvel at his thick, toned biceps, but even more than that, you love the slight, soft paunch of his lower belly, a swathe of dark curls disappearing below the waistband of his boxer-briefs as he kicks the slacks aside.

“Stop staring at my belly,” he scolds with a smirk, his underwear soon joining the discarded slacks, heavy, uncut cock rigid and weeping for you as he slowly begins to pump himself.

“I like your belly,” you tell him with an affectionate pout, swiping two of your fingers along your seam as your gaze lingers on his pistoning fist.

“First my sweat, now my belly. Guess I should cut back on all those donuts, huh?” he remarks playfully in a self-deprecating tone, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

You giggle, propping yourself up on your elbows as you peer up at him.

“Don’t. Makes a good pillow,” you say with a soft smile, biting your lower lip, causing his cock to twitch in his hand.

“Stand up,” he tells you lowly in a sudden commanding tone that makes your walls clench, no hesitation whatsoever as you immediately comply.

“Yes sir,” you hum, eliciting a low growl from him.

“Turn around. Hands on your head,” he commands now, turning on his cop voice as he steps behind you. You attempt to turn your head to watch him over your shoulder, only to have him shove it forward forcefully.

“Eyes front,” he growls. “And hands on your head like I told you.”

You don’t dare dawdle a second time, gasping softly as you bring your hands to the back of your head, interlocking your fingers.

You hear a metallic jingle at your six and it doesn’t take you long to realize what’s happening.

You and Tim have used cuffs before, sure. The pink fuzzy ones that you keep in your top drawer, the ones he often referred to as a joke when they didn’t tighten to his liking and popped open far too easily. But these? You can already tell these are the real deal.

You can’t help but wonder where he had them hidden, but perhaps you weren’t meant to know.

He grabs each wrist one at a time, pulling one arm behind your back and then the other, placing each cuff around your wrist and tightening them until the cool steel is biting into your flesh, a far cry from the novelty ones you’ve used before.

You had established safe words long ago, and he had your list of do’s and don’t’s committed to memory, but he still checks in with you the second they’re tightened, leaning forward to find your gaze, silently confirming with your eyes that you’re okay.

One corner of his upper lip curves slightly into an almost imperceptible smirk when you meet his visage with a warm smile.

“I said eyes front,” he chides, shoving your head forward again, making your back arch with a low whimper.

“We’re bringing you down to the station for questioning,” he states, your name a soft purr on his tongue as he begins Mirandizing you, the speech so deeply ingrained in his memory he could recite it word for word in his sleep.

You play into the fantasy, beginning to fight against the brute hold he has, wrists twisting in the cuffs.

“I’m innocent, Officer Rockford, I swear! I had to kill Gene! He had it coming!” you say, adding the extra dramatics simply because you can.

You have no idea who Gene is, a name you pulled entirely out of thin air, but it seems to stir Tim up, which is exactly what you wanted it to do. He hated even hearing other men’s names on your lips, real or fictional alike.

He places the heel of his palm between your shoulder blades and forces you face down, a moan escaping your lungs as you continue to resist, the loud ringing of skin harshly meeting skin echoing in the small room as he abruptly smacks your ass hard in retaliation.

“‘Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law’,” he reiterates, hearing the blade of agitation in his voice, leaning over you so the thick head of his cock grinds painfully against the cheek he just slapped. “Don’t think this isn’t going on your record, sweetheart.”

You tremor, your skin heating. ‘Precious’ is what he called you during moments of affection and, dare you say, love?, but ‘sweetheart’… well, that was a term of endearment reserved only for times like these, and it never failed to turn you on more.

You moan, writhing more fervently in his grip, the blunt head of his cock pushing even harder against the soft flesh of your smarting backside.

“My lawyer will be hearing about this! Police brutality! Abuse of power!” you cry out, playing it up more than necessary, but it’s apparent he likes it.

“Fuck your lawyer,” he snarls, smacking the same cheek a second time, making you yelp. “We have sufficient evidence to bring you in, and now a confession. You’re going away for a long time, sweetheart.”

Before you can counter, he leans downs, broad chest pinning you beneath him, his plush lips ghosting the shell of your ear.

“Maybe we can work something out. Off the books,” he purrs, pulling your earlobe between his teeth and tugging. “We could get you off on an insanity or self defense plea.”

Your frantic motions still, the only movement the slow ascent and descent of your rib cage.

“How do we do that, Officer Rockford?” you ask in the most pathetic, submissive tone you can muster. He smirks above you, but you don’t see it.

“By getting me off,” he croons, teasing your slick folds with his cock, your tunnel instinctively tightening.

Without ample warning, he lines himself up and plunges himself deep inside of you, his pelvis meeting yours in a single, brutal thrust, making you keen as your fingers and toes curl in tandem.

You like it rough, a fact he’s well aware of.

“That’s my girl. You take my cock so well,” he praises, trying not to dwell too much on the idea that it’s literally your job to take cock well, the possessiveness he tries to hide igniting within him.

The ridge of his nose creases, his teeth bared through a hiss as he slowly begins fucking in and out of you, wide fingers digging a bruising grip into your hips.

“You are mine, aren’t you? Only mine,” he grunts, pulling almost all the way out only to slam back in again.

“Yes, Tim,” you whine, every harsh slam of his hips against yours making you keen and gasp. “Only yours.”

“Repeat it,” he commands, yanking back on your bound wrists so hard that you’re partially suspended above the mattress, making you cry out in a way that gives him pause until you ensure him visually that you’re still okay.

“I’m yours, Tim. Only yours,” you repeat through heady breaths, your lower lip dangling in ecstasy as the speed and intensity of his thrusts gradually increases.

It wasn’t the first and certainly wouldn’t be the last time clients would ask you to profess the same words to them, with varying iterations, but Tim was the only one you ever meant it with. Only for him. Only his.

“That’s my good girl,” Tim hums reverently, his face tensing and contorting above you, and although you’re faced away from him, you know by his rhythm and vocal changes that he’s getting close.

“Gonna… paint those pretty walls with my cum,” he pants, one hand still clutching your wrists, the other reaching around to slowly circle your clit.

“Come on my cock, precious,” he urges, hissing as he attempts to maintain control. “Come for me.”

It only takes a few more well placed strokes between his cock and his fingers, working you to a second, more intense orgasm than the first, his name a prayer flowing from your tongue as your tunnel practically strangles his thick length, spurring his own intense release mere moments later.

Under normal circumstances, you required every client to wear protection, no exceptions. You never let your clients come in you — either in your womb or mouth — only ever a condom or on your skin, and anyone who attempted otherwise would be summarily barred from future services.

But Tim, like everything else involving him, was the one and only exception, the hot jets of spend shooting against your g-spot heightening your orgasm as you milk his balls of every last drop.

With a final, breathy groan and shiver, Tim collapses with a sigh on top of you.

—

You both lie naked on your bed, halfway on top of his chest with your arms and legs wrapped around as his warm, heavy hands massage your bruised wrists in slow, tender circles.

You’re wide awake but neither of you is speaking, basking in each other’s post-coital afterglow, finding peace in simply listening to the other’s breaths and heartbeats in the stifling silence of the room.

He knows you won’t leave the brothel, not anytime soon, too worried about assisting the madams in protecting the younger, more naive and impressionable girls from succumbing to harm at the hands of clients or hostile outsiders while still being able to pay off your debts, fiscally or otherwise.

Still, it doesn’t prevent him from dreaming of a life with you. Waking up next to you every morning or falling asleep inside you every night, curled up in his arms. Give you a life you won’t allow yourself to have, at least not right now.

He continues circling your soft wrists with his thumbs, his brow knitting with concern.

“I was too rough this time, wasn’t I?” he asks you quietly, the remorse in his tone palpable. The concern he has for your wellbeing makes your heart clench and your throat constrict.

“No,” you answer with a soft giggle. “It was perfect.”

He mirrors your giggle with a deep, throaty chuckle, pulling you all the way on top of him, arms encasing you as he buries his face against your neck.

One day, he thinks to himself. One day.

[screeching-bunny]

Part 2 on the yandere General hcs

Yandere! General pt.2

Warnings: Obsessive Behavior, Yandere Thoughts, Bad Writing, Stalking, Possessive Behavior, Reader is Referred as ‘You’

Pt. 1

Yandere! General is a battle-hardened leader with a reputation for being unyielding and fierce. An unapproachable force with a bloodthirsty aura present in his mannerism. So it’s no surprise that he’s out of place in the king’s banquet filled with joyous laughter and people waltzing onto the dance floor.

He feels repulsed by just being there, who cares if the royal family personally invited him, he should have stayed home. There were just too many people with ulterior motives for approaching and it didn’t help that the princess had a crush on him. God how he hated her, she just never seemed to want to leave him alone. She is a selfish little brat who whines all the time and always seems to balance others for her atrocious actions. “Please stay the night with me, I promise I’ll make it worthwhile? I’ve just missed seeing your face, I want to spend more time with you.” Yep, he really wished he stayed at home today.

Deciding that engaging in conversation with the princess was not worth it, he simply just ignored her and made his way outside to the royal garden. There, he sees a figure dancing in the moonlight. The way you moved had him transfixed and in a daze. He silently stares at them and waits for them to finish their performance. This dancer is actually you. Now the question arises, why are you dancing and in the royal garden no less? Well the answer to that question is quite complicated, actually.

Your father is a low leveled noble in the aristocratic society. Who is power hungry and strives to raise their social standing no matter what. Everyone in your family hates you and rarely acknowledges you. The reason for this is because your father cheated on his wife with a lowly maid working in his manor and conceived you. His wife, now your stepmother, was enraged by this and ended up murdering your biological mother. She was, however, never caught or tried. The only reason why she kept you around was because she thought that you would be useful for future purposes. Your family never really paid much attention to you and you have an older half sister who absolutely despises you. She treats you as if you were a dog or some common slave.

Your life was extremely miserable but the only thing that seemed to bring you happiness was dancing. You first learned to dance when you were eight. When one day you decide to sneak out of your father's manor and go visit town. Luckily for you, it was during that time that a festival was being held and you couldn’t take your eyes off of the dancers and secretly copied their moves. It wasn’t until one of them noticed you and asked if you would like to join them. Ever since then, you have been secretly going to town to learn and improve your dancing skills. It’s not like your family even cared that you were gone, heck they didn’t even notice.

Many years have passed and your love and passion for dance is still the same. This tranquility, however, did not last for long because the moment you turned eighteen your parents agreed to sell you off to be engaged to a rich but very old nobleman. No amount of begging and pleading could convince your parents to change their minds. It was always met with the same response of “Don’t you know we need the money? Why are you being so selfish?!?! How else could we raise our social status, don’t you know your sister needs this in order to have a chance with the crowned prince?!?! Just be lucky that you're alive and that we feed you!” You have never been more depressed. You’ve always dreamed of marrying for true love, you didn’t want things to end up this way.

The news of your engagement broke in high society which had helped boost your family's prestige. You had briefly met your soon to be husband and had to force yourself to not cry. After the meeting, your father severely scolded you and it was decided that the next time the two of you would meet, would be on your wedding day. Due to your family’s higher social status you were all invited to the royal banquet that was created to celebrate the country’s tremendous victory in the four year war. You’ve heard rumors about it and how it was mostly won due to the general who easily sunk ten battleships in one day.

The moment that you stepped foot into that room, you immediately felt as if you did not belong. You were so out of place and everything was just so suffocating for you. You had to go outside and take a breath of fresh air. When you made your way outside you noticed a beautiful path filled with followers and decided to follow it. There you saw a beautiful flower garden, none like you’ve ever seen before. Being there just felt so peaceful and relaxing. You couldn’t help but just live the moment and dance in the moonlit sky. During that time, everything just felt so right in the world.

After you finished your performance, someone coughed in order to get your attention. Looking to the right, your heart almost shot due to fear, it was Yandere! General. He starts to compliment your dancing and the way you shined brighter than any of the stars that night. You both chat for a few moments when he just randomly asks out of nowhere, if you wanted to marry him! You honestly could not believe this man, why would you want to marry someone you just met. Without batting an eye you quickly reject the offer and before he could say anything, one of his men went to inform him that the king wanted to speak with him. Clicking his tongue in annoyance he agrees to go and tells you that he’ll be back.

Watching him leave, you swiftly make your way to exit the garden and decide to hide out in one of the restrooms. When Yandere! General gets back and immediately tries to find you but to no avail because you successfully manage to avoid him and leave undetected. This does not deter him because he has been there to find you and orders his men to help his search. By the time that the sun starts to rise he learns almost everything about you. Your age, your family, and your engagement.

That same morning Yandere! General makes his way towards your house and demands for your hand in marriage. Your parents are unsure about what to say, on one hand you being married to the general would bring many benefits but, on the other, they already agreed to you being married to the old nobleman. Your father tells him about your engagement and Yandere! General responds calmly with, “Don't worry, I’ll handle it.” In the afternoon he mails the head of your fiancé to your parents. Welp problem solved, guess you’ll just have to marry him.

Running away in this situation is useless, the only thing that you can do is to just accept your fate. With a heavy heart, you interact with him everyday getting to know your future husband.

There were of course many protests from the upper class of society. How could someone like him marry a person of lower status? It just wasn’t right. These complaints mainly came from the princess who was the most vocal about it. She loved him so much how he could do this to her. She tried to stop the wedding of herself but Yandere! General threatened to kill her. When that didn’t work he told the royal family directly that if she tries to interfere any longer, then he won’t hesitate to rebel against the royal family. After that, all attempts were stopped.

Your wedding day is very grand, there is not one speck of dust to be seen anywhere. Everything seemed so perfect, with the best of items that only money could buy. There, in one of the rooms stood you, putting on your wedding outfit with many maids swarming you like a pack of bees. As you walk to the altar you are greeted with the smiling face of your fiancé. It felt like such a blur to you, that you could hardly even comprehend what was going on. It was as if some sucked all the air out of you.

“Do you take Yandere! General to be your lawful husband?”

“… I do.”

Pt.3

[melanieph321]

heyy,

Coyou do Kenan Yildiz x reader being teen parents?

Love this! ❤️

SEVEN DAYS OF REQUESTS 3.0

(DAY 5)

Kenan Yildiz x Reader - Only For One Day

Enjoy!

Your son turned five today. As a single mother, you always feard inadequacy. You feard not being enough or doing enough to keep your only child happy. And today was one of those days.

Despite being surrounded by friends and family, with a cake to feed a whole village, your son, Romeo, couldn't be more miserable on his birthday.

"Time to make a wish." Your mom said, having lit the last birthday candle. The cake was set on the table before your son, who regarded it with furrowed brows.

"Go on baby, blow out the candles and make a wish." You encouraged.

His frown deepend, followed by a shake of his head. "I want daddy to help me blow them out."

Your heart dropped.

"Great, I guess that means no cake for us."

"Dad, please." You sighed and knelt down before your son's chair. "Baby, we've talked about this, haven't we?" Daddy couldn't make it today because of his very important job. But he sent you some really nice gifts, didn't he?"

"I don't want gifts, I want daddy!"

It was heartbreaking to see Romeo storm up to his room, abandoning his own birthday celebrations. You were quickly consoled by your family, all of them telling you that you weren't the one to blame. However, it didn't feel fair to blame it all on Kenan. No matter how hard you tried, the two of you just couldn't make the relationship work. The endless bickering brought out the worst in both of you, eventually leaving your son to grow up in a split home, confused as to why his parents never celebrated his birthday together.

You went to bed late that night, retreating to your room after checking on Romeo, who lay fast asleep in his bed. There, seated on the edge of your bed, you made the tough decision to put your pride aside and call your ex-boyfriend.

"Y/N?"

The phone rang for less than a beat before Kenan's sharp voice sparked through the phone. "Is everything alright? How is Romeo?" He asked, with slight distress considering the late hour of which you decided to call him.

"Romeo is fine." You said, to which Kenan sighed in relief.

"Oh, okay. Good. How was the birthday party? Did he like the things I sent him?"

"Yeah, about that...." You sat with the phone pressed to your ear, imagining Kenan in whatever place in the world he may be. You once made it clear to him that you were to have sole custody of your son. Leaving Kenan to live the life he always dreamt of living, the life of a professional football player. However, as the father of your son, he was free to see Romeo whenever you saw fit. Hopefully, tomorrow was one of those days.

"What? Did something happen at the party?" He asked.

"Yes, Romeo refused to blow out the candles on his birthday cake unless you were there to help him."

"I see."

"Yeah, he was really upset." You said, twisting the corners of your bed sheets.

"You know...." Kenan said, reviving the hopeful beating of your heart. "I'm not too far away. Juventus is playing Turin this weekend, so I'm actually in town tomorrow if you want me to...."

"I want you to." You nodded eagerly, although Kenan wouldn't possible know.

"Great. I'll see you tomorrow then."

"Tomorrow." You shirrped, fast to hang up the phone before regretting ever making the call in the first place. Nevertheless, it was done. Your son was getting the birthday he deserved.

The next day you were a nervous wreck, forcing yourself to put on a brave face as you greeted Kenan at the door.

"Hey, Kenan," you said, trying to sound casual. "Thanks for coming."

"Of course. Wouldn't miss it for the world." Kenan handed you a gift for Romeo. Another one, you thought.

"Thanks again for inviting me," he said, his voice low and smooth.

Your heart skipped a beat as you looked into his eyes. You could see the old spark there, the one that had once made you fall in love with him. However, you pushed those feelings aside, focusing on your son.

Romeo was running around the living room with his cousins, laughing and having the time of his life. Your family had thankfully agreed to a redo of yesterday's celebrations and did not judge your decision to invite Kenan this time around.

As the celebrations went on, you and Kenan found yourselves drawn to each other, not helping to exchange a few pleasantries, and before long, you were laughing and joking again, just like old times. But as the night wore on, you began to feel a pang of sadness. You knew that this was just a temporary reprieve, that the old feelings you had for Kenan would eventually fade, and the two of you would be back to where you were now. Separated. Still, you couldn't help but enjoy the moment to savor the happiness that Kenan brought to your son. He was undoubtedly a great dad.

As the celebrations came to an end, you hugged Romeo tightly, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. "Thank you for coming, Kenan," you said, voice choked with emotion.

"No, thank you," he replied, his voice just as soft. "For giving me the best gift I could ever ask for." He regarded the two you with loving eyes. You smiled, knowing that this was exactly what Romeo needed - to see his parents getting along, if only for one day.

[steddiewithachance]

"Likewise"

(Steve shows up to Wayne and Eddie's house with all of his belongings on his back and it makes Eddie remember when he was in the same position)

Dedicated to my lovely and wonderful AND awesome friend, Birdie

Read on ao3 here

*

Eddie and Wayne have always been pretty inseparable, since Eddie was 11 and made a trek across Indiana to find him. But after all the Vecna shit happened, after the manhunt and the three week hospital visit, Wayne had been especially clingy. Wayne's version of being clingy is constantly asking Eddie to do mundane things with him, it's intense love and worry and near loss disguised as casual invitations.

Eddie is endeared by it even though he'll play his part: roll his eyes and act annoyed like it's a chore.

This afternoon Wayne had knocked on Eddie's door and asked "Hey Eds wanna come out'n watch the game with me?"

And Eddie flung open the door with a huge sarcastic grin. "Me? A sports ball match TV game? You know I wouldn't miss it for the world, Uncle Wayne!" Wayne scoffed and Eddie grabbed his acoustic guitar so that he could entertain himself while he kept Wayne company in the living room.

Which is where they are now. Eddie is spread across the couch. He's aimlessly moving his fingers around the fretboard until he finds a chord that sounds nice while a sports announcer drones on in the background. Sometimes Eddie will look up to find Wayne in his old recliner watching him instead of the game. Eddie doesn't say anything, just gives him a reassuring smile.

It's raining kind of hard today, which normally would be stressful. Eddie and Wayne would be running around the house with buckets trying to catch water from all the new places the rain was leaking in. But with their shiny new government gifted place, they could sit back and enjoy the weather.

Eddie violently startles when someone knocks on the door. He sets his guitar to the side and Wayne turns the TV volume down. "Who is it?" Eddie calls out while walking towards the door.

"Steve." He hears in response.

When Eddie opens the door he's confronted with a very distraught-looking boyfriend. He looks like he's been crying, he has two dufflebags and a backpack, and he's soaking wet from the rain. Eddie immediately steps back and lets him in.

"Sweetheart, what's going on?" Eddie asks closing the door behind them even though he has a pretty good idea what the bags mean. Steve sniffles and lets his stuff fall to the floor. He startles when he realizes Wayne is in the room too. He's quiet for a few moments, maybe composing himself, Eddie thinks. Always trying to be brave and strong even when he doesn't have to, this one.

"Can I sleep over tonight?" Steve asks like it's taking a lot of effort to do so, even if he's slept over a dozen times already. "My parents... I need a place to stay and Robin's out of town and I felt kinda weird letting any of the kids see me like this" Steve wipes his nose but his sleeve is just as wet and he looks miserable, so Eddie reaches out and wipes Steve's nose with his own sleeve.

"I'm gross, sorry" Steve apologizes.

"Of course you can stay here, Stevie, is that even a question? Let's get you something dry to wear-" Eddie tells him, when he's suddenly and overwhelmingly hit with the dreamy feeling of deja vu. He looks back at Wayne wondering if he's thinking the same thing. Wayne's meets his gaze and his mouth twitches into a half smile.

Eddie grabs Steve's stuff and pulls him into his bedroom. After he sets everything down, he gently runs his hands up under Steve's shirt, until it's all bunched up right under his chin. Eddie pulls the wet fabric over his shoulders and off his arms. Eddie leans forward and plants kisses on each of Steve's perfectly freckled shoulders.

Once Steve is all changed and sat on the foot of the bed, Eddie stands over him and wraps a blanket over his head and shoulders like a little burrito. He looks adorable like this, all cozy.

"You want to talk about what happened, or not yet?" Eddie whispers, to keep the energy in the room gentle and light. Steve shakes his head without thinking and looks up at him for reassurance. Eddie leans down to plant a soft kiss on his lips. "That's okay, Babylove. You know you gave me crazy deja vu walking through that door with your duffle bags in the rain?" Eddie places his hands on either side of Steve's blanketed head.

"When I came to live with Wayne it was raining too. I always thought rain was a bad omen, you know? But then in english class one year, we talked about how in literature, rain is like symbolic of change and new beginnings. And I thought, 'yeah actually that makes a lot of sense'." Eddie speaks quietly while Steve looks up at him, listening. "Do you want to hear the story of how I met Wayne?"

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

1977

When Eddie steps out of the school building he sees that the cloudy sky has gotten darker since recess. That's a bad omen, he thinks to himself, but hears it in his dad's southern drawl.

He makes his way towards the front school gates, twisting his backpack strings together, a nervous habit. A swarm of children, mostly younger than him, begin to unlock their bikes from where they're chained and wheel them towards the street. Eddie pushes his way through the crowd to do the same.

He feels kind of sick grabbing the handlebars of a bike he knows full well shouldn't belong to him. He should have known that when he asked his dad for a bike it would have been stolen from some other poor kid. He feels terrible thinking about the night his dad brought it home and put a sticker over where another kid's name was carved into the paint. He shakes his head and rides over to the tree where he promised to meet his best friend, Daniel.

Daniel's already there waiting for him, talking loudly to some kid from the other sixth-grade class.

"See you Monday!" Daniel yells out as the kid hops on his bike and takes off down the street. Daniel has a smile on his face, always has been better at making friends than Eddie. He's a sweet kid, but kind of naïve.

"Hey," Eddie mutters propping his bike against the tree. Daniel turns towards him and his eyes immediately catch on Eddies forehead.

"I still can't get used to you without hair. It's weird." Daniel says petting Eddie's buzzed head. "I kinda think it looked better before."

"Yeah yeah, I already told you my dad made me." Eddie swats his hand away. "Did you ask your brother? About driving me to Hawkins?"

"Oh yeah... he said it's too far. Sorry." Daniel barely looks regretful. Eddie's heart drops.

"What?! But did you tell him I could give him money and weed?" Eddie's starting to panic. If Daniel's older brother Paul, who just got his license wouldn't drive him to Hawkins, he was gonna have to think of a new plan, and fast.

"Oh no I forgot that part, oops. Well he's picking me up in 10 minutes, just ask him yourself." Daniel complains, and Eddie doesn't blame him for not taking it seriously. Daniel doesn't understand the urgency of the situation, Eddie hasn't really told anyone why he needs to get to Hawkins so badly.

Eventually Paul pulls up in front of them, hitting the curb a little which just screams new driver and Eddie grimaces. Beggars can't be choosers, he supposes. He follows Daniel to the car. The kid gracelessly plops into the passenger seat and Eddie leans down to talk to his brother through the open door.

Paul has long blonde hair that makes Eddie miss his own hair desperately and a scar on his lip that he apparently got while skiing one winter. As always, he looks handsome, Eddie admits to himself and tries not to blush. He shakes the thought.

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

"Was he more handsome than me?" Steve interrupts Eddie recounting the story. He's pouting.

"Steve," Eddie exhales exasperatedly, "Not even close. Let me finish the story though."

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

"Hi Paul."

"Hey kid."

Eddie's face twists up, doesn't want Paul to think of him like a kid.

"Look Paul, I really need your help. I need to see my uncle and I would really be grateful if you could drive me." And before Paul can object Eddie adds, "I have money and weed that I can give you in exchange."

Paul clearly considers this. "How much?"

"How much weed? Uh I dunno a baggie?" Eddie puts his fingers up to demonstrate how much weed he remembers there being in the bag.

"No no, how much money?" Paul chuckles fondly. Meanwhile Daniel is ping ponging his head back and forth between his brother and Eddie.

"I have like forty bucks. I know it's not a ton, and it's a far drive, but this is really important." Eddie pleads. Paul stares out the windshield for a few moments.

"And you wanted to go tonight?" He asks Eddie who nods fervently. "When would you need a ride back?"

And Eddie looks at Daniel who seems bored by the whole ordeal, who is picking at the netting on his backpack. Eddie knows that if this plan works out, he won't be coming back at all. But Daniel's been good to him and Eddie hates disappointing people, so he does what his father taught him to do: he lies.

"I'm sure my uncle will drive me back, s'all good." And Paul nods his head.

"Okay kid. Let me drop Daniel home and I'll come pick you up from your place." And Eddie's heart skyrockets. Okay shit, he's actually doing this.

"Thank you! Thank's Paul. That's cool of you. Thank you." Eddie smiles big, shows all his teeth even though he's still missing a few. Paul nods and Daniel reaches forward to close the door when Eddie realizes this might be the last time he sees his best friend.

"Wait!" Eddie interrupts and grabs the door.

Paul and Daniel look at him worriedly. "Can- can I have a hug before you go?" Eddie asks Daniel shakily. He feels his throat tighten and his eyes go a little blurry. Fuck! He's always so emotional, despite Al's best efforts to chastise the sensitivity out of him.

"I guess." Daniel says, weirded out by Eddie's sudden change of tone. He unbuckles his seat belt and holds his arms out. Eddie fiercely tugs him in and realizes that Daniel can probably feel him shaking now. "But I'll see you Monday right?"

Eddie takes a deep breath, tries to will his voice to come out strong. He pulls back giving Daniel a reassuring smile and a pat on the shoulder. "Yeah man, see you. And see you tonight Paul. Thanks again." And instead of looking Daniel in the eyes again he turns away and grabs "his" bike.

*

Eddie's waiting outside with his bags and a map with directions that he carefully planned out a few nights ago. He's praying to any and all gods that his dad doesn't make it home before Paul get's there. Every time he sees a car turn onto the street he panics and prepares to run.

Despite the bad weather, and Eddie's paranoia, Paul pulls up first and Eddie lets out a huge sigh of relief. Eddie smiles at him and puts his bags in the back seat. The teen looks at him with soft eyes, clearly not as gullible as his kid brother. Knows what's really happening.

"Do you have everything?" Paul asks when Eddie sits in the passenger seat and hands over two twenties and a little bag of weed he stole from his dad's dresser. Eddie nods. "Are you absolutely sure?"

Eddie thinks it would be nice to have a brother like Paul. Never got to know him too well, but he seems to care.

"Yeah man, double and triple checked." Eddie looks into the rear view mirror just in time to see his dad's black pickup truck round the corner. He sinks into the seat. "Shit man, go! Drive!"

Paul startles into action and hits the gas. It doesn't seem like Al notices because he pulls into the parking garage speeding recklessly like he always does. When they're a few streets down, Eddie sits up again and opens the map.

"Am I gonna get arrested for kidnapping you?" Paul worries, wide eyed, as he makes his way towards the highway.

"My dad's afraid of cops. I really doubt he'd call em." Eddie responds before briefing Paul on the directions (ironically) to Hawkins' police station, where hopefully someone will know where his uncle Wayne lives.

*

It's a quiet drive. Eddie finds that he's not sure what to talk to a 16 year old about and would rather pay attention to directions. He can tell Paul wants to ask what he's running from, but refrains, which Eddie's thankful for. When they're about ten minutes out from Hawkins, it starts raining.

Eddie feels guilty that Paul will probably have to drive two hours home in the rain. He voices this concern, but Paul, the saint he is, reassures him it's no big deal.

Eventually they pull up to the police station and Eddie hauls his bags out of the back seat before coming back around to the passenger side door. He leaves the map with Paul and the set of hand written directions on how to get home that Eddie made for him.

"Thanks again for everything, Paul. Drive safely."

"Eddie do you want me to wait to make sure you get where you're going?" He asks softly and Eddie doesn't remember a time where anyone spoke to him with such care. He wants to cry for some reason. Wants to take him up on the offer, but doesn't want to inconvenience the teenager more than he already has.

"I'm okay, but thank you." As soon as Eddie slams the car door shut and turns towards the station, he starts to cry. He hears the gravel crunching as Paul pulls out of the parking lot behind him. Maybe this was all a mistake. He takes a deep breath, wipes his eyes and steps through the glass door.

"Hello, can I help you?," the woman behind the front desk asks, pushing her glasses down to get a good look at Eddie who is dripping rainwater onto the linoleum floor.

"Yeah. I'm here hoping someone knows where Wayne Munson lives? He's my uncle."

The woman holds up a finger and makes her way to a desk in the back of the station. She clears her throat and starts talking to a man.

Eddie shifts his weight as he tries to make out their muffled conversation. He looks up when a tall man sticks his head out and examines Eddie from across the room. The cop nods at the receptionist and grabs keys from his desk.

"You're looking for Wayne Munson?" The man, "Hopper" his badge reads, says while walking over.

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

"That's when you first met Hopper?" Steve interrupts again with a small smile. Eddie rolls his eyes, fondly. He nods.

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

"Yes sir." He responds to the officer.

Eddie wonders if Al has started looking for him yet. Wonders if Al walked into his room and saw half his belongings gone. Probably not. And even if he did, he'd have no idea where Eddie went. Too uninvolved in Eddie's life to know the names of any of his friends.

"Alright, he lives in the trailer park. Forest Hills. Let me drive you over." Hopper waves his hand and steps into the rain. He opens the passenger seat of his car and ushers Eddie inside.

The thing about this whole situation is that Eddie knows next to nothing about his uncle. Only hears cutting remarks about him from his father once in a blue moon. But it's the kind of cutting remark that might actually mean Wayne's a good person, if it's coming from Al. Eddie only knows he lives in Hawkins, because Al mentioned it once, in passing. "Lives in a little shit hole town no one's ever heard of while I'm out here making it big in the city," he had bragged. But it's not like Al talks enough about Wayne to immediately suspect that this is where Eddie might have ran off to. He's trying to convince himself he's safe now.

*

Eddie is accompanied to Wayne's door by the officer. Hopper knocks aggressively before Eddie can even get it straight in his head what he's gonna say to Wayne. The rain is coming down hard now. He's hugging his canvas duffle bag to his chest, trying to protect his sketchbooks inside from the downpour.

"Wayne Munson? It's Jim Hopper with Hawkins PD. Open up." Hopper announces, knocking again.

And almost immediately after he knocks, the door opens a crack. Eddie sees a man with greying dark brown hair cut close to his head and a patchy beard. Wayne's eyes drop to Eddie almost instantly.

"Can I help you?" Wayne asks. His accent is stronger than Al's, Eddie notices.

"I have a kid here who claims to be your nephew?" Hopper says gruffly, scratching his mustache. Wayne opens the door wider, looking Eddie up and down with wide eyes.

"I'm uh... Al's kid?" Eddie adds quietly. And Wayne's face goes through a variety of emotions before nodding to the officer.

"Thanks Jim, I'll take it from here." Wayne mutters. Eddie watches as the officer tips his head and offers a "stay dry folks," before getting back into his car.

"Come on in, kid," Wayne says opening his door for Eddie to walk past him. Eddie takes in his surroundings. The place is... sad looking. There's hardly any furniture, just a TV and a recliner in front of a coffee table which is covered in empty beer bottles. In the corner of the room there are a handful of boxes, one of which is filled to the brim with different colored mugs. This confuses Eddie a little, but overall Eddie's not getting a good vibe. Probably still better than living with Al though.

He turns back to see Wayne watching him carefully. Eddie clears his throat.

"I'm really sorry to come unannounced like this. I know we don't really know each other, and you don't owe me anything! But I- I didn't know where else to go and I was wondering if maybe it would be okay if I stayed here for a little? I can sleep on the recliner or the floor I don't need much. I just can't- I can't go home." Eddie is shivering now, he's not sure if it's anxiety from the situation or if he's just cold and wet.

Wayne nods his head and reaches his hand out for one of Eddie's bags. "S'alright kid. Let's get you dry." He took Eddie's bags and set them against the wall. He disappears down the hallway leaving Eddie shaking by the door, before reappearing with a towel. Eddie wraps it around himself while Wayne stands and looks around the place, likely, realizing how uninviting it seems to Eddie.

Wayne walks towards the coffee table and starts grabbing empty beer bottles.

"You don't have to clean for me, I don't mind." Eddie says meekly, but Wayne continues on anyways.

"S'alright kid. Why don't you get changed into something dry. Ya have any dry clothes in those bags of yours?" Motioning towards Eddie's belongings with a hand full of bottles. Eddie kneels and unzips one of the bags feeling around for something dry which most of it is. Eddie pulls out a new pair of jeans and a sweatshirt.

"Bathroom?" Eddie asks quietly.

"Down the hall to your left."

*

When Eddie reemerges, the coffee table is clean. And Wayne looks up at him, puts on a smile which seems forced. He must be able to tell by Eddie's face that the smile isn't as reassuring as he was going for. He sighs and scratches the back of his head.

"Should I not have come here?" Eddie asks while stepping out of the hallway and towards the door. He's in desperate need of reassurance, just wants to know if he's safe here or not.

"No! You were right to. I mean Al, is he-" Wayne is searching Eddie's eyes for answers. "Is he hurtin' you?" Wayne crosses his arms but then quickly uncrosses them. Clearly uncomfortable, nervous. And it's making Eddie feel that way too.

"Yeah." Eddie admits into the quiet of the room softened only by the sound of rain pattering against the roof. Wayne exhales and rubs his face.

"Fuckin' bastard." Wayne mutters under his breath. "He's a piece of shit, I'm so sorry kid." Eddie just nods, agreeing. "It's uh... Edward right?" Wayne asks coyly. Eddie wonders when Wayne last talked to Al.

"I go by Eddie," he quickly amends.

"Eddie, alright. It's nice to finally meet you then, Eddie." Wayne roots around in his pocket and pulls out a pack of cigarettes before thinking better of it and tucking it back into his pocket.

"You can smoke around me, I'm used to it." Eddie shrugs and leans against the wall.

"Yeah well you shouldn't be." Wayne grumbles. He rubs his hands together and claps. "Okay so I only got one bed. I'm gonna wash the sheets and then you can take it tonight. I'll sleep on the recliner there until we figure out somethin' better. That sound okay by you?"

"No! I don't want to take your bed-"

"Just temporarily kid, s'alright. But first let's get you some food. You're as thin as store-bought thread." Wayne grabs a pair of keys off the kitchen counter and jingles them playfully.

"I don't have much around here, so lets go to the diner and then get some groceries on the way back, how's that?" He asks. Eddie nods in agreement.

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

"He took me to go get blueberry pancakes. It kinda became a tradition. To get blueberry pancakes any time I had a real bad day." Eddie shares while petting Steve's damp hair.

"What made you leave home that Friday? Before the school year was over?" Steve asks, seemingly distracted from his own problems which is what Eddie was aiming for.

"Al's girlfriend found out I was..." Eddie gestures between the two of them, "you know. She was constantly holding it over my head. Said she was gonna tell him. I didn't want to find out what would happen when she did."

"And he never came looking for you?" Steve furrows his brow. Eddie smooths it over with his thumb.

"I dunno. Maybe he talked to Wayne. But eventually we found out he was sent off to prison for grand theft. He's such a disaster, my god." Eddie sighs and tilts Steve's face up towards him. "Do you want to go get blueberry pancakes, Angel? It's been a day, huh?"

"I'm so sorry to say this, Eds, but I hate blueberry pancakes." Steve shrugs the blanket off his shoulders. Eddie gasps in horror.

"You dare speak ill of my comfort food, Steve Harrington?" Eddie dramatically responds, pushing his forehead against Steve's. Steve smiles and pushes him back.

"I like chocolate chip though." Steve tries to amend. And Eddie nods in understanding.

"Okay princess, let's go get you some chocolate chip pancakes. Can I invite Wayne?" Eddie starts tearing off his pajamas and scrambling around the room for outside clothes.

"Yeah, of course Wayne can come." Steve sighs and lays back on the bed looking much more like himself than he did when he got here.

"'Kay one sec," Eddie pulls on his favorite Judas Priest shirt while he stumbles back out into the living room. "Hey old man?"

Wayne looks up from the TV at Eddie. "Everything alright?" He lowers the volume again, even though it wasn't all that loud to begin with. Wayne always does this, it's like he can't think while something is playing in the background. It's impossible to add commentary when they're watching TV together because he'll either not process what Eddie said or not catch what the TV did.

"Yeah. We were thinking of going to the diner for pancakes, it's been a day. You coming?" Eddie combs his fingers through his hair realizing he probably still has bed head. Wayne looks up at him with shiny eyes.

"I'm proud of you, y'know?" Wayne whispers. This catches Eddie off guard.

"What? For what?" Eddie crosses his arm. Doesn't like when Wayne gets sappy.

"Being a decent kid. Taking care of people the way you do." Wayne gets up and reaches for his keys just like he did in '77. "Real glad you found me when ya did, son."

"Likewise, Uncle Wayne"

[pacifymebby]

Afraid of Everyone / Alfie Solomons

Hurt/comfort tw kinda violence against women/misogyny, mostly just soft protective Alfie. Based on that PTSD episode I had a few weeks ago.

You looked petrified. That was the only way he could describe you and the look you'd unintentionally shot in his direction. Even from across the crowded bar he could tell that you were trembling. That you'd done your best to be stubborn and brave in the face of the cunt who'd just gotten a little nasty with you at the bar because you'd rejected his advances, but that now the moment of conflict had passed you were frozen to the spot, scared that any sudden movement would see you spiral and burst into tears.

He hadn't ever really seen you like this before. You were always the suffer in silence, the indignant, stubborn and self defensive type. But he recognised the look in your eyes from the faces of other women he'd known. That teetering on the edge of tears look. The thin line of your lips pressed together, tight and unsmiling. The stubborn stare, the determination not to cry giving your upset and terror away. A real tragedy because you were doing so well to stand your ground and had you not inadvertently shot him that "help me" look just then you'd have had everyone in the room fooled.

But you couldn't fool him and he knew exactly what you needed in that moment when the dread was squeezing your chest too tightly. When your legs and hands were shaking. When you were struggling to breath steady. You needed him, your Alfie to come sweeping in. To steal you away from that overcrowded, shit hole he didn't even understand why you'd come to anyway. Pretty little sweetheart such as yourself, trying to stand her ground in the arse end of London Town.

He'd made his mind up about cutting in before he saw one of those lary fuckers raise his hand to you, before he heard the vile thing he said to you too. But when the half cut man staggered forward into you and spat his scorned vitriol in your face Alfie couldn't stop himself.

"Alright then..." he announced his presence with his hands on your shoulders, the warmth of his body behind yours sending a little quiver of relief through you. The sound of his voice giving you the strength to remain standing tall in the face of the cunt who stood leering at you across the table. "Alright then my little cherub you gonna introduce me to your new friends? They don't look very friendly mind you, nah... Specially not this cunt... Nah ziskeit, this cunt in particular looks like a right miserable... Well..." he flexed his tone, taking one hand from your shoulder to caress your cheek with the back of his knuckles.

"Well... He looks like a cunt don't he..."

The cool metal of his rings soothed the blush burning your skin and when his fingers lingered near your mouth you understood exactly what he was doing.

Saving you.

Promising to take you home and take care of you just as soon as he'd scared these poor bastards out of town.

"Now then," started Alfie, his eyes narrowing as he looked between the two men who had stood so proudly only moments before but who were already cowering away under Alfie's cruel glare. They'd certainly sobered up in the seconds it had taken him to cut between you. Pick them out. Get their measure. "Now then boys... Got a little favour to ask you haven't I eh my sweets.. got a teensy tiny little favour to ask you right?" he said stroking his hand down your arm, his tender little acts uncanny when compared to the tone in which he spoke.

His fingers found yours and entwined with them for a moment, locking and then unlocking, dancing lightly over your palm as he carried on drawing out his threats.

"Y'see boys," he said, "I'm gettin on a bit now me and well my hearin' just ain't what it used to be yeah... And I miss things sometimes right...things I'd quite like to hear... And just now yeah, when you were talking to my lovely, frankly 'too pure to share the same fuckin breathin space as you' girl yeah, well I was all the way over there right..." He said eyes going wide as he gestured with his hand to the other side of the room, walking his fingers through the air just before you so that neither you nor the men in question could take their eyes of his menacing hand. "See it's quite far ain't it that... Quite far away wouldn't you agree?"

You watched the two men nodding, saw how they tried to hide their shaking. Saw how they tried to inch away. They must have known they couldn't really run. Must have known they were trapped and at Alfies mercy.

So now they knew exactly how they'd made you feel. As Alfie opened his long coat and subtly wrapped it around your shoulder, letting you press yourself against his chest, letting you hide behind the thick black material and quiver into his side, you couldn't help but smile at that; the knowledge that those two men were feeling small. Just as small as they had made you feel only moments before.

"So yeah, this favour what I want you two boys to do for me, Alfie Solomons the king of Camden fuckin Town, therefore by extension the king of this here fuckin shithole of a public house... Yeah... What I want right... Is for you to repeat exactly what you just said to my girl yeah? Cause I was pretty far away right and I'm not entirely sure I heard you right yeah.. and before you say anything yeah..." He held his finger to his lips to shush them, his eyes wide and theatrical, that eccentricity leaving the two men with unsteady knees, "before you say another word right I want you to think very fuckin carefully about what you're gonna say alright... Cause the thing is yeah, what I reckon is that you'd better fuckin hope I didn't hear you right.. cause if I did yeah, if you did in fact say the terrible, frankly horrifying unrepeatable things I thought I heard you say just now yeah... I'm gonna take your fuckin billiards yeah, and I'm gonna make you swallow em one by fuckin one until your ugly cuntin face caves in..."

You watched their faces pale, watched the blue tinge of fear taint their skin as they froze, mouths opening and closing, panic setting in. But Alfie didn't do anything. Didn't carry out a single one of his threats because with you wrapped up within the confines of his coat he could feel your little body trembling against his and he knew he needed to take you home. Needed to get you somewhere quiet where it could be just the two of you. Where he could sit you in his lap and take care of you the way you needed him in that moment with your big sad eyes looking up at him all watery and scared.

"Nah," he sighed, his sudden softness uncanny when matched with the glare he'd fixed on those men. The way his hand lingered in the air between him and them, accusatory finger still extended towards them as he changed his mind. Lowered his voice and grew tender instead, focussing on you.

"Nah," he shook his head, pulled his coat tighter around you and squeezed you to his chest with one arm holding you to his warm body. The other still aimed at his new enemies. "Reckon I'll make em wait eh? Give em a little while to ruminate on all their sins before they see their comeuppance yeah? What do you think eh my little ziskeit? You reckon we should make em wait it out?" He asked looking down at you, his hand cupping your cheek, thumb brushing a tear which had slipped from your lashes despite your best efforts not to cry.

"Yeah," you tried to say, though your voice never made it beyond your lips he still knew what you'd meant to say to him.

"Alright then," he grinned snapping his fingers towards the bar, pointing out the two cunts he couldn't wait to get his hands on in the morning, "Alright mate... You see these two miserable cunts there yeah... See em? Can't miss em really ugliest fucks for a country mile... I mean look at em, cunts should be livin in the dungeons at the opera Garnier, phantom of the operas a prettier sight than them two... It's like the fuckin elephant man gôr disentry right.. and shat himself... Fuckin disentry mate."

"Uh... Yes Mr Solomon's..." The poor lad behind the bar stood watching Alfie with a timid, uncertainty in his eyes, wringing his towel between his hands. Worrying, you imagined, about what was about to be asked of him.

"Right well y'see these poor bastards right... And I say "poor" but don't you go feeling sorry for them now alright, don't you feel sorry for em cause theyve fuckin earned their right to be "poor" haven't they..." Alfie let his voice wander up an octave as he spoke, that familiar meandering madness leaving the whole room in silence as they watched the scene unfold.

You hidden away in the folds of Alfie's long black coat, him with one arm wrapped around his girl, the other gesticulating between the two men who stood still trying to beg forgiveness. Their voices trembling and meek, going ignored by everyone else in favour of Alfie's theatrics. The poor lad behind the bar wringing his towel in his hands, doing his best to follow Alfie's request.

"Where was I? Oh right yeah... You ain't got a naughty step in here have you?"

"A naughty step?" The boy stuttered looking between Alfie and another bar man, begging his friend to help him.

"Yeah, y'know... somewhere they can sit nice and quiet yeah, have a good long think about what they've done?"

"Uh.." the lad hesitated, his frightened eyes meeting yours for a moment, fleeing almost the second he'd seen the whites of your eyes, not wanting to look at you when it was clear Alfie was doing his best to keep you protected and hidden away. He didn't want to find himself on the receiving end of that infamous, sociopathic temper.

"Here," Alfie clicked his fingers, pointed to a stool by the back door which was being used to prop it open, "what about this one yeah? Nice and low to the ground an all... Right where you belong.." he narrowed his eyes at the men quivering before him, flashed them a malicious grin, "fuckin sit down both of you yeah... Nah there's not much room so you'll have to share yeah... Both of you right, I want both of you to fuckin sit yourselves down there right, nice and quiet yeah... You fuckin sit there and you don't move a muscle till I come back for you yeah?" He asked waiting for a response, chuckling when the two men backed away nodding frantically as they did exactly as they were told.

You felt Alfie's chest vibrate with his low chuckle and tried to smile yourself. It was hard however because you hadn't yet managed to shake the panic that those men had sparked in you. You hadn't been able to calm down. All this time you'd been using every fibre of strength you had in you to hold it together until you were safe and sound and out of sight but you were beginning to run out of energy. Any minute now you were sure you were going to break.

"Alfie," you mouthed, tugging on his shirt to get his attention. To make him look down at you so that he'd see the paleness in your frightened face and understand. You needed him to take you home.

"Right," he nodded, his eyes locked with yours, trying to comfort you without words or affections so as not to give your vulnerability away. "Right Ollie my boy... where are ya treacle... Ollie my lad keep an eye on these two right... If they so much as blink yeah... If they so much as blink you have my explicit permission to perform whichever act of exquisite violence you so wish..."

And with that Alfie had swept you away, the crowd parting for the pair of you as you left.

The air outside was cold and a fine rain dusted over you both as you walked but you didn't feel the cold because Alfie kept you tucked up inside his coat with him, his arm wrapped around your waist to keep you close.

He knew that that was what you needed above everything else just then. Some kind of physical connection, something to hold onto. Someone to feel close to.

And there was no one who could make you feel as loved or as safe as him.

You stopped beneath a streetlight and he turned you around in his arms, squeezed you tight to his chest all wrapped up in his embrace, your face buried in his shirt, breathing in his soft rum and woodland scent. You nuzzled into him and he stroked his fingers through your hair, cradling your head to him as he bowed his toward you and kissed you tenderly. Let his lips linger in your hair as he listened to your shivered breaths.

"Alright littlen," he sighed softly, "s'alright my little ziskeit, you're with me now yeah, just you an me and your Alfs gonna take care of you now right, Papas gonna get you home right, gonna make you feel all better yeah?"

You smiled into his shirt, holding onto him a little tighter, arms wrapped around his waist, his still holding you snug and tight so that you knew he meant every word he'd just said.

For a minute he let you stay there, holding onto him, face buried in his shirt, your frame tucked away inside his big coat, the heavy wool going some way to making you feel safe too. He stroked your hair down your back and rocked you from side to side, his eyes narrowed on the quiet street as he surveyed the shadows. He wouldn't relax until he'd gotten you home but he didn't want to make you worry so he did his best to relax his body, did his best to put the anger he felt to one side. To box it away until the morning when he planned to return to that pub and exact his revenge.

For now however the rain was beginning to soak into his coat and your dress and your sad expression was beginning to pinch with cold.

"Alright my girl," he said stroking his thumb over your cheek, letting it rest on your lips as he spoke, "alright poppet time to go home..."

🐻💌🐻

Until you'd met Alfie you'd done a lot of fending for yourself. Faced a lot of things alone. You weren't necessarily built for it, hadn't particularly excelled at it, but for the most part you'd survived well enough on your own. You'd been doing it so long that even after the older man had made it his new life's passion to take you under his wing and dote on your every need, you never quite got used to having someone else worry about you or take care of you.

That's why you'd been so determined not to cry in front of anyone else. That's why when Alfie got you home and closed the front door behind you both, giving you strict instructions to go and get warm by the fire you ignored him. Took yourself straight up to the bedroom and began to undress.

To you the evening was a write off, a night of total humiliation and weakness that you would rather forget. You just wanted to climb into bed, curl up foetal position small and snug, and hopefully fall asleep before you started crying on Alfie.

He'd seen you cry before, naturally, but that wasn't the point. The less the better as far as you were concerned. You weren't a little girl, you weren't weak, you were stronger than most women and you were determined to show Alfie that. Because of everyone Alfie was the one who appeared to have the hardest time believing that you could look after yourself.

You didn't even notice his shadow in the doorway or the sound of his footsteps as he came to a halt in the frame, his gaze fixed on you. You were too busy trying to take your shoes off and slip out of your skirts to realise he was watching you. Wondering why you weren't doing as he'd told you to.

"Now then poppet..." he said softly, his gaze warm but stern as he watched and waited for you to turn around. When you looked up at him you felt a nervous flutter in your tummy, a shiver running through you as your glossy eyes shone with tears and blinked up at him. If he kept looking at you like that, with all the gentleness of a father, you were going to break down. You were already so close to falling apart and the tender way his attentions were fixed on you then was leaving you struggling.

But Alfie didn't want you to struggle. He didn't want you to hold back.

"Ziskeit," he said with a gentle tsk tsk, "come 'ere girl," he said, a gentle warning tone to his low voice as he held your gaze and waited for you to do as you were told.

You hesitated, wanting to shake your head and argue with him, wanting to tell him to leave you alone... But you didn't argue back with your Alfie and you knew that if you told him to leave you now he wouldn't listen. Still, you tried.

"I'm fine Alf don't look at me like that... I'm alright really I just wanna go to bed..."

But as you argued your voice weakened because he held your gaze, looked at you with knowing eyes and remained stable and stubborn, waiting for you in the doorway.

"Now don't start with all that ziskeit, cause me an you both know it ain't true and you ain't the kind of girl who tells lies... Come on now darlin, come give your old man a cuddle yeah? You wouldn't deprive your devoted old Alfie of that would you ziskeit?" He asked offering you a tender, teasing little smirk. One which despite its humour you knew you couldn't deny.

So when he opened his arms out for you to fall into you gave in, slipped from the edge of the bed into his warm embrace, nuzzling into his shoulder as he closed his arms tight around your frame.

"There we go, good girl, good girl..." He cooed softly, his husky voice gentle and tickling your ear as he pressed a kiss to your cheek bone and whispered to you. Gentle things which left tears prickling in your eyes. "There we go my little ziskeit, back where you belong yeah? Back where you belong in your Alfie's arms..." he said every tender sentence like a sigh, his words caressing you so that you finally felt safe enough to let go of all that fear, all that hurt which had been building and rotting away inside you.

The first few tears escaping terrified you. You didn't want to let them fall but you couldn't control them. You tried to snatch at your cheek with your hand to wipe them away, you tried to blink and stare at the ceiling until your eyes dried out and stung but it was already too late and besides, Alfie was determined that you were going to cry. You needed to cry, even if you didn't seem to realise that yet he knew it.

"S'alright my little ziskeit, go on poppet have a big old cry yeah, never mind tryin to be brave ziskeit, papa don't want you to be brave now alright..." He murmured stroking your cheek with his thumb and pressing a lingering kiss to your forhead.

He closed his eyes as he bowed his head to yours and wrapped his arms around you tightly. He could feel you shaking as you tried to control your sobbing, he could tell you were still trying to hold back.

"Don't do that my little love," he warned tenderly stroking your hair, cradling your head in the palm of his hair, "remember who knows best yeah ziskeit, me yeah, your Alfie... An I'm tellin you not to be brave yeah... World's had enough of brave now alright, needs a little gentleness yeah, a little feeling right... Now I've got you ain't I, it's just you an me, you an your Alfie... You don't have to be brave for me little ziskeit, you don't have to be brave for me..."

And as he spoke you felt it all finally catching up to you, all the adrenaline of the evening hitting you like a freight train. Leaving you shaking and distraught, barely able to hold yourself up, your legs trembling as you shook and collapsed against Alfie's chest, your knees buckling so that he had to catch you and scoop you up into a steadier hold.

"Oh my little ziskeit," he sighed, his heart aching for you and all the sorrow and fear he could hear in your sobbing. You'd broken down just like a little girl, lost control of your emotions completely and though he knew it was good for you to get it all out, he wished you didn't have to. Wished he could snap his fingers and make all that pain go away.

He was supposed to be your great protector and yet he hadn't been able to protect you from all this.

He let out a sigh and let his own knees give in sinking slowly to the floor with you in his arms, leaning against the wall and relaxing his legs out in front of him.

"There there my darlin, there there my little ziskeit, 'salright poppet I've got you yeah, you're safe with me little ziskeit, ain't gonna let a soul hurt you ever again..." he murmured to you kissing your temple and bundling you up into his arms so that he could cradle you in his lap.

He felt your body shaking with convulsive sorrow and rested one hand in your hair. He knew that all there was to do was wait it out, wait there with you stroking your hair whilst you cried yourself into exhaustion.

"Why are people always so fuckin cruel Alfie, why are men so fucking cruel..." You sobbed, your voice anguished and shrill and breaking his heart as he stroked his fingers across your cheek and shushed you gently.

"I know ziskeit," he said swallowing a lump in his throat, feeling that familiar cold determination grio him, his mind already beginning to turn to plans of revenge. The things he was going to do to make those evil bastards regret causing you this pain. "This time tomorrow though my darlin, this time tomorrow the world will be down two fuckin cruel men though yeah, promise you that my poppet..." he said pushing a lock of hair from your face, looking down at your tear stained cheeks with such tenderness as you tried to speak again, working yourself up into even more of a state.

"But... But even if you kill them there'll still be... M...more.." you sobbed trying to swat his hand away when he cupped your cheek in his palm and pushed his thumb to your lips gently.

"Hush now ziskeit, shh," he hummed pushing his thumb between your lips, ignoring your hand on his wrist which tried to argue back. He waited patiently until he felt your mouth close around his thumb, until he felt your tongue brush over him and you began to suck. "There we are poppet," he said with a soft smile, watching your eyes flutter shut, your lashes heavy and dewy with tears. "That's better ziskeit, settle down yeah, don't you worry about anymore of them cruel bastards now, you don't need to worry about any of them no more, I'm here now ziskeit and I ain't gonna let no one touch you no more, not a soul... Only hands you're ever gonna feel on you again yeah, the only fuckin hands ever gonna touch this angelic little face right, are these two hands right here... You're mine my little ziskeit, all mine yeah... An am gonna look after you right... Gonna start by puttin them two sorry cunts in the ground..."

You opened your eyes then, lying with your head in his lap, looking up at him with teary doe eyes. He looked down at you, let you drag your lips over and away from his thumb for long enough to ask one more question.

"Promise?"

Your voice was but a sweet little whisper. Your lips hovering by the tip of this thumb and he cupped your cheek in his palm and let you nuzzle into the heart of his hand.

"Promise."

Taglist:

@mollybegger-blog @zablife @impossibleheartflower @liliac-dreamer @inalovesrabbits-blog @jomarch-wannabe @itsghostgirlyo @marwwfairy

@toddlerbodybag

@everysage

@tommyshelbywhore

@kas3ylovesyou

@call-sign-shark

@cocoaflowers

[genderqueerdykes]

I recently saw a post comparing the progress pride flag to the american one, essentially saying it was gaudy and over representative so all the symbols were just noise.

Like listen, I get that statement of the OG pride flag "encompasses all" but I feel it just completely missed the point of what it stood for.

Is it that bad that our trans and intersex peers wish to be seen? Is it that bad that we show respect to our BIPOC peers and remember they are among us especially when frontline queer voices and representation in media is overwhelmingly white?

Like idk maybe I'm overreacting but as someone part of those communities the progress pride flag shows it made me want to scream. Is it too much to want to be seen when queer people have and will turn a blind eye to us?

I'm NOT saying this flag needs to be everywhere. It'd be nice but it's unrealistic but hell, with the amount of stupid infighting and dangerous ideologies spreading within the queer community, it sure is a sight for sore eyes when I see it.

We're still here, we're still queer, and you cannot separate us from that.

Sorry for the rant I think I'm just tired of people getting hung up on "inclusivity politics" as if acknowleding people existing is some great pain and we're "ruining" their pride flag.

you're 100% right in pointing this out and i'm tired of this behavior. thank you so much for taking the time to send this ask, because this is something i'm actually also very deeply bothered by.

i've seen that post too and i've tried to figure it out and i just can't parse what the hell kind of point they're trying to make. that post makes no sense they thought they made a point and they didn't. just because the design is visually complex doesn't make it like the flag of the United States. there's chevrons on the left hand side of the flag and stripes on the right- that doesn't make it a copy of or homage to or some kind of subliminal messaging that calls back to the flag of the USA. this website has some of the lamest conspiracy theories i've ever seen that are just cooked up to make other people feel like shit.

some people are so hateful and bitter that they view inclusion as a bad thing. i'm calling it for what it is. some people are so goddamn miserable and up their own asses that they literally HATE it when people are included into what they think are their little cliques and groups. some people see like, any attempt from another group of people to be inclusive and inviting as an insult and an attack because they're just "pandering" or sucking up to us or trying to look progressive or whatever. like people will write this shit off every time no matter how good the intentions are. i'm sorry that you're being forcefully made aware that trans and intersex people and queers of color need a platform to speak on and a community to stay in, but you're the one causing a problem here if that bothers you. i'm sorry that people of color in specific need to feel safe in queer spaces, but you're the reason that we don't.

first of all, as an intersex trans person of color, i literally teared up the first time i saw the version of the progress pride flag that included the intersex pride flag. like. that's literally the FIRST TIME IN QUEER HISTORY THAT WE'VE SEEN WIDESPREAD USAGE OF THE INTERSEX FLAG!!!!!!!! THAT'S FUCKING HUGE. THIS IS SO FUCKING IMPORTANT FOR US! we NEED that visibility on such a grand fucking scale!!! we NEED TO BE SEEN LIKE THAT. i don't really care if jaded bitter assholes are like "it's pandering" "its ugly" fuck OFF it's NOT! i don't care how disconnected from your feelings you are, but the first time i saw an intersex flag in PUBLIC, i cried. it was on a progress pride flag. i was in an airport. and then i saw another in a grocery store. and then i started seeing them all over town.

second of all, i am so sick of queer people focusing on aesthetics over function. this attitude has gotten out of hand and honestly it feels like its a lot of white queers who don't understand how important flags are for representation and signaling safety and solidarity and how they're not just a bunch of pretty colors to look at. each part has meaning. this is just the "tooth paste gay flag" discourse bullshit all over again. the stone cold truth is that some people literally fucking HATE it when they see people they don't like gain visibility. these are people who fucking hate intersex and trans people and queer people of color and are so fucking angry that we're daring to occupy space, and making their precious flag 'gaudy' and 'ugly'. also white queers love to bitch about how the brown and black stripes are "UGLY", do i really have to say anything here?

the philadelphia pride flag is a flag made by queers of color living in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, a historically largely black city, to be explicitly inclusive of black, brown and all queers of color. black queers in philly were the first ones to add black and brown stripes to the traditional rainbow flag. the creator of the progress pride flag took notes from this and decided to honor that and carry it over, as they felt leaving out those stripes would be a slap in the face. and they're right, it would be a slap in the face- it IS a slap in the face! the philly pride flag wasn't made so what white and racist queers can sit here and bitch about how it's "pandering" or "trying to include too many people". this shit was made by and for people of color. this behavior is so fucking disrespectful and racist

stop fucking fighting over flags. queer flags aren't here to be "aesthetic" or "pretty"- they're here to serve a purpose. to give people a banner to unite under to find community, love, partnership, friendship, safety, and a space to talk and organize. it's so that you can easily recognize that someone else is part of the same family as you. it's not there to be pretty, it's there to be visually striking, and to instantly convey a message. the progress pride flag WORKS because it contains several pride flags and grabs your attention. maybe you're intersex but have never seen other pride flags before. maybe you've never seen the intersex flag before but have seen the trans and rainbow flags before. it will convey the same message, but now with a greater message which is to explicitly say "we want to include everyone".

if you don't like the progress pride flag:

it was not made for you, and you don't have to use it.

thanks for taking the time to send this i really appreciate your thoughts. people have got to stop manufacturing discourse because they want to sound smart. i have no way to put it other than some people literally just cannot form or articulate a point. and that's fine. that's okay. but some will still try anyway and the argument just falls flat. if you encounter talk like that where they don't really have a lot of ground to dislike it other than personal opinion, it's all hot air and has nothing to do with the matter at hand, but rather, their feelings.

[stupidlittlespirit]

You asked for some cute fun asks, so I've appeared to help!

If you've ever played (or watched someone else play) the Swooning Over Stans game, there's a scene in Stan's route where you go to a 70s dance night with him. It's very fun and flirty~

Ever since then, I've wondered if Ford would enjoy going for a dance like that with his s/o. I can definitely see him getting SUPER nervous about it beforehand because he's having flashbacks of his prom night disaster and thinking he's going to totally bomb it. But maybe his date would coax him to just have a little fun, let loose.

I agree with your thought that he'd be the kind of guy to like old classic crooner music (and now I'm swooning for real just thinking abt it), but maybe some 70s funk can get him going, too. Now every time I listen to that stuff, I can't help but picture Ford trying to teach his date how the dances really went (and possibly failing miserably but laughing over it)

GOD yes, I played Swooning when it first released and it was wonderful. I've played it through on both routes about 10 times each lol. I still can't believe we were gifted such a gorgeous game by all of those talented people for free.

I know exactly what scene you mean. That was such a nice touch.

I daydream about this fucking scenario with Ford a lot. It's so silly but I do it when I listen to that kind of music and it's really nice haha Very normal of me, I know, so expect a long answer to this under the cut:

I'm going to set this within GF, but at a function beyond the town he might struggle a little more unless he knew the people there.

I think Ford would be (naturally) nervous beforehand for the reasons you mentioned. He's not very fond of social interaction that isn't super necessary, though post portal he is definitely better at that than he was, and the thought of doing something that holds bad memories would be very daunting for him, to the point that he'd probably refuse at first. More so with the excuse that he doesn't have time or doesn't care about stuff like that than admitting he's nervous.

Mabel would definitely encourage him to go and Reader would mention that they'd enjoy having some fun/seeing him have fun as well, plus they'd certainly miss Ford if he stayed at home. They would understand his hesitation around the event but a little gentle comforting from them around the knowledge that they'd be there to support him would go a long way, I think.

"There's no pressure to stay if you get there and don't like it," and "We can just go home, you're in control of the situation and I'll be by your side no matter what," kind of thing. I think he'd find that very soothing and helpful, just to be reminded that no one will force him. Eventually, he'd give a little and agree on those terms. Plus, Mabel would guilt him a bit because she wants to see him to be included haha.

Once he got there, he'd be a wallflower to begin with. That's fine, obviously. He needs time to settle in. Maybe a drink or two, as well (I know how he feels LMAO) before he can really get comfortable. He'd look to Reader for comfort but he'd also not want to prevent them from enjoying themselves, so he wouldn't insist they stay with him all the time.

I don't think he'd refuse to engage with other people; he'd be reasonably accustomed with the townsfolk anyway so he'd know them and their demeanours a bit more than if he was at a totally new function or with people he had never met. He wouldn't start general conversation (unless it was with Fiddleford), though.

He'd definitely be more inclined to hover around the edge of the party rather than step straight in like Stan would, but if people came up to see him and say hi (and they would because the family is known and liked) then he'd be able to hold good conversation. Post-Portal!Ford is going to have developed his social skills a great deal from his time away and I think he'd be more willing to hear what other people have to say and engage with them.

When he was younger, I think he might have only really been interested in talking about the topics he knew about because they felt safer for him, they were something he was good at talking about, but obviously when you're that smart it's nigh on impossible to find that level of conversation with others so he would have considered himself a failure in terms of social ability purely because he struggled to connect on that aspect, when really he'd just be expecting a bit too much from the general populous. That, combined with general awkwardness and a lack of knowledge on how to make menial conversation would have made it really hard for him. He does talk about that in TBoB, actually, with the joke he makes about pie in the diner. It doesn't land because the waitress doesn't have that level of understanding. It's a funny joke though! He is good at talking to people, he just comes at it from a unique angle.

So, anyway, I digress. He'd be a bit shy but he'd be open to chatting to others, and eventually he'd warm up. He'd realise he's been overthinking everything a bit too much and getting in his own way, and then start to ease up without even realising.

Reader, meanwhile, would have to strike a balance on making sure he was okay and also giving him the space to bloom on his own. Maybe making eye contact with him from across the room and giving him a little thumbs up-thumbs down gesture to check in, only for him to return a thumbs up and big, warm smile, much to their relief. They'd have known he was capable of it, he just needed to remember his capability himself.

So after a bit of time and a bit of space to find his feet, he might overhear that they're playing the kind of music he used to listen to in his youth. I'm going to project here (because you guys know my affinity for 70's music) and say maybe some Baccara (Yes Sir, I can Boogie is a banger), some Bee Gees (duh), just anything fun.

Ford would know the words by heart and once you'd returned to his side, he'd be singing them under his breath or tapping his foot or whatever, and you'd ask him if he wanted to dance. He'd say no because dancing requires a level of self-humiliation and he'd be too self conscious initially, but again, you would coax him a little.

I think you could ease him into it (I think that's the trick with Ford generally anyway). Maybe Reader would take one of his hands and he'd twirl them around, just indulging them a bit because he'd think it's endearing even if he won't do it himself.

I think seeing someone else be a bit silly puts other people at ease and makes them a bit more willing to be silly themselves, so he'd kind of get a little more into it as the music went on and once things changed to those slower, crooning songs, he might just take Reader's other hand and (much to their absolute joy) slow dance with them a bit. He'd prefer to stay tucked into a corner rather than make a show of being out on the dance floor like his brother, but I think he'd be inclined to sing a little bit, just quietly, privately, and lead Reader in a dance.

He wouldn't be a practised dancer but he'd be able to keep time and count beats (it's math!) and although he'd still fuck it up, as would Reader because I doubt many of us are classically trained dancers, he'd be able to laugh along with you and have fun. He'd forget the room, as would you, and you'd be able to really have an intimate, joyful moment together.

God fuck I am so normal about this old man. This is the kind of shit they put you on medication for if you tell the therapist too much LMAO

Also shameless self plug but here is my playlist for this exact scenario. 'Misty' by Lesley Gore is my personal favourite Ford song. Don't judge me, I beg.

[howlett-n-morgan]

Take Me Home

5. Blood Stains

Arthur Morgan x Texas Red!Reader

A/n: HEY GUYS I AM BACK WITH A DOOSIE. okay so my fashion show was fantastic, let me know if y'all wanna see a video of my collection i think it turned out pretty damn good. anyways, wrote this while crocked off my ass on Benadryl bc allergy season is hitting very very hard right now so if it's not perfect we are all going to collectively blame the Benadryl, okay? okay.

Summary: An accident in the laundry causes chaos in the camp, and secrets are revealed sooner than expected. With everyone else acting like the world is caving in, Arthur steps up as usual.

Warnings: misogyny, major gender role tropes, a little bit of personal violation, but very minor. Susan is a bitch in this chapter (we love Susan). Blood plays a lot into this chapter, and so do menstrual cycles, so if you're uncomfortable with those mentions, this may be a skippable chapter for you. There's also like some sexual implications but nothing inherently sexual happens. I think that's it, let me know if I missed anything.

WC: 7.8k

“Climb up, let’s go to town before closing time,” he walked around to the other side where his horse was hitched from earlier today, still saddled since Bill hadn’t made his rounds yet.  You complied, but were unsure of the motives for such a trip.  “Is Dutch paying you to take me somewhere? He want you to kill me quietly?” 

In the weeks since John’s disappearance, you’ve noticed three things:

One, Dutch hasn’t barely been seen in the camp, and when he makes his presence known, it’s either angry or forlorn. Two, the entire gang has been very quiet, not wanting to set off Dutch, or make anyone else upset with the matter. Three, Arthur has done as he said he would, becoming closer with Abigail, and helping nightly with Jack. 

It shouldn’t break your heart, because you had no right for it to. You shouldn’t be distancing yourself from the both of them, they didn’t do anything to deserve it, but the way your chest tightened by watching them, watching Arthur gently place a hand on her shoulder as he watched Jack squirm in her arms was far too miserable. Abigail won’t speak of it, knowing that everyone has been on edge since her former lover left, but she missed the talks and conversations you held. You understood her, and though she didn’t exactly know the truth as to why, she was still partially in grief over that bond, too. 

Arthur takes immediate notice, but doesn’t say anything. Hosea had mentioned your run in with John the evening he took off. He figured you needed time to cope with the situation, even if you didn’t know John all that well, or even like him for that matter. Everyone in camp was dealing with it differently, so why should he judge the way you handled yourself?

It was only when you stopped talking to him altogether that he became slightly concerned, and he wasn’t the only one. 

When Dutch first brought you into the gang, he knew there was some subtle competition with you and Arthur. The two fastest guns in the west, hell, maybe even the world… but you butted heads often. He didn’t know why it had suddenly stopped, but his concern grew from being in both your presences at the same time, and the icy feeling he got just from standing between you, running over job details in a tent. 

It was like Arthur didn’t exist to you anymore. Everything you said and did was conveyed to the people around him, but never to him. You would even give news to a big group of people to avoid telling Arthur directly. 

Dutch knew there was something wrong, because he could have sworn you both were inches away from getting along, but now it was worse than square one. It was after a successful job that he said something about it. After you had deliberately handed Arthur’s cut to Javier and told him to give it to the next man over. 

You’d ridden back, safe and sound, but Dutch held you back, nodding the others away from the horse troughs.  

“Talk with me for a bit, will ya son?” He tried to approach the situation gently. This couldn’t have been a gradual thing. 

“F’course,” you muttered, hands resting on your gun belt as you followed him into the center of camp. 

“I’ve been noticing some… strange behavior from you towards Arthur. Only lately…” he scratched his head, looking at you expectantly. “You can tell me if he did somethin’ to piss you off, I’ll speak with him about it.”

You furrowed your brow and shook your head. “He didn’t do nothin’ to piss me off… I’ve just always been better off on my own, don’t wanna rely on anyone.”

“I can understand that sentiment, but it doesn’t make any damn sense as to why you’re givin’ him the cold shoulder,” he furthered his point, and you didn’t have any choice but to make something else up. Something that could actually be worth what you were doing to Arthur. Your head told you that the truth of ‘I’m actually a young woman and I’m catching feelings for your gang enforcer’ wouldn’t help you. 

“He’s been tryna hold me back,” you sighed out, as if revealing some huge secret. It was partially true, but you’d grown more relaxed about the protection Arthur had been trying to provide. Still, you kept on the charade, knowing it would get you out of this situation free and clear. “M’tired of him thinkin’ I can’t keep up, tired of feelin’ like a helpless kid next to ‘im.”

Dutch let out a breath and narrowed his eyes. “I see… and so you figured it best to keep him out of arm’s reach, is that it?”

“Guess so,” you shrugged, leaning against the pole of his big tent. 

And then it seemed that Dutch saw this as a teaching moment, because he nodded for you to sit down on one of the cross latch boxes, across from where he stood. He had a whole spiel oncoming, and you were almost sure you knew what it would contain. Something about the camp being a family, everyone sticking together and more nonsense of the like.

“You don’t understand this now, because you’ve never had a time of need in this gang… but that day will come,” he paused, and you perhaps had it all wrong, listening intently now. He pointed in the direction of Arthur’s camp set up, and you glanced over, not for the first time that day. He was tired, hunched over his cot and leaning in exhaustion, running his hand over his face. “And when you are in that time of need, there is no better man to have in your corner than Arthur Morgan.”

You nodded in understanding, a small frown on your face. You wanted to protect yourself, but if what Dutch says is true, you’re only setting yourself up for failure. 

“He’s been here a long time, and no matter your opinion of him, no matter the things you do or the things you say, he’s loyal. It ain’t up to me what you decide to do, but you should know, he’s the best ally you’re ever gonna have.”

And just like that, you regretted the past weeks. Everything you did to avoid him, getting up early to grab some of the coffee before he came by. Going out and hunting without letting anyone know, just so that he didn’t have a chance to come with you. Even going as far as to mend your own clothing and do your own laundry, knowing he might catch you at one of the girl’s stations while picking up your weekly wears. You felt awful. You remembered at least four times he tried to approach you before he just gave up. At the time you were grateful, because you thought it was making things easier for you, but in actuality, the things Dutch said were true. You needed him in your corner. There would be a time of need, and Arthur was the best ally to have when that time would come, whatever it may be. 

“I think I oughta go set things right, then,” you let out, your ego deflating slightly when your eyes met Dutch again. 

“If you think it’s best,” he nodded, switching places with you and watching you walk over to his favored outlaw, the man he called his son. He called you son, too. You wondered if that would hold up if he ever found out about you. 

Arthur was on the verge of sleep, but you were doing this now. You could apologize later. 

“You look like shit,” you tried to be nonchalant, and not bring any emotion into this. 

When he looked up, he was slightly annoyed, but his face softened once he looked at you for a moment. 

“Feel like shit,” he grumbled, trying to understand what you were doing here. You didn’t exactly give him reason to believe he was important to you anymore. “Did you need something?” 

You kicked the dirt beneath your boot, trying to keep yourself composed, but you weren’t too good at these things, and the amount of shear stiffness in your body wasn’t helping you to relax about it. 

“I think I owe you an apology,” you started, and he tilted his head in slight confusion. Sure, he knew what you were apologizing for, but he didn’t know why. “I’ve been avoidin’ you, n’ I shouldn’t have.”

He nodded in thanks, accepting your words. You stood awkwardly, unsure if you should say more or just leave, but when you turned your boot to walk, he stopped you. 

“Did I piss you off or somethin’?”

Why was everyone asking that? 

“No, ain’t nothing you did. Just my own stupid ass and things that don’t matter,” you told him. You felt even worse now, because you’d made both him and Dutch think that it was something he did wrong. He could rarely do any wrong in your eyes, which made this whole ordeal that much worse. 

“Matters enough, you stopped talking to me. Couldn’t even get you to look my way.”

You didn’t want him to know anything else. With him and Abigail rapidly forming a blossoming relationship, it wasn’t for you to stand in their way. Jack needed a father figure, and Arthur was the perfect candidate. 

“I’m sorry about it. I swear it won’t happen again,” you really wanted to leave this time, unsure of how far it may go in the event of a deep conversation… but he caught your wrist and gently tugged it back towards where he sat as soon as you started turning away again. 

“You gotta give me somethin’, Red. I’ve waited weeks just to ask you,” he pleaded, his tired eyes looking through you and trying to enter your mind. You caved just as soon as you saw how badly this affected him. You hurt him. He might be big, burly, and dangerous… but he bleeds, and his heart can be wounded as easily as anyone else’s. 

“I’ve been going through some things, and you’ve had a lot on your plate with Jack and Abigail. It’s not fair of me to make my burdens your burdens… I was tryna keep you out of it,” you admitted, which was only half true. The partial truths of the night were stacking up, but fortunately he couldn’t tell the difference right now, too tired and unfocused to really study your features and what you were hiding. 

“Red,” he sighed, not yet prying for more information, but giving you one last glance. “You can tell me things. Remember that.”

You nodded, smiling at him for the first time since John left. “Alright.” 

-

You stopped avoiding and ignoring Arthur, but things were still distant. You’d been getting close right after Jack was born, but going into his third month in the world, you two were miles apart. Still, it was better than the stone cold facade you’d been turning to him before. 

“Got any laundry?” Susan asked, breaking you out of your trance as you watched the sun setting. You weren’t really paying much attention, but nodded, reaching behind you into your tent for a sheet full of worn out and dirty clothing. You should have looked it over, but you didn’t, too caught up in your own mind. “You can ask the girls about getting it back tomorrow, they’ve been going stir crazy for things to do.”

“Yes ma’am,” you nodded, tipping your hat and leaning back against your small tent’s middle pole. You had half a mind to slide your hat over your eyes for a nap, but that didn’t seem like it would fly, especially if one of the others needed you for something. 

You could definitely use a nap, you were cramping like crazy. You swore if Bill came up to you and asked for any more favors with the damn horses this week you’d kill him, but only because you were feeling grumpy. 

You wanted so badly to confide in Arthur about these things, the troubles of womanhood that you couldn’t share with anyone else but him. You wondered if he would ever tell anyone, since it’s been almost five months of your residence and you have yet to reveal your secrets to everyone else. Maybe you were being paranoid, but the closer he got to Abigail and the further you pushed him away, you thought he might care less about the agreement you both made. After all, spilling your secret to Dutch would gain him loyalty points, and Dutch seemed all too happy to be giving them out since John left. 

It was about an hour later when there was a shriek at the other side of camp, and many ran over to see what the trouble was. 

Tilly had been sitting by her wash bin, but had pulled her hands out on account of one thing. 

“What’s the matter, Tilly?” you heard Sean over your shoulder, and when you finally saw the trouble your eyes widened and you muttered a single word under your breath. 

“Shit.” 

“What’s shit?” Arthur’s voice was also heard beside you now, and you turned to him ever so slightly with a whisper.

“Me, I’m in deep shit.”

Tilly showed everyone the water, with some clothing swirling around, but it was all tinted red. 

“I think someone’s been hurt,” she said, waving over Mrs. Grimshaw to show her the problem. “There’s blood in the water.”

You tried to casually back up slowly, hoping that it wouldn’t get traced back to you, after all, the clothing in the bin was yours, and Mrs. Grimshaw had just picked up the pile from you. You were just stupid enough to leave your monthly attire in with it, and during your monthly time, too. You were only two days into the cycle, meaning there had been a lot of blood.

Grimshaw, being the stern and impatient woman she was, rolled her sleeves up and dug around in the water, looking for clothing with holes to indicate a stab or bullet wound… but she only found:

“A sanitary apron?” She furrowed her brows. She was pretty in tune with the women of the camp, and hadn’t been aware that someone was menstruating right now. 

“You better run, kid,” Arthur caught on, nudging your shoulder. You’d already started getting further away from the scene, but it seemed Grimshaw already came to a conclusion before you could make a break for it. 

“I picked these up from…” she trailed, her brow now seemingly angry and strewn together in a stressful manner. She marched over to you, grabbing your lanky wrist harshly and tugging you away from the scene. “You better not be hidin’ what I think you’re hidin’!”

You held onto your hat as she practically ran you into the nearest tent. It wasn’t hers or yours but that didn’t matter, her urgency was all too apparent. 

“Miss Grimshaw, what’s this all about?” 

“I have had my suspicions about you since you arrived here,” she spoke intensely, pulling you forward by your belt buckle and doing her best to undo it. 

“Hey, hey! What’re ya doin’?!” You tried to protest, but her nimble hands were too persistent, and she finally got your pants loose enough to take a brief peek at what she needed to see. “What the hell, would you stop?!” 

“I knew it!” she yelled, a finger pointed in the air. 

And just like that, you knew you were screwed. 

She quickly ran out of the tent, and you tried to follow her, making a quick attempt at putting your belt back together on the way out. 

Arthur ran a hand over his face when first he saw you, and the state you were in. He knew the jig was up, too. 

“Where is that man when you need him?” Susan was turning every which way, a mess of herself just trying to frantically look for the camp leader. 

“Dutch? He’s in town with Hosea, what’s the problem?” Bill sauntered up, dusting his hands from the work he’d paused. 

Pearson and Javier all of a sudden made an appearance, and when you thought nothing could make this worse, the rest of the camp zoned in on the chaos, having had nothing better to do this whole day. It was slow, and there were no jobs to be done, so the boredom consumed minds jumped on the first sign of entertainment they could find, and boy was it something.

“We have an imposter in our midst!” She yelled, her arms waving around wildly. 

“Hold on, now…” You tried to interject, but Arthur shot you a look, shaking his head. Don’t do it, kid. Just shut up.

“What do you mean an imposter?” Pearson crossed his arms. He was never one to give bad news of any kind to, because he had a tendency to blow it out of proportion. “Who?” 

“That,” she pointed at you, her voice raised to the highest decibel count you knew was humanly possible. “Is not an eighteen year old boy! She has been fooling us all. Who even knows where she comes from, what her real name is!”

“What the hell are you even talking about?” 

“The kid?” 

“Ain’t no way…”

The rapid responses coming forward almost eased your mind, except for the fact that Susan did in fact have up close and personal proof from what she saw. 

Arthur stepped forward, and as the murmurs grew louder, and Miss Grimshaw was prepared to go on another rant, he did all he could to calm the situation. 

“Let’s not make any rash judgements right now,” he gave you a look, trying to let you see he was attempting to help, but that you needed to leave. “We’ll just wait until Dutch and Hosea get back.”

You took that as a cue to leave, awkwardly making way for your tent. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” Susan tried to chase after you, but Arthur held her back. 

“Wait for Dutch,” he said, his arm blocking her path. Who knows what she’d do in this state? She’d been known to whip some of the boys into compliance before, who knows what she’d do to someone she viewed as an imposter. 

Sitting with the flaps closed, you could still hear everything that was occurring outside, and it nerved you far more than being in the middle of it all. 

“It doesn’t make any sense…” and “Do you think it’s true?” could be heard from separate conversations, and you wished more than anything that you’d just done your own damn laundry. 

Your face fell in your hands, and you started going over all the things that could happen. Dutch could hate you for lying to him, and kick you out, banishing you as far as you could go. Or, since you were a newbie, and didn’t have the trust factor built yet, maybe they would just shoot you dead. That may have been an extreme idea, but with your rapidly beating heart and increasing worry, things like that were bound to spill in. Not like you’d been in a gang before, you didn’t exactly get an etiquette and rule book when you arrived. Who knew what would happen to you. Nothing good, that you knew.

When Arthur finally opened the flap and leaned down inside the small dwelling, you knew it was time to face the music. 

“Dutch is back, Susan’s tellin’ him everything,” he sighed, looking over your face and feeling a sense of guilt that he didn’t do anything to stop all of this. When you first arrived he thought maybe it wouldn’t be a big deal, but having experienced this much drama in just the past hour has most definitely led him to believe he was wrong. 

When you stayed silent, and didn’t really give him a reaction of any kind, he could tell you were hit hard with the anxiety and shock of it all. He couldn’t ever get you to shut up, and he often didn’t want to, most of all now when you looked like a scared animal. 

“I ain’t gonna let ‘em hurt ya, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

You shook your head, and against your hardest efforts, tears were backing your eyes, looking for ways to escape. He hadn’t ever seen you like this, and it wasn’t pleasant. 

“I don’t wanna leave,” you admitted. You liked it here. You weren’t lonely here, and you had a family… or at least you did an hour ago. You didn’t know where you stood with half of these people. 

He couldn’t speak for Dutch or Hosea, or anyone else really, but he could speak for himself. 

“I don’t want you to, either…”

When Arthur heard his name called, he leaned back, looking in the direction of his father figure, looking angrier than a pack of hungry wolves. 

“Yeah?” 

“Tell Brooks to see me, now.”

You didn’t even need the message relayed. You stood up, and followed Arthur out of the tent, your head down as you made the distance to the center tent, the big one you’d been at only a bit ago with council from your leader. You only hoped he’d be so forgiving when he found out you lied to him. 

Arthur got into the tent first, mumbling a few things you were a little distracted to hear. You did catch the small ‘don’t be too hard on her’ fall from his mouth, though. 

You sat down on the box chest, close to the exit of the tent, just in case things went south and you had to run. Not that you were thinking about running, but again, a million scenarios crossed your mind. 

“Arthur, wait outside.”

You grew more tense as soon as those words were uttered, and so did Arthur it would seem. 

“Dutch, I think I should-”

“Wait. Outside.” 

He reluctantly did as he was told, walking far enough away that he wouldn’t be reprimanded, but still in your eye-line so he could keep an eye on you. He trusted Dutch with the gang members, but if he was considering kicking you out, that made you fair game. 

“I’m gonna cut to the chase,” he took a long drag of the cigar he held between his fingers, blowing the smoke out when he turned his head to the side. “You know why you’re here.”

“I reckon I do,” you answered quietly, trying to keep an ounce of confidence though your entire body felt like it would start shaking in fear. 

“I could have you stripped for the whole camp to see, but for propriety’s sake I’m only going to ask you this once… is it true?” He asked, his tone less stern but still eager. 

“Yes.”

He sighed, having heard the softness in your voice since you came in, he already knew. You’d never shown this side of yourself to the camp before. You were always confident, sure of yourself, cocky even. To think it was an act boiled his skin… but he wanted to take his time with this. You still had capabilities the likes he’s never seen, and if he wasn’t careful they could one day be used against him. You didn’t know about the O’Driscolls yet, and he sure as hell wouldn’t have you running off and joining them. It would be the death of the Van Der Linde gang, of that he was certain. 

“I’m gonna decide what to do with you, but until then, you stay out of my sight.”

He pointed outside of the tent, and you were honestly surprised that this was the extent of his questioning. Nothing about the lies? About the history? About anything at all?

You gave him a double glance, but scurried away in fears he might change his mind and tear you to shreds on the spot. You walked hastily towards Arthur, your face gaining more color to it once you were out of the line of danger. 

“You alright?” He asked, his furrowed brows reflecting his concern. 

“No,” you let out with a dramatic scoff. Your flare for over exaggeration was sometimes quite amusing to him. He just dropped his head and chuckled. 

“You’re fine,” he patted your shoulder before stepping past you and going to talk to Dutch. What he knows is that Susan Grimshaw spilled every nasty detail of this afternoon to the camp leader, but he also knows that he hasn’t had his say yet, and when it comes down to it, Dutch will side with his loyal enforcer over a disgruntled Miss Grimshaw. 

Dutch was stretching out his arms, sore from the ride in and out of town. It was a scouting trip, really, but it was enough to make him ache when all the stress was added. 

“First John leaving, now this. I can’t seem to catch a break, can I?” Dutch sighed out after his words, the toll they took on his mind caused him to shake his head of so many thoughts. 

“This ain’t so bad,” Arthur began, tilting his head from side to side. 

“How could you possibly think that?”

Arthur shrugged, reasoning with himself a few options before saying them out loud. 

“S’not like she did any harm. Only thing that’s come of it is a bit of surprise to everyone…” he trailed, sitting across from the man he called his father figure and his friend. The tension seemed to ease up the second he neared the man, but there was more to be done to diffuse the situation, and he was all too happy to insert himself as the cause of said diffusion. 

“She lied about who she is, for all we know she could be working with local law, or worse, the pinkertons.” 

Dutch’s raised concerns nearly made Arthur chuckle. When you first got here, facade or not, you were still just lost and looking for somewhere to call home. There were never any motives behind your gang participation other than needing a family.

“We haven’t had them on our trail in ages. Coming here, we finally put a stop to their sniffin’ around. Besides, she’s been the reason for our successful jobs lately… she’s been loyal enough to save my life despite our differences.”

“But she lied to us,” Dutch kept driving his point. A liar’s a liar, and they lie about other things. 

“She’s a scared kid, Dutch. She just wants a place to be,” Arthur defended, his arguments becoming more close and personal, which led Dutch to connect some other dots. 

He sighed, looking at Arthur and coming to an understanding of what he knew were past events. 

“You knew, didn’t you?” 

Arthur dropped his head into a subtle nod, not yet meeting Dutch’s eyes for his fear of a bad reaction. 

“Since the week she got here.”

Dutch had to laugh, because of course he did. Arthur was more in tune with the members of camp than he could ever be, and more than they could be with each other. He was like Hosea that way, his ability to connect and grow relationships with others was just a natural gift. He often thought it stemmed from Arthur’s great love of the unknown, and his endless curiosity. 

“How’d you figure it out?” 

“I didn’t, until I found some uh… rather feminine items in her saddle bag. She fessed up pretty quickly to me,” Arthur scratched the back of his neck, his nerves settling when he knew he wouldn’t be in any trouble. 

“Well,” Dutch started, coming to the edge of his open tent, looking for the troubled recruit among the busy movement of the camp. “We’ve taken in much worse, and it’s always been in our favor. And you’re right… She's just a scared kid. A scared kid with the quickest hands I’ve ever seen.”

There was a moment, and then Arthur smiled.

“So… She’s free n’ clear?” He asked, his tone hopeful, which Dutch noticed. Perhaps Red had made amends after all, and just as Dutch promised, Arthur was in her corner. This wasn’t her time of need, per se, but he knew she would have him when it arrived.

“I suppose so, although… I’m not going to be responsible for the court of public opinion,” he gestured to everyone in the camp, frantically working around just to keep themselves busy. With all the chaos going on, it’s the only thing they can do not to sit and gossip, which they do anyway. 

“I reckon I better keep her away from Susan?” 

“With a ten foot pole, preferably,” Dutch rolled his eyes. That woman was full of determination, and it could be both a great strength, as well as her worst weakness. 

Arthur smiled, ready to go make good on a promise he’d been waiting on for some time. “I’ll catch you later then.”

“Alright, Arthur.”

-

You didn’t know if Arthur’s conversation with Dutch would benefit you or condemn you, but you didn’t stick around to find out. He’d found you saddling your horse, just in case a hasty escape needed to be made. Yes, perhaps your delusions were getting a bit out of hand. 

“Where you goin’?”

“Depends,” you started, “How mad is he?”

Arthur huffed and grabbed your wrist, stilling your movements. “He ain’t mad.”

“No?” You could hardly believe it. “He seemed riled up to me.”

“I talked to him,” he explained, but gave no further intel. 

“You got magic words or somethin’?” You chuckled, slightly more relaxed since the news came better than you hoped, and Arthur wasn’t dragging you back to be punished or anything. “What’d you tell him?” 

“That you were gonna be loyal… and that you’d been scared.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes, trying to play off his last words like they weren’t true. “I ain’t scared.”

“Really? You were about to run, weren’t you?” He pointed to your full saddle bag and stocked up horse, ready to disappear at a moment’s notice. 

You caved. 

“He gave me a little fright is all,” you toed your boot into the dirt as you spoke, looking back up to find him nodding at your horse. 

“Climb up, let’s go to town before closing time,” he walked around to the other side where his horse was hitched from earlier today, still saddled since Bill hadn’t made his rounds yet. 

You complied, but were unsure of the motives for such a trip. 

“Is Dutch paying you to take me somewhere? He want you to kill me quietly?” 

It was just a joke, but he was getting tired of the overly dramatic interactions. He wasn’t sure what all transpired in your past, albeit knowing more than everyone else… even still, he figured there had to be something that gave you your theatrical touch. 

“Knock it off, would ya?”

“Sorry.”

The ride wasn’t long, but the sun was down when you both tied your horses to the poll in front of the general store. You’d been in here a few times, and the man behind the counter always cowered in fear of Texas Red the unkillable. No matter your manners or gentility, that’s just how it was. 

“What’re we doin’ here?” You adjusted your hat, wiping some sweat off your forehead and following him up the front steps. 

“I remember sayin’ I’d get you a dress a while back, we’re here to make good on it.”

You stopped in your tracks, a wide smile blossoming on your face when you heard him say it. He’d remembered, and been waiting for it since the night he uttered the words. 

He noticed you weren’t close behind him, and turned, catching the sweet expression you wore, but brushing it off with a sideways smile. 

“C’mon now, gotta pick it out.” 

You followed after him, and once inside, the man behind the counter seemed to be nervous, as usual. He didn’t seem to be weary of having you both in, just a bit anxious. Arthur knew his presence held power, but he figured with your reputation in this town, and others around… your presence was bound to hold more. 

“What can I do for you? Need more socks?” The man asked you kindly, and you shook your head, a small laugh escaping you. 

“No, we’re uh… we’re here to get a dress for my wife,” Arthur spoke evenly, his confidence showing through when he had to put on a show. 

Your head snapped to him, and though you knew he was intending to buy the dress for you, a thought sprang into your mind. Abigail. She was going to be his wife. 

This sweet little moment, with Arthur keeping his promise, and making a big to-do over your acceptance into camp, was all part of your own little fantasy. It wouldn’t last, and when you returned to camp, he’d be with her again, helping with Jack. You tried to shake the thought from your mind, wanting to enjoy this sliver of time with him. 

“Of course! I’ve got a new selection,” he pulled out the catalog, and opened the pages to a section with different types of skirts, petticoats, chemises, and corsets. All were beautiful, but your eye was drawn to a more simple style. It was a work dress, which would be far more practical for you than any of the other ones. 

“I’m not too good with all this. What do you think, Red? Which one would she like best?” He tossed you a smirk, leaning his elbow on the counter while he let you browse over the pages a bit longer, turning them over with a furrowed brow of focus. 

“What color does this one come in?” You asked the man over the counter, keeping your act up, but letting your hints of excitement show through. 

“That one is a nice pale blue, perfect for spring and summer time,” he spoke firmly, becoming more relaxed the longer you both were in the store. Yes, he’d heard the whispers, and for you, he’d actually seen your acts of a quick trigger. But here, you didn’t seem like a threat, so he stopped acting like you were.

“Blue, huh… Might bring out her eyes a bit, hey Arthur?” Now it was your turn to smirk, and he chuckled, nodding back to you and tapping the page twice with a heavy finger. 

“You’re right it would, make em’ look like crystal,” he played along, making you blush under the brim of your hat, unbeknownst to the man behind the counter. 

“It’s gotta be that one, then.”

Arthur chuckled, counting out the cash that the dress price was listed under, tossing it down on the counter and nodding to the man. 

“You heard the kid, we’ll take that one,” he spoke in a playful tone, ignoring the movements of the man as he scurried to the back rooms, getting your dress pieces together. 

Arthur lifted the brim of your hat, and smiled genuinely at the look on your face. It was excited, sweet, and grateful. He wanted to buy you the entire stock of the store just to ensure that look stayed on your face, no matter the irrationality of it. He’d become quite accustomed to giving you his time and his efforts, and this was no different. The only difference is that now he wanted to, wholeheartedly. The deal you’d struck with him, the one where you were going to teach him your methods of shooting faster, were now null and void. He didn’t want to take anything from you, he just wanted to give.

When the store worker returned with a large box in hand, Arthur thanked him for his time, carrying the thing over his shoulder and heading for the door, which you opened for him. 

Getting outside, you went for the horses, but he stopped you with a swat of your hand away from the reins. 

“Can’t go back yet, gotta see how this looks on ya,” he insisted, nodding for you to follow him yet again. He walked for a bit before coming up on the shed with a small lantern inside. It looked like it only housed tools and ropes and things of the like, but there was space enough to change in. “Came across this when I was out one day. Took a whole nap before someone realized I was in here.” 

“How convenient,” you teased, taking the box from his hands and eagerly walking into the confined space. 

“I’ll be out here,” he mumbled as you shut the door, putting a shovel against it since it didn’t really even close all the way. 

You knew he wasn’t the peeping type, so you began tearing away at your clothes, the ones that had been worn completely through by now and needed replacing anyway. You had more back at camp, but you had always missed dresses. This would be the first of many you would probably buy for yourself, but it was going to remain your favorite, because of who it came from. 

It was just like clock work, muscle memory helping you to remember all the little ties and snaps that needed to be in place, the corset laces that needed to be pulled enough to fit the outer fabrics. You knew you probably needed a good hair brushing and face washing to actually look like a young woman again, but for now, the dress was doing wonders on your self esteem… or at least it did until you realized you couldn’t finish putting it on by yourself. The buttons on the back went up higher than your shoulder blades, and sat in a near impossible spot to reach. If there was a mirror, you could probably just contort yourself enough to get it together, but in a dark, barely lit tool shed, your options were limited. 

You sighed, pulling the shovel away from the door and peaking your head outside. Arthur had nearly gone through an entire cigarette in the time you took to change. 

“Arthur?” You asked timidly. 

“M’here, you alright?” 

“I can’t reach the back,” you admitted, just slightly embarrassed. “Can you give me a hand?” 

He was all too happy to comply, stomping out the cigarette on the ground and taking quick steps to reach you. “Turn around.”

You did as he told you, turning so he had access to the open back of the dress. He couldn’t see you all too well in this light, but even from what he could see, a few words entered his mind from a past conversation you had with him. 

I used to be quite the stunner… and he surely believed it. 

His fingers caressed the exposed skin of your back before buttoning the fabric closed, smoothing it down over your shoulders and watching the way it fit you perfectly. 

“Don’t mention this to Abigail,” you joked, turning back around and trying to keep the mood light. It was beginning to feel too intimate, and you knew you couldn’t allow yourself to feel that way with Arthur anymore. 

“Why?” 

“Well, I might be a bit old fashioned, but isn’t it frowned upon for a taken man to be helping another woman with her dress?” 

It was just another joke, but he seemed to be completely thrown off by the implications. 

“I ain’t a taken man,” he confessed, looking at you with a stare that was all too deep, and all too consuming. He needed to stop that, but you didn’t have the heart to make him. 

“Not yet,” you corrected, but again it was you in the wrong. 

“No,” he shook his head, trying to bring a serious tone to the conversation. “I’m not gonna marry Abigail.”

Your face screwed up in confusion, thinking about all the times when he collapsed in her tent with Jack, just to get up and help him in the night. He was Jack’s new father, wasn’t he? That was the deal he made. 

“Why not? I thought that you were- well since you were helping with Jack and… what about your deal?”

“I said I was gonna do right by this boy, and I am… But Abigail won’t have me,” he shrugged, admitting to the rejection she gave of his offer. “She’s still in love with John, n’ I can understand it.”

It should have made you feel a bit of sadness, to know that even with all that Arthur was, someone would turn him away like that. ‘Abigial won’t have me’ sounded like perhaps he thought himself not good enough, just as he always does. Despite all of this, you didn’t feel sorrow, you felt an abundance of joy. A wide smile spread across your cheeks, and he furrowed his brow. 

“What’re you smilin’ about?”

“Nothing,” you dropped the smile and shook it off, running a hand up his arm and giving it a sincere squeeze. “I’m sorry, Arthur. I know you’ve meant well.”

“S’alright. Hosea’s been tellin’ me since Jack was born that I shouldn’t have offered. He doesn’t think we’re right for one another, somethin’ like that.” 

“I agree, you’re not right for each other,” you spoke out loud, though that thought was meant only for your head. 

Arthur seemed to be catching on slightly to your behavior, stepping a bit closer and staring downwards at you. 

“Yeah? And who am I right for?” He teased, watching the redness of your cheeks spread down your neck and shoulders with every breath you took. 

“I guess we’ll just have to wait and find out,” you did your best to counter his taunts, stepping away from him and going to collect your old clothes from the shed. Once they were in hand you turned back to the opening of the alley, making way for the horses. “You coming?” 

And of course, he followed, shaking his head and chuckling under his breath. 

-

The next day fared better than you thought it would, if you’re being honest. 

You didn’t really know why, if Dutch had said anything, or if Hosea did, but after you returned to camp the previous night, everyone seemed to be acting just fine. They treated you differently for sure, but not badly. In fact, you noticed the men had a certain kind of reverence to you that they never held before. The same they did with the other women. 

Maybe it was just the beautiful dress that Arthur bought for you, the light and pure color of it giving you a sense of being ethereal, having finally exposed the raw feminine beauty that was hiding for so long. You reckon you’d even start growing out your hair again, as the short style coming to your chin was not how you preferred to have it in the first place.

You still went to work doing the same tasks you normally did, but were careful not to rip your dress or over-exert yourself, given you were still in the same physical condition as the day before. 

“Charl- I mean, Miss Brooks?” 

You heard a voice chirp softly from beside you, and you dropped the wagon supplies for now to walk over to the owner of said voice, Tilly.

“Yes, Miss Tilly?” You extended a smile, and she smiled back, albeit a tight and awkward one from where she was sitting. You took a step or two closer, and she had to shake her head after getting a better look at you. 

“I just-” she cut herself short on account of the words already jumbling in her head. “I don’t want there to be any awkwardness between us.”

You furrowed your brow to her, unsure of what she could have possibly meant. 

“Why would there be?” 

“Well, if you can recall,” she started, a nervous chuckle in her speech. “I tried to make some… advances towards you. Back when I thought you were uh… a young man.”

You smiled again and ducked your head, a scoff of laughter and a nod of your head brought about less tension. It was no big deal. 

“Don’t worry yourself, Miss Tilly. I was the one who tricked ya, I oughta be apologizing. Probably should to Abigail, too.”

“Abigail?”

You tilted your head, recalling the scene. About two weeks before Jack was born. You’d done the same thing Arthur did, with not a care of revealing yourself in the future. 

“Before John even left, I offered her to be Jack’s ‘father’ when he was born. I guess I was pretty certain at the time no one was gonna find out,” you explained, leaning against the wagon she sat by, mending a shirt that looked like Arthur’s. You could tell by the wear and tear around the shoulders, where his broadness likely just caused the fabric to break down faster. 

“Could you really have gone on like that?” 

“I don’t know,” you pondered, another small laugh escaping you. “Maybe not, since I had to tell everyone I was eighteen just for them to believe it.”

“You aren’t eighteen?” She seemed surprised. Maybe you just had a young face. 

“No, ma’am. Twenty two nearing twenty three as a matter of fact.”

“I’ll say,” she tutted, throwing down the shirt she was finished with, and picking up a new one. “You had us all convinced. Makes me wonder where you really came from.”

You thought about telling her, but the story was long and today was a busier day than before. There was actual work to be done in preparing for the next job, a few days ahead. 

“Some place I didn’t wanna be,” you chided, stepping away from the wagon, nodding to her in thanks for the small chat. “I’ll let you get back to it.”

“Alright. I’ll catch you around,” she spoke sweetly, a kind look of relaxation on her face, now that she knew where she stood. 

You went back to work, making sure that neither Dutch nor Hosea saw you with idle hands today. You wanted to make sure that no matter what happened now, you wouldn’t be cast aside. You still had the abilities they needed, but with a skirt on your hips, they saw you differently, and it was up to you to show them you were not going to be ignored when it came to jobs in the future. 

You hated that the rest of the women in camp were just seen as stationary helpers, only capable of mending clothes or cleaning up the camp, or even just laying the groundwork in town for the men to actually pull jobs. You’ve seen Abigail in action, she was smart and cunning and had a great way with words, she could be the difference in things staying civil or having a shoot out during a quiet robbery, but the men overlook her gifts. You know the women in this camp have great potential, and perhaps if they let you continue as you have been, they will open the opportunities for the others as well.

Tags: @photo1030 @sheepdogchick @snoopysshark @strvberrydoll @yyiikes @phantasyy @puffyhairedhipster @scorpio-echo @hollyskjlap

[gliphyartfan]

your recent mafia au got me thinking. With halloween right around the corner, I'm curious to know how the chain would do on halloween after finally being reunited with reader. Would they go trick or treating? Go to or a have a halloween party? Have a scary movie marathon? They definitely would be excited to see reader in a costume, probably even try to match 😄 hope you have a good halloween 🎃 gliphy

Hope you have a happy spooky time too!

Hmmmmm had to think on this for a while

The Mafia Chain wouldn’t exactly go trick-or-treating, kinda can’t given they are…well Mafia.

But there’s no way they’d let Reader miss out on the fun.

(Plus it’s mean more memories made with their darling ya know. )

Maybe they take a spin on the tradition, where they orchestrate a lavish Halloween street party, shutting down part of the town for “security reasons” (though really, they just want to control the scene and since the territory closest to their home is safest? Not like the people living there would care about what the people who do more than cops do.)

They’d definitely make sure the streets are filled with decorated stalls, spooky lights, and candy stands so they can walk around with reader and enjoy the night together.

Wild. Four, and Wind would absolutely sneak away to join the kids for some trick-or-treating action, or rather Reader suggested they do that and they happily followed along to act as their “distraction” while they grab the best candies~

Of course, Warriors and Twilight would follow, trying to keep them out of trouble (and failing. miserably. but laughing about it.)

Meanwhile, Time and Legend would remain at the center of the party, to keep track of everyone, but also more than happy to show off their costumes with reader. probably something classic, refined, and flattering.

Sky and Hyrule would help keep the event running smoothly, subtly making sure everything stays perfect, all while stealing glances at reader in their costume.

And given that they probably have their inside men in the force patrolling the area, no chance of the street party being shut down!

Moving on!

—

—

If they decided on a private party, they would most definitely throw a Halloween party, a grand, mafia style event, where everyone is dressed to impress.

Reader would be the highlight of the night, no matter what costume they chose. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Now, matching costumes?

The absolute joy they'd get out of matching with reader cannot be understated. Whether it's sophisticated and dark, playful and spooky, or elegant and fantasy, they'd all be vying for reader's attention, secretly hoping their costume combo stands out the most.

The Chain would throw in every effort to ensure reader felt included and adored, and they'd take great pride in matching, each of them holding onto that sense of togetherness after so long apart.

Time would insist on matching costumes, something a bit dark and classy like a vampire lord with reader as his elegant vampiress, both dripping with sophistication and mystery. He would hover close to reader’s side all night, using any excuse to keep his arm around them.

Time might not show it outwardly, but he’s positively thrilled to be by their side again, and this night would be his way of celebrating that.

Legend would take a more playful approach, maybe convincing reader to go with a theme like ghost hunters or a dynamic duo from old horror films.

He wouldn’t admit it, but seeing reader so lively and happy in their costume would melt his usually standoffish demeanor. He’d tease them constantly throughout the night but would also make sure they stay close, pulling them into photos and conversations with that subtle smirk of his.

Wild would go all out on the costume front (I mean he’s an outfit fanatic during his journey and that follows him no matter what. So says I)

even if it’s just an excuse to see reader in something cute. He’d push for something fun and adventurous, maybe a fantasy-themed costume like a knight and a princess, or even something totally random like an iconic horror duo. If he has Majora’s Mask, he’ll definitely use that. (To Time’s exasperation)

But make no mistake, he would absolutely fawn over reader the moment he sees them, telling them how amazing they look. His eyes would practically glow when they finally match his energy in costume.

Warriors would go for something elegant but with an edge, a suave prohibition era mobster look that complements reader’s stunning costume.

He would shamelessly flirt with reader the entire night, likely offering his arm as he winks, “You know, we could conquer the world together.” There’s a mix of possessiveness and affection in the way he sticks close to reader, enjoying the evening but always keeping an eye on anyone who might try to approach them.

Twilight would likely pick something a bit rugged but undeniably charming, maybe a lone werewolf paired with reader’s mystical witch or something similar. Or he’d go all homely with just rancher style. (Or maybe he’d get a custom made outfit of his old rancher clothes. He’d love the idea of Reader wearing an Ordonian style outfit along with him)

He’s more subtle about his excitement, but reader would catch him watching them with those soft, almost longing eyes as they move through the party. When no one is looking, he’d pull them aside for quiet moments together, placing a hand at the small of their back while admiring them.

Hyrule might pick something like dark fairytale characters, enchanted but with a spooky twist. While he would try to remain composed, his face would give away how enchanted he is by reader’s costume. He’d be stuck in this constant state of awe, keeping close and helping them with anything they need, making sure their night is nothing short of magical (pun intended). He’d smile a little too hard when reader leaned into his side during the night. (Maybe use some of his magic to scare the kiddos wandering around)

Sky would go for something dreamy, maybe suggesting they dress as characters from a fantasy romance, like a noble knight and their beloved, or something with whimsical elegance. He’s a romantic not matter what.

He’d spend the entire evening doting on reader, sneaking soft compliments about how stunning they are, while enjoying every second of being close to them. He’d suggest they dance at some point, perhaps a slow, romantic waltz under the glow of the party lights.

Four might not outwardly say it, he would love matching costumes. His choice would lean toward something subtle and coordinated, like characters from a fairy tale or folklore that connected to his background or a more classic pairing. He’d be delighted if reader chose something matching without him asking, feeling a quiet sense of pride as they walked together, his heart warming every time someone noticed.

And if anyone flirted with reader or tried to steal their attention, Four would silently position himself between them, guiding reader back with a slight but unmistakable possessiveness. His quiet, intense focus would make it clear to anyone watching that he had no intention of letting anyone come between him and reader, especially not on a night like this.

—

Now if the Chain did manage to have a quiet night in (after ensuring that everything was secure and all potential dangers were far away), a scary movie marathon would be on the table. Reader would curl up with a blanket on the couch, and soon enough, the Chain would join them, turning the cozy night into a cuddle pile.

Wild and Wind would be the instigators, immediately throwing pillows around and getting everyone to relax.

Hyrule would sit at reader’s feet or close to their side, finding comfort in simply being near them. Four would join him.

Twilight would definitely steal the spot right next to reader, wrapping his arm around them, pulling them into his side for extra warmth.

Warriors and Legend would also stick close, trying to act casual but secretly thrilled to be near reader.

Throughout the night, there would be subtle touches, Sky handing reader popcorn, Time placing a blanket over their shoulders when the night gets colder.

The atmosphere would shift from spooky to soft, (and probably back to spooky if Reader is a horror fanatic) each of them finding an excuse to be near reader, their hearts light with the warmth of finally having them back.

By the end, reader would be snuggled right in the middle of the Chain, surrounded by warmth and affection as the night came to a peaceful close.