#I’ve been crying for the better part of the day

[starkeyslibrary]

FALLING OUT OF FRAME | Part 4

pairing: you x drew starkey

authors note: first off, I want to apologize for the delay in getting Part 4 to you. the flu hit me hard, and while I’m feeling better now, I’m still not 100%. Today’s been one of the better days, so I’m happy to finally share this with you! also, for all the new readers joining this series (welcome!), a quick note about the taglist: If you’d like to be added, please send me a message instead of commenting under posts. my notifications can get a little wild sometimes, and I don’t want to miss anyone’s request. Enjoy!

It had been a couple of days since the paparazzi had caught you. The pictures of you crying alone in the street made their rounds through the tabloids. Headlines blared across every news outlet: “Y/N Heartbroken: Tears on the Streets After Split with Drew Starkey”. You couldn’t escape them – everywhere you went, there were reminders of how vulnerable you had been, how much you were hurting. You had tried to fight it, tried to keep up a front. But the pictures, the emotional rawness, had taken a toll.

Your phone buzzed incessantly with notifications, and Drew’s name popped up more than you cared to count. The text messages, the calls, the voicemails – he was reaching out, desperate to fix what he had broken. You could feel the weight of his messages pressing down on you, each one pulling at the strings of your broken heart.

Drew’s text:

“I’m so sorry, Y/N. Please let me see you.”

“I didn’t mean this to happen. I miss you so much.”

“Can we please talk? I hate seeing you like this.”

You stared at the screen, your fingers hovering over the keys, but you couldn't bring yourself to reply. Every time you thought about responding, all you could see was that night – his absence, his lies, the way he had been with Odessa, and the emotional toll it was taking on you. The tears had fallen freely and now, in the cold light of day, they felt like a public spectacle. And that hurt.

Your friends were your saving grace during this time. Madelyn had taken you in the moment she found out about the photos. You spent long nights at her apartment, binge-watching shows and talking about everything and nothing. It was a distraction you needed, but even then, your thoughts kept circling back to Drew.

Madelyn was a good friend, she knew how to give space when you needed it but also to push you when you were being too hard on yourself. “Y/N, you can’t keep torturing yourself like this,” she told you one evening, as you both sat together on her couch, a glass of wine in hand. “I know it’s hard, but you have to stop looking at those pictures and thinking that’s all there is to your story. You deserve so much more than to be defined by what happened with Drew.”

“I know,” you sighed, resting your head against the back of the couch. “But it’s hard, Madelyn. It’s not just about the photos or the press. It’s everything. I thought we were more than that. I thought… I thought it was real.”

Madelyn’s expression softened, and she leaned in, taking your hand. “I know you did. And I think, deep down, Drew did too. But right now, you need to figure out what you want. Not what he wants. Not what the press wants. You need to decide what’s best for you.”

But even as your friends gave their support, you couldn’t escape the pull of Drew’s attempts to contact you. His phone calls became a constant. Every time your phone buzzed, your stomach twisted in knots. You hated that he was the one making you feel like this, that he still had the ability to drag you back into his world with just a message.

Finally, on one particularly sleepless night, the phone rang again. Drew’s name flashed across the screen.

You didn’t answer it.

Minutes later, another text from him:

“Please I can’t stand this. I’ve seen the pictures. I know you’re hurt. But I need you to know, I never wanted to hurt you. Us. I’m sorry for everything. Can we please meet and talk? I love you please don’t forget that.”

You stared at the message, feeling that familiar ache in your chest. Part of you wanted to believe him, wanted to give him the chance to fix this, to explain himself. But another part of you – the stronger, more resilient part – was terrified of falling for the same lies, the same empty promises.

You knew what you had to do. You couldn’t keep letting him pull you back into this mess.

__

The next day, you went to work, keeping your head down, avoiding any attention. But it was impossible to escape the ever-present eyes of the public. Every glance at your phone, every time you stepped outside, you could feel the weight of the scrutiny. The paparazzi had followed you more than once, snapping pictures of you walking alone, trying to find solace in your routine.

But no matter where you went, there was always someone watching. Always someone commenting. The paparazzi caught it all – the lonely moments and the sadness in your eyes. It felt like you were trapped in a never ending cycle of being seen,  but not truly known.

It wasn’t long before Madelyn called you again. Her voice was gentle, but you could hear the concern behind it. “Y/N, Drew wants to meet. He’s asking if you can at least hear him out. He says he’s messed up. He is not asking for forgiveness, just a chance to explain.”

You stood by the window, staring out at the city, the weight of her words sinking in. You had to make a choice. You couldn’t keep going back and forth between holding on and letting go.

But could you trust him again?

The uncertainty gnawed at you, and all you could do was take a deep breath and say “Tell him… I’m not ready. Not yet.”

Madelyn didn’t argue. She knew this was something you had to figure out on your own.

You spent the next few days doing everything you could to put distance between yourself and the mess that had become your relationship with Drew. You kept working, you spent time with friends, and you tried – really tried not to think about him. But you couldn’t escape the feeling that something was missing, that your world felt incomplete without him in it.

But then you realized: You had to be okay without him first. You couldn’t keep trying to piece yourself together with someone who had already shown they weren’t ready to treat you the way you deserved.

And so, you decided that you needed to move on. You deserved better than being stuck in a limbo. You deserved love that was real, not based on a public imagine, not tainted by lies and half-truths.

This was your time to find yourself again. And maybe, just maybe, Drew wasn’t a part of that future.

TAGLIST: @princesspeach124 @idiotussupremus @eitaababe @13tter @drewsephrry @drewstarkeyzwhore @cooper8224 @maybankslover @elyseesarchive @ietss @esquivelbianca @josephandrewstarkey @willowpains @wtfdudesblog @purplerose291 @rafegf-real @matthewswifeyy @fangirl-magic @snowtargaryen @slut-era @leather-n-velvet

[sparrow-and-seed-scrawls]

Finding Real Life in Characters

something I’ve found compelling is the beauty of life in characters.

I recently finished a story about a deeply hurt character, one who’d been betrayed and shattered, one who very well could have been written as a dark, unkind, and brooding man.

The author could have brushed past his trauma, as so many artists and writers do, watering down the sharp gravity of pain into nothing but a ‘sad backstory, but he’s attractive so it doesn’t matter much’ beat. It’s certainly worked for sales in the past.

That sounds a bit harsh, I suppose, but I’d forgotten how it felt to see such understanding kindness displayed in media. I specifically remember a line that (paraphrased) said, “I want to tell you ‘I’m sorry’ again, but this isn’t about me. You don’t need to be reassuring me right now. This is about taking care of you. You’re allowed to cry. There is so much strength in allowing yourself to feel those things.”

And I can’t stop thinking about it. Despite everything this character had gone through—from being taken advantage of to losing everything he knew—he loved people. He found broken pieces of his own grief in others and helped them find their way to continue, showing that it’s okay to cry, it’s not weak to ask for help and healing, it’s necessary to feel.

He said, “I don’t know what you’re going through. These [circumstances] are felt and perceived differently by everyone. But I have been to dark places before, too, and you’re not going to heal by shutting yourself off.”

So often we write, draw, imagine characters as better versions of people. They’re more good, more attractive, more angsty—they let us forget the bad parts of ourselves. But characters are also meant to show us how to live through our mistakes and/or pain.

Yes, he had a tragic backstory, and it affected his choices, his words, his personality. Of course it did, it’s realistic. But the ‘tragic backstory’ gave him character motivation and realism, not something to make him appear attractive or mysterious to other characters.

He respected others’ boundaries because his had been ignored. He was scared of change and opening up because it had cost him. He was gentle when others were in emotional pain because he knew how it could damage. And we saw this in the everyday, not just the plot points and angsty scenes.

There is something so true and real about seeing how life affects everyone differently. Seeing how it’s possible to change and possible to live past hurt.

He was an absolutely incredible character. I wish I could explain this better, maybe one day I’ll be able to, but life in writing—life with a past of pain, life that changes to keep that pain from happening again, life that heals and helps, despite what happened, is absolutely unforgettable.

Realness in characters is what makes art and story so addicting.

[moeitsu]

The Tie Which Linked My Soul To Thee

Ch 22 - Had But Our Loving Prospered Well

Summary: As Dutch readies the gang for their next big score, Arthur is sent to Saint Denis to settle unfinished business, only to face a ghost from his past. Meanwhile, Kate's come down with an illness, but a vivid dream sparks a newfound resolve to secure her and Arthur's future—no matter the cost.

Ao3  Wattpad Masterlist - All Chapters

AN: About 10k words. I really enjoyed how this one turned out. I think it does a good job at setting up what's coming next while also keeping you on your toes. Guess you'll have to read and see ;)

And Happy Thanksgiving to all those who celebrate! I am so thankful for all my readers <3

Tag List: @photo1030 @ariacherie @thatweirdcatlady @ultraporcelainpig @marygillisapologist @eternalsams @lunawolfclaw  @yallgotkik

**please let me know if you would like to be tagged in future chapters!

Story Tags: Canon Divergence, Mutual Pining, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Eventual Smut, Eventual Romance, Emotional Sex, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Touch-Starved, Sexual Tension, Friends to Lovers, Trauma, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Blood and Violence, Survivor Guilt, Caretaking, Period-Typical Racism, Anxiety, Emotional Constipation, Self-Doubt, Men Crying, Sweet/Hot, Romantic Angst, Romantic Fluff

Been a while since I put pen to paper. Feels like there ain’t enough time in the day anymore, though Lord knows I’ve been wasting plenty of it trying to keep my head above water. We’ve moved again. Ran from the law again. Stirred up more trouble. Same damn story, just a different setting. This time it’s Saint Denis—a place I heard was one of the seven wonders of the world. Well, if this is what they call a wonder, I reckon I’d be just fine never seeing the other six. It’s crowded, loud, and full of people who’d stab you in the back soon as they look at you. One of those people bein’ Angelo Bronte. Slimy, conniving bastard who’s got this whole city dancing to his tune.

He’s the same one who took Jack from us, but somehow, he’s also got us rubbing elbows with the mayor at some swanky garden party. Don’t ask me how that makes sense. Dutch’s idea, of course. Or maybe Hosea’s, hell if I know anymore. What I do know is he insisted Kate come along, dressed us all up like damn peacocks. I felt ridiculous, but then I looked at her. My Kate. She took my breath clean away. Lord help me, there’s nothing in this life I wouldn’t do for that woman.

The party itself? A circus. Drunks, phonies, and clowns as far as the eye could see. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have some fun. Hell, I think Kate might’ve even enjoyed herself. It’s a memory I’ll carry with me, no matter how all this shakes out.

Still, this place ain’t sittin’ right with me. Dutch and Hosea keep goin’ on about opportunities, but I don’t see much besides folks with too much money and too little care for anything else. I better keep my head down while I can.

I introduced myself to a couple of Indians, father and son. The son is so angry and the father is; I don’t know exactly what. Something both impressive and frightening. And kind too. He’s a great man being defeated by powerful, awful forces. I don’t know why, but I agreed to help them. Seems they, like us, have a problem with that ape Leviticus Cornwall. 

And then there's Dutch, always in the middle of it all. He’s pushin’ Kate into things I’m not sure she should be a part of. Keeps talkin’ about loyalty, like I ain’t proven mine a thousand times over. Says Kate could help with this new scheme coming up—some high-stakes poker game on a damn yacht in the harbor. Wants to dress her up like some famous singer to get us in. The idea makes my skin crawl. She’s too good for this kind of life, and Dutch knows it.

I’ve been trying to keep her close, tellin’ her to stick to camp, help with the girls. But she ain’t the type to sit still. She’s got this fire in her, this restless spirit that makes her want to be out there with me, shoulderin’ the same burdens. And I love her for it, but it scares the hell outta me too. This gang is a powder keg, and when it blows, she’s gonna get caught in the blast.

John said something the other day that stuck with me—never thought I’d be takin’ advice from him, yet here we are. He told me I gotta start thinking about what happens after all this. If there’s even gonna be an "after." I don’t know what that looks like, but I know Kate deserves better than this life. Problem is, I ain’t sure I can give it to her. Not yet. Not while there’s still so much to fix, so much to make right.

I guess we’ll see what the day brings. 

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

Arthur closed his journal with a soft thunk, the familiar leather creaking as he slid it back into his satchel. Stretching, he winced as his muscles protested—stiff from too many sleepless nights and too many hours in the saddle. Dawn was just beginning to break, but Arthur had been awake long before the first hints of sunlight painted the horizon. Not that it mattered much. These days, the weeks were a blur, the days bleeding into each other with each task, each job, and every damn mission Dutch insisted on. No end in sight, just more running, more scheming.

He sat on an old, weather-worn chair perched at the front of Shady Belle, the crumbling manor they called home. Its once-grand façade was faded and cracked, much like the gang itself—held together by little more than stubbornness and dwindling hope. The morning fog clung low to the ground, curling around the gnarled tree roots and the broken fence posts, giving the place an eerie stillness.

It was mid-September now—Arthur only remembered because Sean’s birthday had passed a few days back. Some of the gang had stayed up late, passing a bottle around the campfire, trading stories about the fiery Irishman. Arthur had stayed longer than most, his heart heavy with memories of laughter now silenced by a bullet.

The chill of fall was creeping in, carried by the night and lingering in the shadows, though the sun would soon burn it away. Arthur inhaled deeply, the crisp air filling his lungs, chasing away the stale dampness of the manor. For a fleeting moment, it felt good—clean. He let himself savor it, knowing the day ahead would likely choke him with its demands.

Dutch had a plan, as always. This time, a high-stakes card game aboard a river boat in the Saint Denis harbor. Every detail had to be perfect. No mistakes. No run-ins with the law. Not this time. That meant a shopping trip to the city with Trelawny, of all people, to gather supplies and scout the area. Dutch wanted every angle covered, every loose end tied tight.

And then there was Kate. Dutch had insisted she play a role in the job, her part pivotal to getting them through the door. Her cover? A famous Italian singer, the kind who’d catch the eye of the city's most elite. Arthur had protested—loudly. But Dutch was unyielding, Hosea backing him up with reassurances that it’d be fine, just like the mayor’s party. Arthur didn’t care much for that; polished shoes, fake smiles, and too many lies—but Kate had taken it all in stride, and she was confident she could do it again.

Arthur wasn’t so sure. He didn’t like the idea of her standing in the middle of it all, surrounded by strangers who wouldn’t think twice about exploiting her if things went wrong. But she was stubborn, determined to help the gang any way she could. Arthur had no choice but to pray he could change her mind in the next two days. If he couldn’t, he’d be right there beside her. No way in hell would he let her face it alone.

Lately, though, his worries stretched far beyond jobs and plans. He’d noticed the signs—Kate sleeping more, eating less, missing chores because of her headaches. The girls had told him as much, and Arthur knew the cause. Shady Belle was no place for someone like her. Sure, it had walls and a roof, but they were cracked and rotting, letting the rain and wind slip through. Mold crept up the corners, and the damp chill seeped into your bones at night. Arthur did what he could—pulling her close when the nights grew too cold, letting his body heat shield her from the worst of it. But it wasn’t enough. It ate at him, watching her put on a brave face, pretending she wasn’t struggling just to keep his worry at bay.

But he always worried. Now, with Dutch’s plan looming and Kate’s involvement hanging in the balance, the concern gnawed at him, heavy and relentless, like a stone pressing against his chest. He sighed, shifting his weight in the creaky old chair, debating whether to head back inside and kiss his woman goodbye before the day’s chaos swept him away.

Before he could move, the door creaked open, and Mary-Beth stepped out onto the porch. The young woman was wrapped in a heavy wool coat, her night chemise peeking out from underneath, and she held a steaming cup of coffee in one hand and a white envelope pinched between her fingers. Her other hand clutched her coat tightly against the morning chill.

“Mornin’, Arthur,” she greeted softly, her voice warm and familiar. “Figured I might find you out here.”

Arthur smiled, tipping his head in acknowledgment. “A fine mornin’ it is, Miss Mary-Beth.”

She handed him the coffee, and he accepted it with a grateful nod. The warmth seeped through his fingers, chasing away the lingering chill. If there was one thing about running all these damn jobs, it was the way the girls showed their appreciation in small but meaningful ways. It reminded Arthur why he kept going—why he fought so hard. Not just for himself, but for them, too.

Mary-Beth lingered as Arthur took a tentative sip of the bitter black coffee. Then, almost hesitantly, she extended the envelope toward him. “Letter came for you,” she said, her tone light but with a hint of something else—curiosity, maybe. “I think it’s from that woman.” The last two words carried a subtle edge.

Arthur chortled, raising an eyebrow as he took the envelope. “That woman, huh? You mean Mary Gillis?” He turned the letter over in his hands, the elegant script on the front unmistakable.

Mary-Beth pursed her lips. “Gillis? Thought you said she was married to some Linton fellow?”

Arthur sighed, suddenly feeling like he’d been cornered. “She um— well she was. Barry Linton. But he passed not too long ago.” His fingers found the edge of the envelope, ripping it open as he spoke.

Mary-Beth folded her arms, her gaze sharpening with interest. “Then tell me, Mr. Morgan, what’s this widow doing still writin’ to you?”

He huffed, shaking his head. “I don’t know, darlin’. That’s what I’m fixin’ to find out.” He unfolded the letter, but he could feel her eyes lingering.

“You best get along before Miss Grimshaw catches wind you’re up,” he added pointedly, trying to nudge her away without sounding outright rude.

Mary-Beth narrowed her eyes at him, clearly unimpressed by his attempt to dismiss her, but after a moment, she relented, turning back toward the door. “Alright, fine. But I’ll be keepin’ my eye on you. Don’t do anything stupid.”

He chuckled under his breath as she disappeared into the manor, shaking his head at her audacity. Then, finally, he let his gaze fall to the letter in his hand, the words waiting for him like the clouds on the horizon:

My dear Arthur,

I hope this letter finds you well. I wanted to thank you for your help with Jamie. He and Daddy are still arguing, but I understand that Jamie is thinking of going back to college. Whatever happens, I believe you saved his life, and we are all truly grateful.

Oh, Arthur. I have made such a mess of my life, time and again. Why can I not change and be the woman I want to be? Why couldn’t you change and be a man and put down all those fantasies that cloud your judgment? Life is very confusing, and I see now that I am not very good at it.

I am afraid we have got ourselves in another mess. It’s not my fault, but I need your help. I’m staying at the Hotel Grand in Saint Denis. Oh, Arthur. I know it is wrong of me to ask you, but I have nobody else, and for what we had together, I beg of you, even though I am ashamed to do so.

Yours,Mary

Arthur sighed heavily, folding the letter with a deliberate care that belied the storm brewing inside him. He slid it into his satchel, the weight of it feeling heavier than any of the supplies or ammunition he carried. His jaw tightened as his gaze drifted out over the misty swamps, the sluggish waters reflecting a pale, muted sunrise. Mary Gillis. Always finding a way to haunt him, always pulling at the loose threads of a life he’d tried to leave behind.

The first time she’d called for his help, he’d nearly ignored her altogether. He’d wrestled with the question, torn between letting old flames die and doing what he thought might be the decent thing. It was Kate who’d convinced him in the end, her soft-spoken wisdom guiding him to answer the plea. "Helping others isn’t a weakness," she’d said, resting her hand on his, heart full of understanding. And so he’d gone. He’d helped Mary with her brother, with her troubles, and with it, he thought he’d finally put the past to rest.

But that was months ago. Months filled with battles, with losses, with a love that had rooted itself firmly in his chest and refused to let go. His heart belonged to Kate now, the woman who lay sleeping just upstairs, wrapped in the meager warmth of their shared cot. Whatever dreams Mary might still cling to, whatever fantasy she still entertained of what they once were, Arthur knew better. She’d signed the letter “yours,” but the truth was she had never truly been his.

They’d been just a couple of lovesick kids, foolish and reckless, trying to carve out a life in a world that seemed determined to keep them apart. Her father had despised him, calling him poor, unworthy, a scoundrel who’d ruin her. Maybe the old bastard had been right, in his own way. Mary, for her part, had always wanted him to change—begged him to leave his ways behind, to live a cleaner, safer life that had no place for a man like him.

He’d tried, God knows he’d tried, but in the end, it wasn’t enough. Her rejection of his proposal had shattered whatever hope they’d built together, and they’d gone their separate ways, two hearts too stubborn to meet in the middle. At the time, Arthur had been furious, heartbroken. But with the years came clarity. She’d done the right thing by walking away, as much as it had gutted him. He’d have ruined her, and she’d have resented him for it.

Now, though, her reaching out again felt like opening an old wound that had barely scarred over. She must’ve been desperate to dredge up the past and call on him once more. Still, Arthur had made her a promise all those years ago—a promise to be there if she ever truly needed him. And damn it all, he’d meant it. But that didn’t make him regret those words any less now.

He sighed again, the sound heavy in the stillness, and turned back toward the house. His boots creaked softly on the steps as he ascended to the bedroom he shared with Kate. The air inside was quieter than the swamp outside, a hushed calm broken only by the occasional murmur of the gang stirring below.

Kate lay curled beneath their blanket, her hair splayed across the pillow in a tangled mess that caught the pale morning light. The sight of her tugged at something deep inside him—a mix of love and guilt that settled in his chest. She looked so peaceful, her face relaxed in sleep, a stark contrast to the restless energy she carried during the waking hours.

Arthur knelt beside the bed, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. He leaned in close, pressing a soft kiss to her temple. Her skin felt warm against his lips. She stirred slightly, mumbling something incoherent before settling again.

“Be back soon,” he whispered, his voice low and smooth.

For a moment, he lingered there, his hand resting on her shoulder as though drawing strength from the simple touch. Then, with a reluctant sigh, he straightened and left the room, closing the door softly behind him. Whatever the day held, he’d face it. But as he made his way back down to the waiting world, he knew his thoughts would stay rooted here, with her. 

Always with her.

 ━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

Kate was lost in the throes of a feverish dream, her mind teetering on the edge of consciousness. Somewhere in the haze, she felt Arthur's lips brush against her temple—a fleeting touch that tethered her briefly to the safety of Shady Belle. But like water slipping through her fingers, she drifted away again, into a world both foreign and familiar.

She was standing in the bayou, its dark, twisting mangrove trees reaching like skeletal fingers toward a starless sky. Their roots dive far below the depths, peeking out in gnarled braids. There was no moon, yet the scene was bathed in an eerie glow, as if the shadows themselves emitted a pale, unnatural light. The air was thick and heavy, like the fever clinging to her skin, and she felt the weight of unseen eyes watching from just beyond the edges of her vision. Every time she turned, they vanished, retreating deeper into their dark spaces.

The cold water lapped at her thighs, the chill seeping through her soaked nightdress as it billowed around her legs like dissolving smoke. Shady Belle was nowhere to be seen, and she felt untethered, as though the world itself had abandoned her. She wanted to shout, to call Arthur’s name. But her mouth and tongue betrayed her, remaining silent in the oppressive quiet. Her mind grappled for meaning, but the logic of dreams offered no answers, only the inexorable thrill of what came next.

In a blink, the scene shifted, and she stood before an ancient, tortured looking willow tree. Its massive branches drooping low, their weight seeming to bow toward the water as if in devotion—or coercion. Devoid of color and leaves, it looked barren yet beckoning. The tree loomed impossibly large, its roots poking up through the earth as if it was trying to pry itself from the ground. They spread wide and deep, cradling something small and swaddled in a yellow fabric.

Kate’s body moved without her permission, her feet splashed forward sinking into the muck with every step, her hand outstretched toward the bundle. It pulsed faintly, as though alive, the fabric inexplicably dry and pristine despite the muddy water lapping at its edges. She knelt, her fingers trembling as they brushed the delicate cloth.

The earth beneath her began to quiver, a slow, rhythmic tremor that she realized was a heartbeat. It echoed in her chest, though strangely out of sync with her own, as if it belonged to something other. The sound grew louder, resonating in her bones, drowning out the hum of the bayou. It was steady and strong unlike her own, which began to falter under the pressure of uncertainty. 

This heartbeat was mighty.

With a deep breath, she peeled back the fabric. Expecting some fragile, living thing, she froze when all that lay within was a seed. Small, unassuming, nestled within the soft blanket—a peach pit.

A strange disquiet settled over her. What’s this doing here? she wondered, turning it over in her hand. She couldn’t explain why, but her mind immediately thought of Arthur. Before she could rise, a flash of light caught her eye. Looking up, her breath hitched.

Sunken into the tree’s ancient trunk was a mirror, its frame gnarled and alive, twisting like the roots that encased it. But the reflection that met her gaze wasn’t her own—or at least, not as she knew herself.

The woman in the mirror was her, but different. Healthier, fuller. Her hair was smooth and pinned in an elegant style, and she wore a fine dress—proper and clean, with no trace of the rough life Kate knew so well. But her expression was strained, her face marked by some deep, unspoken sorrow.

In her arms, the reflection cradled the same yellow bundle Kate had just unwrapped. The fabric was clean and vibrant, glowing softly as though untouched by the bayou's darkness. Kate looked on, and the image began to fade, its yellow hue leaching into dullness before her eyes.

"No," she whispered, a surge of desperation clawing at her chest. The mirror seemed to flicker, the image trembling as if on the verge of breaking apart. She dropped the seed into the water, her hands reaching out toward the reflection, pleading with it. Tears blurred her vision as her knees sank into the mud.

She clawed at the bark of the tree, her nails scraping against the wood as the mirror began to dissolve into the surrounding fog. The woman in the reflection lingered for just a moment longer, her pained eyes softened, and she smiled at Kate, before vanishing entirely.

As the last wisp of light faded, Kate’s gaze dropped. There, floating in the water before her, was the peach pit. It was glowing now, faintly golden, radiating outward as it nestled into her lap. Reaching down with cupped hands she felt its warmth, pulsing with the steady beat of her heart. Harmonizing, as if they were one.

A soft whisper reached her ears, though no voice could be seen or placed. The words were indistinct, like a lullaby carried on a distant breeze. Yet they filled her with an overwhelming peace, soothing the ache that had gripped her chest. Kate clung to the warmth, holding the seed close to her chest. 

The water began to rise, enveloping her body. But she held onto the tiny pit, clinging to the hope it offered her. Shielding it from the darkness as it swallowed them both. 

 ━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

The rhythmic clatter of Belle’s hooves against the cobblestone echoed through the bustling streets of Saint Denis, a steady cadence that drowned out the city’s chaos. The sharp clang of the trolley on its tracks, the overlapping shouts of merchants and passersby, even the piercing cry of a seagull overhead—all of it faded into the background. Arthur’s mind, however, was far from quiet. His thoughts churned, replaying the morning’s work, scanning for anything they might have missed. Anything that could tip their carefully planned mission into disaster.

Arthur and Trelawney had spent the better part of the day digging into every detail of the high-stakes card tournament scheduled aboard the Grand Korrigan the following evening. Trelawney and Strauss were confident they could fix the game in Arthur’s favor, but there was still much to learn. Who were the players? What were the stakes? And how could they infiltrate the riverboat without raising suspicion?

Trelawney, ever the charmer, had already secured the proper attire and spent hours mingling in the city’s seedier poker dens, listening to whispers and picking up useful scraps of information. Meanwhile, Arthur had taken to scouting the boat itself. He’d memorized its layout, noted its docking schedule, and kept a sharp eye on the captain and crew as they moved about their business. Every detail mattered, and Arthur was determined not to leave any stone unturned.

Lost in thought, Arthur rode back toward the heart of town to meet Trelawney at their arranged rendezvous. The weight of the mission sat heavy on his shoulders, his focus narrowing in on the steps ahead. So much so, he almost didn’t hear the voice calling out to him.

“Arthur!”

The shout was sudden, cutting through the din. Feminine, familiar.

He pulled Belle to a halt, glancing around until his eyes landed on a balcony just above street level. There she was—Mary Gillis, leaning eagerly against the railing, her face lit with a mixture of relief and excitement.

“Oh, Arthur, you came!” she called, waving as though the years between them had never passed.

Arthur stiffened in the saddle, his hand tightening slightly on Belle’s reins. He’d forgotten about her letter, about her request for help. Hell, he’d barely had time to think it over, let alone discuss it with Kate. The mission had consumed his every waking moment, and he’d figured he’d have a few days to sort it out—if he even decided to go at all. But now, fate had a way of forcing his hand.

He sighed deeply, the sound barely audible over the city’s noise. “Yeah, I, uh—I came,” he called back, the words tasting like regret the moment they left his mouth.

The smile on Mary’s face faltered slightly as she saw the frustration etched into Arthur’s expression. Her enthusiasm met the weight of his weariness, a stark contrast to the nostalgic hope that had brought her to this moment. She leaned on the hotel railing, her eyes fixed on him as though they could will away the years and pain between them.

"Wait right there, I’m coming straight down!" she called, disappearing into the building before Arthur could even open his mouth to protest.

He dismounted Belle with a heavy sigh, hitching her to the post outside. The doors of the Hotel Grand swung open moments later, and Mary rushed out, her steps hurried, her face alight with nervous energy.

"Arthur," she said again, softer this time, her tone steeped in wistfulness.

Arthur shifted uncomfortably, his jaw tightening. "What is it you need this time, Mary?" His voice was steady but edged, cutting straight to the point. He didn’t want to linger, didn’t want to open doors he’d shut long ago.

Her expression faltered. "I can’t believe you came," she said, ignoring his question. Her voice carried a strange mix of gratitude and regret. "After everything…"

Arthur’s patience was thinning. He looked away, his gaze following a passing wagon down the street. "Sure, seems whenever you call, I come," he muttered, his tone clipped. "Now just tell me what’s goin’ on. I don’t have all day."

Mary took a hesitant step closer, clasping her hands in front of her. "It’s my daddy," she began.

Arthur let out a sharp, humorless laugh, shaking his head. "Your father? Christ, Mary, I must be an even bigger fool than I thought."

"Please, Arthur," she pleaded, her voice trembling. "I know my daddy was always hard on you, but he was just trying to protect me. Can’t you see that? He wanted better for me than—"

"Better than me," Arthur interrupted, his tone sharp, eyes narrowing. "That’s what you’re sayin’, ain’t it? Your father was never kind to me. He thought I was trash. Made damn sure I knew it, too."

Mary flinched but pressed on. "Your choices—Arthur, they—"

"What choice did I have!" he barked, rising with an anger that had been simmering for years. "You knew who I was, what my life was. I never left you, Mary. You walked away."

Her eyes welled with unshed tears, but Arthur didn’t let up, the wounds of their past bleeding fresh. "You think I don’t know why? You made the right call, I’ll give you that. But you don’t get to come back now and act like I’m your knight in shinin’ armor. I’m not. And I can’t be."

"Arthur, please," she begged. "You’re still the best man I’ve ever known. I wouldn’t be here asking you if I didn’t believe that."

He shook his head, his frustration boiling over. "You don’t know a damn thing about me anymore. You’re livin’ in some fantasy, Mary. Always have been. This pure life of yours? Your daddy’s still drinkin’ and whorin’ and gamblin’ away your money. Jamie’s nearly run off with some cult, and here you are, beggin’ me to fix it all."

Her lips quivered as she reached for him, but he stepped back, keeping the distance between them. "I’m sorry," she said quietly. "I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just—I didn’t know who else to turn to."

Arthur sighed, his anger giving way to something softer, but no less resolute. He stared at her for a long moment, his voice low but firm when he finally spoke, feeling defeated. "This is the last time we meet like this Mary. I’m done doin’ your family favors."

Her eyes widened as she grasped the weight of his words. "Oh, Arthur…"

"I’ve got my own life to worry about now," he said, gentler but unwavering. "My own family. A woman who’s stood by me, who I’ve got a future with. That’s where I’m puttin’ my focus. Not on what might’ve been."

Mary’s breath hitched, and she turned away. "It wasn’t that I didn’t love you, Arthur," she whispered, thick with emotion. “You know that.” 

"Don’t," Arthur said quickly, voice tightening. "Don’t bring that up now. It’s done. We’re done."

She turned back to him, her expression desperate, but he didn’t waver. "Think of what we had," she pleaded, her voice breaking. "Of what could’ve been."

Arthur shook his head, his voice firm even as his heart throbbed. "I’ve spent enough time thinkin’ about that, Mary. Now I’m thinkin’ about what I’ve got. And I’m not gonna throw it away for somethin’ that’s long gone."

Mary lowered her gaze, her fingers twisting together nervously. For a moment, silence fell between them, save for the distant clatter of wagon wheels and the murmur of city life around them. Arthur could see it—the shadow of the young woman she’d been, the glimmer of the love they once shared. That flicker hit him like a punch to the gut, stirring memories he’d buried deep.

He sighed, running a hand over his jaw, trying to shake the ache in his chest. Damn it all to hell, Arthur thought. Why was it always her?

Finally, he let out a long breath and stepped forward, resting a hand on her shoulder. She flinched slightly at his touch, then turned to meet his gaze, her eyes hopeful and fragile all at once.

"Fine," Arthur muttered, his tone gruff and tinged with resignation. "But this is the last time, Mary. You hear me? The last damn time."

Her lips parted in surprise, and for a fleeting moment, her face lit up, though the weight of her troubles quickly returned. "Thank you, Arthur," she whispered.

He dropped his hand and crossed his arms, narrowing his eyes at her. "Don’t thank me yet. Just tell me what kinda trouble your daddy’s dragged himself into this time."

 ━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

Stealing back the Gillis family brooch had proven to be an unseemly task, though far easier than Arthur had expected. The brooch had found its way into the hands of a pompous collector named Mr. Hugo Abernathy, a well-known figure in Saint Denis. Abernathy had a reputation for exploiting desperate gamblers, trading their losses for heirlooms and sentimental trinkets to add to his collection of gaudy treasures. Arthur didn’t know whether the man fancied himself a cultured gentleman or just another leech, but it didn’t matter. He’d made the mistake of crossing paths with Arthur Morgan. As satisfying as it might’ve been to rob the man blind, this wasn’t about profit—it was about keeping his word to Mary, no matter how reluctant he’d been to give it.

By the time Arthur handed over the brooch, the sun was dipping low, casting long shadows across the bustling streets of Saint Denis. He walked Mary back to her hotel, his boots echoing dully against the cobblestone as he turned his thoughts toward camp. Toward Kate.

As if sensing his distraction, Mary broke the silence. “So,” she said lightly, “tell me about this woman who’s tamed your heart.”

Arthur huffed a quiet chuckle. “She’s far from taming it. Hell, I can’t even tame her sometimes.”

Mary laughed softly, but there was something wistful in her tone. “She sounds... spirited.”

“She is,” Arthur said, a rare softness creeping into his voice. “She’s somethin’ else, Mary. She don’t back down from nothing. She’s kind, too, in her own way. Got a way of makin’ me believe I might just be better than I’ve been.”

Mary hesitated, a flicker of something unspoken crossing her face. “And... she doesn’t mind what you do? The outlaw life, I mean. Doesn’t it... bother her? I can’t imagine it’s the life any woman dreams of.”

Arthur’s steps slowed, and his jaw tightened as the words sank in. He stopped, turning to face her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Mary’s eyes widened, realizing her misstep, but she pressed on, perhaps emboldened by old familiarity. “I just mean... I tried to love you, Arthur. I really did. But that life you lead—it consumes everything. I just don’t see how anyone can truly be happy with it. Or with you.”

Arthur’s lips parted slightly, as though the words had struck him like a blow. They pained him deeply, he already struggled with feeling unworthy of Kate’s affections. But it stung especially after what he had just done to save Mary’s family, again. A slow anger began to simmer in his chest. “Kate don’t see it that way,” he said firmly. “She sees me. For who I am. Not for what I’ve done or where I come from.”

Mary faltered, searching for the right response, but her silence said enough.

“That’s the difference, Mary,” Arthur continued, his tone sharpening. “You were always tryin’ to fix me, tryin’ to make me somethin’ I’m not. Kate... she doesn't ask for that. She just—” He stopped himself, shaking his head. “She loves me as I am.”

Mary looked away, a flush creeping into her cheeks. “I didn’t mean to offend you, Arthur. I just... I suppose I wanted to understand what she sees in you. What I couldn’t see.”

Arthur let out a breath, long and heavy. “Maybe that’s just it,” he said quietly. “We were never meant to see eye to eye. You were always lookin’ for somethin’ I couldn’t give, and I was too stubborn to realize it.”

They stood in silence for a moment, the distance between them suddenly feeling insurmountable.

“Thank you,” Mary said finally, her voice soft and resolute. “For everything.”

Arthur nodded, his expression unreadable. “Take care, Mary.” Without another word, he turned and walked away, the sound of his boots fading into the din of the city.

As Arthur mounted Belle and rode back toward camp, a strange weight lifted from his shoulders. It was as though he’d finally closed a door he hadn’t realized had been open for far too long, letting the past linger like a ghost. Mary had been a symbol of what had always been out of reach—a life of quiet respectability, a pure life. A fantasy where he could be the man she thought he should be. But with every step Belle took, the clarity of his feelings grew. 

That life had never been meant for him. Mary had never been meant for him.

Mary had wanted a version of him that didn’t exist, a man who could walk away from the outlaw life and become something proper in the eyes of society. She’d seen his flaws as barriers, challenges to be smoothed over or removed entirely. That his past was something he could simply erase from his identity. She loved the idea of him, not the man himself. 

Kate, on the other hand, had never tried to change him. She had seen him at his worst—bloodied and bruised, hardened by the choices he’d made—and still, she’d chosen to love him. All of him. The good, the bad, and the downright ugly.

Kate didn’t just stand by his side; she rooted herself there in devotion. She didn’t demand perfection or moral absolution. Instead, she accepted the man he was and encouraged the man he was trying to become. She saw the good in him, even when he couldn’t see it himself. Kate understood that his scars, both visible and hidden, were part of what made him who he was. Where Mary had always sought to mend or reshape him, Kate simply held space for him to be, flaws and all. 

As the city lights of Saint Denis faded behind him, Arthur let out a deep breath, one he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. The ache of old memories had dulled, replaced by something warmer, steadier. He thought of Kate’s laugh, the way her eyes sparkled with mischief when she teased him, the strength in her voice when she pushed him to keep fighting for what mattered. She didn’t coddle him or let him wallow in self-pity. She challenged him, called him out, set him straight, and still, she stayed.

The realization struck him like a punch to the gut: Kate was his future. Not some imagined version of himself or a life he could never truly live. Kate was real, and she was waiting for him back at camp.

Arthur urged Belle into a faster trot, eager to leave Saint Denis behind. The past had its place, sure, but it wasn’t where he belonged. Not anymore. For the first time in a long while, Arthur felt certain of his path. His future lay ahead with Kate—and he could hardly wait to seize it.

 ━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

The camp was alive with the warm hum of camaraderie as Kate sat cross-legged at the poker table, her cheeks flushed from laughter. The early evening sun dipped low on the horizon, casting a golden hue over Shady Belle as the group settled into their game. Hosea, ever the charming rogue, shuffled the deck with a flair, his mischievous grin growing as he eyed Kate's rapidly increasing pile of poker chips. 

Charles leaned back in his chair, sipping from a tin cup while Javier and Lenny exchanged jabs, their banter bringing easy laughter to the group.

“Now, Miss Kate,” Hosea drawled, dealing the cards with the finesse of a seasoned cheat, “you’d best not let that pretty smile fool us into thinking you don’t know what you’re doing. Although,” he added, nodding toward her hoard of chips, “I suspect the smile ain’t needed.”

Kate smirked, tossing a couple of chips into the pot. “Oh, trust me, Hosea. I don’t need my pretty smile to clean you out.”

A ripple of laughter swept over the table as Lenny slapped it. “She’s got you there, old man! She’s ruthless.”

“I’ll show you ‘old man,’” Hosea grumbled, though his grin betrayed his amusement.

Charles leaned in, his tone faux-serious. “Or maybe she’s just cheating.”

Kate gasped, placing a hand to her chest in mock offense. “The slander! Lies on my good name!”

“Good practice for tomorrow,” Javier said with a sly grin. “Maybe we should put her at the table instead of Arthur.”

The group erupted in laughter as the game continued, the teasing punctuated by moments of concentration. Kate reveled in the lightheartedness, the warmth of her companions easing the dull fatigue that had lingered all day. The strange dream she’d had still nagged at the edges of her thoughts, but the laughter and camaraderie helped soften its weight.

The sound of hooves approaching broke through the chatter, and all heads turned as Arthur dismounted Belle and strolled toward the group. Kate’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. 

“Arthur!” she greeted warmly, setting her cards down. “You’re back early. I thought you’d be out until dark.”

Arthur tipped his hat to the group, his gaze softening when it landed on her. With a small, fond smile, he bent to tilt back her hat and pressed a quick kiss to her forehead, completely unbothered by the amused stares from the others. 

“Figured I’d better get back,” he said, his voice low but full of concern. “How’re you feelin’? Grimshaw ain’t been ridin’ you too hard, has she?”

Kate waved him off, trying to mask her weariness with a smile. “It’s alright, Arthur. Just needed a little rest, that’s all.”

Arthur stepped behind her chair, folding his arms as he watched the game unfold. “You want me to deal you in, son?” Hosea asked with a knowing smirk.

Arthur shook his head. “I’ll pass. Looks like y’all’ve got enough trouble at the table already.”

Three hands later, Arthur couldn’t help but notice Kate placing a high bet despite her lame cards. He frowned, leaning forward. “Hold on. Are you whipsawin’ Hosea?” He whispered loudly. 

Kate froze, turning to glare at him with mock indignation. “Arthur Morgan, I cannot believe you right now.”

The men at the table groaned as Charles threw his cards down. “Told you she was cheating,” he said, laughing.

“How’s she even doing it?” Lenny asked, his curiosity piqued. “You can’t squeeze a player by yourself.”

Kate rose with a huff, tossing her cards on the table and dramatically pointing across at Javier. “Ay, pequeño diablo!” Javier threw his hands up in mock innocence. “I swear, it was her idea!”

Lenny leaned back, shaking his head with feigned annoyance. “Can’t believe you’d do Hosea dirty like that. Poor old man.”

Arthur burst into laughter as realization dawned. “You two teamed up on Hosea? Of all people?”

Hosea chuckled, putting a hand to his heart. “I’m touched, truly.”

Kate grinned, collecting her chips and dumping them in her satchel. “No hard feelings,” she said, pushing in her chair, and flicking her hat in a playful farewell.

“You’ve learned from the best,” Hosea replied with a laugh.

Kate looped her arm around Arthur as he wrapped a hand around her waist. “I think it’s time I turned in,” she said, her voice softening as the laughter behind her began to fade.

“Goodnight, Kate,” Charles said with a small nod, echoed by Lenny and Hosea.

Javier smirked, leaning back in his chair. “Sleep well, card shark. Don’t let Arthur keep you up too late.” He winked playfully, “we got a big day tomorrow.”

Arthur shot him a warning glance but chuckled, steering Kate toward the house. “They’re gonna have your name runnin’ through camp by morning,” he teased.

“Good,” Kate replied with a smirk. “Keeps things interesting.”

 ━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

The climb up the creaking, weathered staircase to their bedroom was quiet, the kind of silence that wrapped around two people who didn’t need words to fill the space between them. Arthur walked just behind Kate, his gaze focussed on her every movement. 

Up close he noticed the faint pallor in her cheeks. She was good at hiding it, but he could tell she was still feeling unwell. He ran a hand over his jaw, searching for the right way to bring it up without discouraging her mood. Listening to her laughter and the childish banter with Hosea and the other guys struck a chord in his heart. He didn’t want anything to ruin her happiness. But this next job, coupled with her abating strength loomed over his consciousness. Arthur couldn’t let it go. 

As they reached the landing, Arthur cleared his throat, breaking the quiet. “Darlin’, I gotta talk to you about somethin’.” He was soft, cautious, but it was clear this wasn’t something he could brush aside.

Kate stopped just shy of opening the bedroom door, turning to face him with an arched brow. “That sounds ominous.”

Arthur gave her a crooked smile, his hat in his hands, but before he could continue, Kate pushed the door open—and gasped.

Hanging from a shelf inside the room was an elegant black and gold dress, the fabric catching the dim light like liquid fire. Beside it hung a sleek black suit and a matching golden ascot tie—Trelawney’s handiwork, no doubt. Arthur recognized the attire immediately, part of the plan for the riverboat job, and an uncomfortable weight settled in his chest. 

This wasn’t the first risky scheme they’d run, but something about involving Kate this time gnawed at him. The mayor's garden party had been a simple play to gather information. It had gone smoothly enough, but this felt different. The stakes were higher, the dangers more evident. Kate would be shoved in the spotlight. Open, and vulnerable. 

This wasn’t just another job with the gang. In the past, Arthur would dive into missions headfirst, guns blazing and ready to handle whatever chaos came his way. He’d learned to adapt, to put on a show when things went south, always prepared to claw his way out of trouble. But this time was different. This time, he had something to lose.

Kate wasn’t just another member of the gang. She was a light in the darkness, a reason to hope in a world that so often felt too heavy to bear.

Arthur's unease wasn’t just about her safety—it was about what her involvement represented. Every lie, every con, every dangerous move Dutch made, Arthur could swallow it. It was a part of the life he'd chosen. But dragging Kate into that world, risking her for the sake of their schemes, felt like a line he was dangerously close to crossing. One that gambled with her life. 

She deserved better than this, Arthur knew it was not the future he wanted for her. Yet here she was, caught up in it all because of him. Because Kate is too stubborn to let him take on the world alone. The thought of something going wrong made him feel sick. 

Kate stepped forward, running her fingers lightly over the dress, her expression equal parts awe and amusement. “Well, I’ll be damned. Trelawney certainly has an eye for style,” she murmured.

Arthur crossed his arms, leaning against the doorframe. “Yeah, an eye for flair and trouble. This don’t change how I feel about you being involved in it.”

Kate turned to him, her playful grin fading as she caught the concern etched into his face. “Arthur,” she began softly, already sensing where this was headed, “I’ll be fine.”

“You sure about that?” he pressed, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him. “You ain’t been feelin’ fine these past few days. You think I don’t notice how pale you’ve been lookin’, or how you’ve been tryin’ to hide it from me? I’m worried about you.”

“I told you, it’s nothing serious,” Kate said, though the edge in her voice betrayed her. 

“Darlin’, it’s serious to me.” Arthur stated. 

She wasn’t sure if she was trying to convince Arthur or herself. Her thoughts drifted back to the dream she’d had that morning, the edges of it now hazy, like a half-remembered melody. She could recall flashes—shadows moving like whispers, an overwhelming warmth, and a sense of being drawn toward something she couldn’t quite remember. The dream’s meaning eluded her, slippery and incomprehensible, but it left behind a strange, fluttering feeling in her chest, like the stirrings of anticipation or fear.

Maybe it was just the lingering effects of the fever, or perhaps something more. Kate had noticed subtle changes in her body—a creeping fatigue that left her feeling weaker than usual, a loss of appetite, and persistent headaches that seemed to come and go. She brushed it off as nothing serious, likely just a common cold. After all, a little sickness had never slowed her down before.

She squared her shoulders, meeting his eyes. “I can pull my weight, Arthur. I always have.”

Arthur sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. “It ain’t about pullin’ your weight hon. You’ve got nothin’ to prove to me or to anyone else. I don’t want you pushin’ yourself too hard, not for something like this.” He gestured toward the dress, his voice softening. “If somethin’ goes wrong on that boat…”

Kate crossed the room and took his hand, squeezing it gently. “It won’t. Hosea’s got this all planned out to the last detail. I just have to sing a few songs while you win a couple rounds. I’ll be careful, I promise.”

The fact that Kate rehearsed things with Hosea brought him a sense of calm, but still his anxiety festered. Arthur held her gaze, his deep blue eyes searching hers for any hint of doubt.

 “I just hate that Dutch is puttin’ you in the lion's den while your vulnerable. You mean everything to me, Kate,” he said quietly. “I don’t want a future without you in it.”

Kate smiled faintly, her fingers brushing against his cheek as his warm hands enveloped her waist, squeezing them like he was testing if she were real or just his wild imagination.

“I’ll make you a deal, alright?” she resolved. “After this, I’m done. No more schemes, no more jobs. I’ll tell Dutch I’m out of commission.”

Arthur’s lips quirked into a soft smile, though the worry didn’t fully leave his face. She had made up her mind. “I’ll hold you to that,” he muttered, pulling her into a gentle embrace.

She rested her head against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat grounding her. “I know you will,” she whispered, closing her eyes.

As they stood in the quiet room, the soft glow of the lantern illuminated the dress and suit like relics from a story neither of them wanted to live, an unwelcome reminder of the weight of the world outside. Arthur tilted his head, his lips brushing against Kate’s hairline with a tenderness that belied the tension coiled in his chest. His hand traced slow, deliberate circles along the small of her back, grounding him as much as it soothed her. 

For a moment, Kate closed her eyes and leaned into him, the warmth of his body chasing away the lingering unease of her dream. Flashes of it teased the edges of her mind—a heartbeat, a pull she couldn’t quite explain. She opened her eyes and pulled back slightly, her hands resting on his chest where she could feel his heart, steady and strong. 

“You’re too good to me, you know that?” she teased, though the mischief in her eyes couldn’t entirely hide the vulnerability beneath. 

Arthur let out a soft snort, his lips quirking into a smirk that made her stomach flutter. “Darlin’, I think you got that backward.” He leaned down to nudge her nose with his, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down her spine. “I don't know what a man like me did to deserve a woman like you.”

Her laughter was quiet, intimate, the kind that warmed Arthur to his core and chased away the heaviness he carried. She moved her hands to his shoulders, her fingers tracing the lines of his shirt like she was memorizing him. For a moment, all the worry and fear melted away. 

“You know,” she murmured, her voice dropping to a playful whisper, “you could try on the suit—” She bit her lip, her lashes lowering as she glanced up at him, a soft blush coloring her cheeks.“And recreate that night we had in Saint Denis.” 

Arthur raised an eyebrow, giving her a skeptical look, though the corner of his mouth twitched with amusement. “What, you’re tellin’ me this doesn’t have it’s charm?” He spread his arms wide, gesturing to his body and clothes. His tone was laced with mock arrogance, but the warmth in his gaze betrayed his act.

Kate pressed herself against him, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. “Absolutely,” she murmured, her voice softer now, her lips hovering close to his. Her eyes flicked down to his mouth, her breath mingling with his. “I want you just as you are.”

Arthur’s grin widened, his hands sliding up her sides to cradle her face. His thumbs brushed her cheeks as he leaned closer, his voice a rough murmur. “Then what are we waitin’ for, to hell with the suit.”

Kate didn’t give him a chance to say more. Standing on her toes, she captured his mouth in a kiss, slow and deliberate. Arthur stilled for only a heartbeat, then surrendered, his hands tightening on her waist as he kissed her back with a fervor that made her knees weak. The world outside the room seemed to vanish, the faint sounds of camp life fading into nothing. All that mattered was the way her lips moved against his, the way her fingers tangled in his hair, the way her body molded perfectly to his, like they’d been made for this.

His tongue brushed along her bottom lip, and Kate moaned softly, her hands sliding to his collar to tug him closer. Their movements grew more eager, more desperate, as they peeled away layers of clothing, discarding them without breaking their connection. Arthur felt his need for her aching between his legs, and he couldn’t stop himself from guiding her backward to the cot. He followed her down, his weight pressing her into the mattress as he ground his hips against hers, drawing a breathless gasp from her lips.

Arthur broke the kiss to trail his lips down her neck, his stubble scraping lightly against her sensitive skin. Each kiss was unhurried and reverent, as though he were memorizing her taste. He reached the curve of her collarbone, then lower, his mouth finding a peaked nipple. He captured it between his lips, swirling his tongue around the sensitive nub, and Kate arched into him, a soft cry spilling from her mouth.

Her fingers tangled in his hair as his kisses continued downward, his warm breath ghosting over her stomach. She shivered beneath him, flashes of her dream surfacing again—the heartbeat, the magnetic pull, the sense of inevitability. When he kissed her navel, she swore she could feel it again, that same unshakable connection.

Arthur paused, his lips hovering over her skin as he looked up at her. “You alright, sweetheart?” he murmured, his voice thick with concern and raw desire. His hands caressed her thighs, grounding her in the moment.

Kate laughed breathlessly, her heart racing so fast she thought he might feel it. “I am now,” she whispered, her voice trembling with affection and longing.

Arthur chuckled, low and warm, the sound vibrating against her skin. His hands slid down to lift her thighs, spreading her open for him. She gasped softly as she felt his warm breath against her most sensitive spot, her fingers tightening in his hair.

“I think I can help with that,” he drawled, his grin turning devilish before he lowered his head and pressed a kiss where she needed him most.

Kate’s body tensed at the first touch of his tongue, her head falling back as a moan escaped her lips, unrestrained and raw. That sound, coupled with the sensations Arthur was drawing from her, made her chest tighten with something beyond pleasure. The rhythm from her dream returned, steady and certain, like a heartbeat resonating deep within her soul. It wasn’t just her body responding to him; it was her heart, her entire being. Arthur’s mouth moved with a precision that wasn’t hurried but deliberate, as though he had all the time in the world to explore her, to love her in a way that felt eternal. 

Every touch was a silent vow. A tangible expression of holy devotion, a sacred need that left her trembling beneath him, utterly lost yet feeling more whole than ever.

As the pleasure surged and overwhelmed her, Kate swore she could feel that heartbeat echo in her chest, pulsing with a meaning she didn’t fully understand but instinctively trusted. This moment wasn’t just an escape from the dangers of tomorrow; it was an anchor, a reminder of what truly mattered. What they were fighting for; their future.  Kate cried out his name, the sound trembling with passion and something deeper. Hope. In Arthur’s touch, in his unspoken promises, she knew that whatever lay ahead, there was hope for a future beyond this. For now, she let herself fall into his love, into the steady rhythm that promised her not just comfort but a forever she hadn’t dared to dream of.

AN: I know this chapter and the last one probably feel a little repetitive in the way they're structured; Arthur goes out, Kate is left at camp, and then they come together at night. But I promise the next chapter will include them together. I think you all know what mission is coming up....

Suffice to say, I think I've got the rest of this fic laid out. Well at least I have the bones, I've just been adding the meat as I go along. But it will be 35 chapters, with 2 epilogue chapters (37 total). It feels so far away, yet close at the same time. I wonder if I'll finish this before it hits the one year anniversary in March! ♥️

[thedeerman]

me: i’m gonna make sure i remember to take my meds properly

my doctors office: actually we’re gonna just… not refill that for a while. yeah, you can call all you want. we’ll say we’re working on it and then not do it. enjoy the withdrawals, bitch

[skhardwarevers1]

does everything suck or is it just me being over dramatic

[lucifer]

I’ve legitimately had a rotten day today. :(

[itspileofgoodthings]

I mean, if there’s one thing the album is going to do it’s come through.

[fingertipsmp3]

I’m not sure if the seasonal depression is hitting especially hard this year or if I’m just grieving for Mabel or if I’m finally going irreparably insane or if life/people is being unfair towards me or all of the above

[crossbackpoke-check]

wait you got me so invested in the stammer & heddy tailor au....

this is my standard disclaimer that i have never posted a fic on ao3* and for however much i say “au” i truly mean that it’s a universe that lives in my head & i am absolutely delighted to tell you all about, all the time <3 if it helps i ALSO got me so invested in the heddy & stammer tailor au

ok now that the author’s note is out of the way here’s some notes about the not!fic heddy & stammer tailor au:

stammer as the tailor from gent’s playbook, very reserved, quiet, with an excellent eye for details (honestly the evidence i have for his style sense is just that he’s best friends with pk subban so it has to be there somewhere if only by proxy irl) is hired by victor hedman, star of the tampa bay lightning who is every other tailor’s nightmare to dress (huge, opinionated, fashionable)

heddy is decently well-known throughout the league for being very well-dressed & becomes quietly well known for also being one of his new tailor’s favorite loyal customers [heddy has the nicest fabrics. he has his suits the first day a new collection drops & e v e r y o n e is jealous]

stammer’s business booms after heddy takes a chance on him as his first big client & promotes him, heddy sees him grow in popularity & get more clients

heddy also moonlights as a model for stammer’s suits on instagram, initially to help him grow his business because then he won’t have to pay for a model and then because he’s over there all the time anyway because they’re dating (that’s why the model’s face is never in the pictures)

there’s not really a plot to this besides the vague idea of a plot where stammer makes heddy his lucky suit that he wins the cup in & sews a special little tag into the lining of his jacket that says i love you

because love sometimes is picking out the perfect right color pocket square to match your husband’s beautiful suit that you fitted like a kiss to the curves of his huge body

& also sometimes love is making your beautiful husband who makes you beautiful clothing enjoy nice things for himself once in a while, like the fancy watch you bought him or the nice suit you custom-ordered for him (from him) just so you could take it off of him

[spookyboywhump]

I think Zander deserves to have a proper cry about it. His life has been unfair. I think he needs to cry and have a hug 😭😭

YOU ARE SO RIGHT ANON

[ayamohammed2024]

Hello

my name is Aya, I am 26 years old, currently living in the northern part of Gaza City, and I am a mother of two children. My oldest is my daughter, Sana'a, who is 5 years old, and my youngest is my son, Wasfi, who is 3.

Since the morning of October 7th, 2023, our lives have been turned upside down. We have lived through the hardest days of our lives, facing displacement and homelessness. We have been forced to leave our home more than ten times since the war began. We would leave without knowing where to go.

We sought refuge in schools and relatives' homes, hoping we could return home and that this nightmare would end. But our house was bombed, and our dreams were destroyed. We became homeless and displaced.

Every day, we wake up to the sound of bombs and rockets. I lived in constant fear and terror with my children, especially when my family's house was bombed while we were taking shelter there.

We are experiencing a real famine in Gaza. I’ve gone to bed with my children many nights without dinner because there is no food available. We have had to eat animal and bird feed due to the high cost of flour just to fill the hunger of my young children. Even after eating it, we all suffered from diarrhea and severe stomach pain. My children developed rashes on their bodies due to the spread of viruses and the accumulation of garbage. There is also a severe shortage of water, and even when we find it, it's not safe to drink.

My children cry, asking for vegetables, fruits, and eggs, but we can’t afford them because we have no income. The gas shortage has forced us to use fire for everything—cooking and baking—using plastic and pipes because firewood is so hard to find.

My children also developed jaundice, and I struggled a lot to get them better because there was no access to vegetables, fruits, or medicine. I even feared that my son might have developed polio because he already had leg problems before the war, and they worsened due to malnutrition.

Winter is coming, and we have nothing for it. I need clothes and shoes for my children to keep them warm, but I can’t buy them because they are so expensive.

For this reason, I beg of you and hope that you can support me, even with the smallest contribution, so I can provide my children with the most basic necessities of life.

I was displaced with my children to my family's house, tears in my eyes. On the way, Salah Al-Din Street was bombed, and the Israeli occupation committed horrific massacres. By the grace of God, we survived for the first time. We lived in terror and fear. A few days later, my family's house was bombed, and we were pulled out from under the rubble, miraculously surviving for the second time.

When my husband heard the news that we had died, he came to bid us farewell, only to find us alive by God's grace. We returned with him, but as the situation worsened and the fire belts in our area increased, we started to flee again and again, not knowing where to go next.

I beg of you to share my story and help me continue to live.

✅️Vetted by @gazavetters, my number verified on the list is ( #230 )✅️

Vetted by butterfly nu #1133

[insanechayne]

~ ~ ~

[peachysunrize]

The King’s Retribution ⥃ prince Aemond Targaryen

Summary: when he walks back to the Keep, Aemond finds his brother’s wife in distress while her youngest child keeps her awake. Maybe it’s time to show the King that no one can humiliate the one-eyed prince.

Warnings: 18+ mdni! Smut, p in v, rough sex, lactation kink, reader is Aegon’s wife, post B&C, s2e3 inspired, dacryphilia, Aemond feels humiliated after the brothel scene, hair pulling, doggystyle, they do it in Aegon’s rooms👀 kind of a chubby/overweight reader because she has baby weight, tell me if I’ve missed something. English isn’t my first language<3

Word count: 3.6k+

A/n: a very special thank you to @aemonds-holy-milk for this incredible request!!! And a very honorable mention and thank you to @arcielee for helping me with the plot and beta-ing for me! Your touch made this much hotter and better!🩷 Reblogs and comments are more than welcome<33

Aemond pushes the door to one of Maegor’s tunnels, peeking through to see if anyone is around. He scoffs when he finds the hallway empty, with no guards, no maids or handmaidens. He walks upstairs to the royal chamber’s floor, one hand pushing his hood off while the other twirls his dagger.

He is filled with such rage that he can burn this castle down without Vhagar’s help. The sting of humiliation keeps poking through his ribs, making him heave with each breath he takes. He had to keep his composure back in the brothel, he had to show his power by walking outside the room naked as the day he was born to regain some control his brother took away from him.

He walks past the rooms of his family, skipping a stair here or two as he follows the path to his chambers in silence, until he reaches his brother’s doors, catching the sound of a soft hiccuping and muffled wailing of a child.

Aemond unsheathes the dagger as he steps closer to the unguarded door, shaking his head in disbelief at his brother’s ignorance, especially after what happened to Jaehaerys. He opens the door slowly, not wanting to startle whoever is inside — a nursemaid or the queen.

He finds you sitting in front of the fireplace with baby Maelor crying fat tears in your arms as he tries to latch onto your exposed breasts to fill his tiny, hungry belly. Aemond’s eye wanders over your bare upper body; heavy swollen teats leaking with milk, a tired and teary expression on your face as you try to lull your son back to sleep, tending to him, caressing him, loving him. 

He has never seen a sight more beautiful than this.

He sheathes his dagger and pushes it into his belt before knocking on your door gently so as not to scare you and his nephew. He watches you closely as you snap your head in his direction, the tension leaving your shoulders as you smile at him sadly.

“Aemond,” you call him, gasping when your son bites your already sore nipple with his gums, trying to latch on to it but failing. He cries harder, face twisted angrily, his chubby cheeks red and puffy with how long he’s been searching for some comfort.

“Please, please don’t — mommy is trying,” you cry with him softly, standing up to pace around the room while you rock him, shushing him and wiping his tears. You are trying your hardest to feed him properly, but every second is wasted in vain as he cries and fusses in your arms.

Aemond closes the door behind him, enraptured with the sight you made—watching you walk around the room, half bare and beautiful to his eager eye.  He unfastens his cloak and belt that holds his daggers and sword before laying it on the nearest table, walking towards you with his hands locked behind his back.

You look like The Mother coming real, a god he should worship at your altar.

“Oh, my darling boy,” you coo at Maelor, sniffing as he sobs harder, his little fists flying on your chest as he searches for your breast, mouth parted and ready to be filled with his late-night meal.

Aemond stands behind you, not too close to intrude on your personal space, especially in such a vulnerable state you are in, but to keep looking at you. His eye roams across your nude chest, your fuller stomach, and hips that carry the remaining weight of having pushed a babe into the world.

He listens to your words, remembering the sight of his brother mocking him at the brothel, while he was being cuddled and taken care of — what an ugly laugh he has, Aegon. 

His gaze darkens as he looks at you, his queen, his brother’s wife, his brother’s possession, being so vulnerable in his presence with your breasts out and your child finally suckling on them. His eye finds your form once more as Aegon's words replay in his ears — ‘My brother will not sample another.’ He will make sure to teach his brother a very valuable lesson and serve him a good punishment.

His cock starts to swell beneath the layers of his clothing as he stares at you with a newfound passion; you have always been a lovely figure in his mind, too sweet and beautiful to be wed to his brother, and yet, now your features seem to be bolder in his eye.

He strides forward when he hears Maelor crying again, this time much softer but a cry nonetheless. You scurry to cover your breasts when you feel him behind you, trying to look at least a bit modest now that your child is less fussy.

“I’m sorry, Aemond, I-I forgot you came to visit,” you say in a hushed tone, waiting with bated breath for him to say something.

He looks down at his nephew over your shoulder, reaching to wipe a drop of milk from his round cheek near his mouth, his fingers brushing against your sore nipple accidentally. Both of you inhale sharply — him with the new rush of desire and you in surprise. 

“What a messy eater,” he says, his eye meeting yours as he brings his wet finger to his mouth, licking the remaining of your milk off while he keeps eye contact with you, dropping his eye to your lips as soon as they part in surprise before he meets your eyes again — they look darker, cloudier, more lustful. Your lashes flutter, and your rosy lips let out a shaky breath as you keep your gaze on his pink tongue licking his finger.

“It runs in the family I’m afraid,” you reply, averting your eyes from him, pressing a kiss on top of your son’s head as you bounce him, trying to hide your embarrassment.

Despite how crude your husband is, he’s never been one for making you flustered by such a simple gesture, and yet, his brother seems to be the complete opposite; bold, daring, and he’s surely taking whatever he wants.

“May I?” Aemond asks, standing in front of you with extended arms, reaching to take Maelor in his embrace. You gently pass him over, and as soon as your arms are free you bring them to your chest to cover your breasts.

“I-I need to—would you mind holding him for a moment?” You pull the front of your shift up as you ask him, and he can’t help his gaze not fall back on your chest but looks upward to your eyes quickly before you catch him and nod.

He hugs Maelor close, resting his little head on his shoulder as he walks towards his crib, glancing at you walking past the privacy screen. Aemond shushes his nephew, rocking him gently while he hums a tune his mother used to sing for him to lull him to sleep. It seems his efforts have worked when Maelor grows quiet, tinted cheeks stained with tears and fingers fisted tightly. Aemond lies him down slowly, brushing a finger over the few strands of his nephew’s silver hair before his attention is turned to you walking towards him with a warm towel over your chest.

“He has been restless as of late,” you sigh, leaning down to brush a kiss on your son’s forehead, standing on Aemond’s good side, “as have I, as everyone in the Keep. It seems he feels the loss of his brother.”

“We are all shaken by the loss of Jaehaerys,” he replies, his good eye looking up at your face, taking in every up and down of your face.

“Yeah,” you smile at him, ducking your head as soon as the tears gather in your eyes, “yeah…”

He takes a step closer, reaching to wipe the tear that fell from your eye, cupping your cheek in his large hand, “What ails you, my queen?”

“I just…” words die in your throat as he rubs soothing circles on your cheek, tracing the shape of your cheekbone with his thumb. “I’ve been feeling so unloved.” Your voice comes out a fragile whisper.

“Why is that, my queen?” He asks, swallowing harshly at the thought of his fool of a brother being neglectful to you. He’s been given the most beautiful maiden in the realm as his wife, so dutiful and sweet, but taken for granted because Aegon can’t simply keep his cock in his breeches for so long.

“Did you happen to see him when you were out?” You ignore his question, looking up at him from beneath your wet lashes that frame your eyes so perfectly.

He nods, his strong hold on your face never faltering, if anything he’s now more determined to punish Aegon, to take something he has been given on a silver plate but failed to care for. His touch is warm and welcoming, it grounds you to this moment of brief recognition of your feelings. Aemond seems to understand it, willing to give more, but his main purpose of this visit is to hurt Aegon the way he has hurt him.

“Was he—“ a sob is stuck in your throat as you try to utter the words, “in the b-brothel?”

Aemond looks down at his muddy boots, recalling how his brother saw him, how he laughed and undermined him in front of his friends. Aemond forgets about your question for a second, pressing his lips into a thin line and gritting his teeth before he looks back up at you, not before looking one last time at your chest, watching your milk soak through the fabric.

“I-I apologize, maybe it’s best if you leave—” You move away from him, making his hand fall from your face as you try to put back the little dignity you have left before you embarrass yourself more in front of him.

Something shifts inside him as you hide yourself from him, putting more distance between as you move toward the bed. His brother was right; he has not sampled another and has always sought out the Madame, but maybe it ought to change, maybe the fire of his brother’s cruelty might quell if he takes his most precious possession from him.

“Allow me to help you, my queen,” he walks toward you slowly, his eye seizing you up, taking in the sight of your curls around your shoulders, your skin glowing under the orange hues of the candles.

You turn around, watching him take long steps until he’s standing in front of you. He raises his hand, brushing his knuckles on your collarbones, his eyes dropping down to your cleavage. You exhale shakily, whether it is in requited desire or surprise, he does not know, but you do not push him away, just a weak protest that ‘we should not do this, I am your brother’s wife.’

“My brother is a fool who demeans others to feel powerful, and he has done this to us both,” he dips his down on your neck, his hot breath fanning on your ear, “let me show you what you have been deprived of.”

“You wish to help me just to teach your king a lesson?” your voice comes out with a slight tremble as you reach to brush your fingers through his silky hair. “Is that truly why you want me?”

“I despise when Aegon takes what is his for granted,” he says, “He is a fucking twat who takes for granted the treasures he has been given: the throne, the crown, you. And he humiliates you, his queen, by stepping inside that sinful place," he mumbles against your skin, tracing his lips over your neck while his nose nudges your cheek. 

“What do you want to do?” you whine when he bites your earlobe; you cling to his shoulders.

“I wish to fuck you like a hound,” he groans into your ear, his hands coming to grip your full hips.

“We will experience his wrath, Aemond,” you try to protest, but with how focused he is on marking your skin, you cannot help but melt in his arms.

“He is the king, I’m a kinslayer,” he hovers his mouth over yours. “I will kill him too if he dares to subject you to his anger.”

“We must be quiet-mhm—” he cuts you off, smashing his lips to yours, swallowing your protest. His hands move to your waist, gripping and caressing wherever he can reach, his tongue meeting yours in a soft battle of dominance. 

You moan into his mouth when one of his fingers traces a line from your hip up to your breast, squeezing the heavy flesh in his large palm. He groans against your sweet lips in delight, loving the weight of you in his hand. His thumb swipes across the wet towel before he pulls it out of your shift and drops it on the floor, leading you backward past the privacy screen to the bed.

You tangle your fingers in his soft hair, reaching to pull away the tie and letting his shiny silver hair frame his face beautifully while he kisses your breath away.

He lies you on the bed, breaking away from your lips for a second to look down at you, making room on top of you with his gaze fixed on the way your milk soaks through the fabric. He grabs the sides of your shift, ready to rip it apart before you put your hand on his, shaking your head, mumbling a hushed ‘we need to be quiet’ before taking off the dress yourself, lying under his heated gaze all bare except for your small clothes.

“My brother is a fucking idiot,” he mutters before he leans down to lick a path from your neck to your heaving chest, swiping the tip of his tongue over your nipple. He hums as he tastes a few beads of your milk, but abruptly stops when you whine, looking up at you with a questioning look.

“Maelor, well, he can’t latch onto his wet nurses. They are a bit s-sensitive— oh!” Your hand flies to your mouth when Aemond closes his lips around your bud, sucking like a babe being starved for hours, finally having his fill.

His other hand moves to your other breast, pinching, squeezing, and playing with the flesh while he gets drunk on your milk, helping the weight of discomfort vanish immediately.

Your nipple falls from his lips with a lewd ‘pop’, and he moves to the other one, giving the same attention while he leaves sticky lines of your milk across your chest, sucking on your teat quickly, nearly growling at the taste.

You cannot do anything besides moaning behind your hand and arching your back, pushing your chest further into his face. You throw your head back as your hips buck into his, his bulge rubbing against your covered core.

Aegon has never done this for you, it’s always been his duty to plant his seed inside you with little to no care for you to just make an heir, and after Jaehaerys, he’s been ever more distant — no more dinners, no walks in the garden with you and the kids.

His interest weakened the more you started to show, your soft dolce features turned into one of a woman, a mother-to-be, so he sought his pleasure in the brothels to fill the void you could no longer fill. You were non-existent in his eyes, and for once, you are glad, because the other Targaryen brother seems as if he’s in heaven while he feasts upon your breasts like a deprived babe. 

He lets go of your nipple finally, giving the fat of your breast one last kiss before he works his way up to your lips. He unlaces his pants and breeches, urging you to reach and undo his doublet, dropping it down on the pile of clothes. He breaks away to gasp for air while he grabs the back of his linen shirt and stands on his knees stark naked, his cock red, angry, and ready to burst inside you. His mouth shines with drops of your milk and spit.

He grabs the back of your thighs, spreading your legs to his hungry eye, licking his lip as his gaze falls on your soaked cunt. Aemond’s patience runs thinner than before, he moves closer to you, and his hair falls around you like a silver waterfall.

He strokes himself a few times before aligning himself with your entrance, pushing in until his cockhead is inside your warm cunt before he slams all the way into you. He muffles your scream with his own lips, hands coming to rest around your head, caging you under him as he starts thrusting.

Finally, he thinks, finally he has taken something that belonged to his brother, something so precious and fragile. You are nothing like Sylvie, you are soft and delicate, you taste deliciously sweet, and oh so responsive. 

He relishes the way you scratch his back as he fucks you with abandon, snapping his hips into yours furiously as he lets the pent-up anger he feels pour out of him. It is the anger he had inside because of his brother’s idiocy, the words that cut him deep like a sharp dagger.

But no more, no, it is time to take whatever belonged to Aegon. You are just a beautiful touch to it, and he would make sure his brother knows who’s been here, on his bed, giving his wife the pleasure she has never experienced before.

“My queen,” he shushes you, reaching down to collect a drop of your milk before reaching to smear it on your lips, licking it off them. His cock pistoning inside of you quickly, but he is mindful of the baby sleeping on the other side of the privacy screen.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head, breasts bouncing with each deep thrust as you try to keep your voice at bay.

He remembers his brother’s words once more; ‘did you fuck her like a hound?’ No, not with the Madame, but he will fuck the queen of the seven Kingdoms like one now.

He pulls out of you, leaving you clenching and whining at the empty feeling before he flips you over on your stomach, pulling your hips up as he spits into his hand and strokes himself before making home inside your tight cunt again, his cock reaching deeper with this position.

You fist the pillows under your hands, biting the fabric to muffle your noises, and Aemond notices that it is your husband’s pillow you are lying on.

He chuckles lowly, one hand gripping the fat of your hip while the other runs down the curve of your spine before he fists your hair in his much larger hand, pushing your head into Aegon’s pillow even more.

“Breathe in his scent while I fuck you like a dog in heat, yes, good girl,” he groans, his limbs tingling with pleasure and anger, letting his emotions take the best of him as he picks up his pace. “Yes, remember how much of a pathetic husband he is, think of how he can never give you pleasure like I can while I fuck my child inside you.”

Tears run down your face from how intense he is taking you from behind, his hips snap into your arse. Your wetness drips down on the bed sheets, but there is little you can do but take what he gives you — a blinding and mind-blowing pleasure you have never had with your husband.

Aemond reaches around your body to find your pearl, rubbing quick and steady circles on the bundle of nerves, leaning down to prep your spine with feather-like kisses, taking in your mesmerizing scent, and looking closer at your tears, taking pure satisfaction in seeing what a mess he has made out of Aegon’s wife, the realm’s queen.

You come with a sob, teeth digging into the soft cushion while your legs shake, walls clamping down against his girth, eliciting a deep throaty moan from him. He lets go of your weeping cunt and grabs your bouncing breast, squeezing the heavy flesh in his hand while his face falters, his thrusts deepen.

When his climax washes over him, it’s all white hot pleasure that rushes through his veins. He shakes atop you while his cock twitches and shoots ropes of his warm spend deep inside you, filling you to the brim. He kisses your tears, his face pushed against your cheek as he lets out broken gasps and groans.

He untangles his fingers from your hair as soon as he calms down from his high, bringing his milk-covered hand to his lips to lick it clean while he meets your eyes.

You look angelic, glowing with the aftermath of your release. The Mother came to life, he thinks.

He pulls out of you gently, minding how sensitive you must feel after the brutality he bestowed upon you. Aemond helps you under the covers, not caring to clean either of you up before he lies down next to you wrapping one arm around you while you curl next to him with your head on his chest.

He notes how quiet you are, drowsy and sleepy in the aftermath of your climax. He takes pride in how peaceful you look, and how good he must have made you feel. His good eye falls on the nightstand on his side, finding his brother — no, the Conqueror's crown — glinting under candlelight.

“I will kill him,” he whispers, “I will make sure our son sits upon that chair and holds Blackfyre. I will kill him, and no one shall ever know it was me.”

[issysh3ll]

Phases ♡ Matt Sturniolo

Phase 1 - Menstrual

Summary: Matt looking after you on your period Warnings: Smut, period sex, blood, crying, soft dom! Matt, period pain, fluff, angst Wordcount: 1k

This is part 1 of a series. To find the other parts click here

“I’ve got you” Matt soothes, his voice gentle as he slides his cock wetly in and out of you. The feel of his hard length gliding against your walls blends with the cacophony of sensations warring in your abdomen. His pace is slow and gentle, carefully edging himself inside your sensitive body. The warm liquid leaking from within you acts as lubricant, easily coating his length in a deep red.

The tight pull of your muscles cramping slowly eases as pleasure begins to flow through your body. Matt’s cock glides gently against your sweet spot with each slow thrust, his only goal being to ease the pain your body is experiencing. His hands caress over your hips softly, comforting you as he moves.

Your body had been aching with cramps all day and despite all the nice things Matt had done to try to help you, nothing had brought relief. Finally, Matt had timidly suggested sex as a remedy.  “I heard that it helps with cramps… I just- just wanna help you, hate seeing you in pain like this” He whispered, wiping a stray tear away from your cheek. 

Now those tears of pain have turned to tears of relief as you gaze up at your boyfriend. His hair falls in his eyes as he concentrates on moving gently in and out of you. His jaw hangs slack with small breathless moans and praises. The fact that he’s so eager to help you, trying so hard to make this just what your body needs, causes your heart to soar. A warm smile spreads over your face as you take in all that is him. 

Matt notices your smile and brings his hand to brush away that final tear rolling down your chin as he whispers, “feeling better, princess?”

You nod and turn your head into his touch, kissing his wrist as his hand cups your cheek, “Much better. Thank you, Matt”

A fond smile warms Matt’s face upon hearing the relief in your voice and feeling your body relax under him. His hands continue soothing across your skin, gently massaging into you in time with the slow movements of his hips.

Your eyes drop closed as the long awaited relief from your cramps washes through you, being replaced now with a gentle pleasure as Matt’s cock rubs against just the right spots inside of you. Your eyes flutter open again and you look up at your boyfriend, admiring the way his bottom lip is pulled between his teeth in concentration. The slow gentle pace Matt had set to allow you to adjust is now holding you back as you can feel your body yearning for more. Your hand wraps around his arm, squeezing him gently as you speak, “Matt… faster, need more.”

Matt nods, carefully thrusting his hips forward a little faster, his cock easily gliding between your walls with the added wetness of your blood coating him. His mouth drops open with a groan at the increased pace sending a new wave of pleasure through his body. “F-fuck, princess… so wet.” 

The change in pace sends new waves of pleasure through your body, the aches of your cramps long forgotten as your muscles begin to tense in a new, much better way. You feel the knot in your stomach forming, inching closer to snapping with each brush of Matt's tip against that sweet spot inside you. 

“Ah– Matt, m’close” you moan, wrapping your legs around his waist. Your mind begins to go blank as the pleasure Matt is bringing you fills every nerve in your body, leaving no room for your thoughts. 

A low groan pulls from matt’s throat and he quickly stutters out a warning, “f-fuck, m’cumming”. Your legs tighten around his waist, pulling him closer and deeper inside you just as his cock begins to twitch uncontrollably, painting your walls with his load. 

Your release follows closely, the feeling of your boyfriend twitching inside you being enough to push you over the edge. A loud cry leaves your lips and your legs tighten around Matt. Your hands grip the sheets and your back arches, your walls spasming around Matt’s cock.

Your body goes limp, your breath coming in deep pants as you try to catch your breath and gather yourself after the overwhelming pleasure. Matt collapses on top of you, placing a hand in your hair and panting heavily against your neck. As your mind slowly returns to your body you notice the calm in your abdomen where your pains had previously been and a relieved smile crawls over your face.

“Thank you, Matt. Feels better.”

After a long while of just laying together, feeling the calm warmth of each other’s bodies Matt carefully sits up, pulling himself out of you slowly. A mixture of his warm cum and your period blood begin trickling out and onto the bed sheets. The clear reminder of your situation knocks you back to reality, the temporary bliss that Matt’s touch had brought you quickly dissipates and you feel the muscles in your uterus begin to tense again. 

“Matt, feels bad again” you groan dejectedly, flopping your head back down against the pillows in defeat. 

“I know, sweetheart. Let’s get you in the shower, yeah?” 

Matt’s frame disappears behind the door to your bathroom briefly, the sound of running water following a few seconds later. As Matt returns to your side, he gently loops one arm under your knees and the other around your shoulders. He pulls you tight to his chest, lifting you off the now blood stained sheets and carrying you to the bathroom. 

The warm water of the shower slowly washes away some of the tightness in your muscles as you lean against Matt. His hands move gently over your body, washing the remnants of blood, sweat and sex away from your skin. You stay there, under the warm water, in your boyfriend’s arms for a long while. The soft, loving embrace helps to ease your mind and relax the muscles in your body. 

“C’mon, princess… let’s get out” Matt eventually speaks up, pulling back slightly from your grip to hold his water wrinkled hands up to you. His brows furrow and he mutters, with far too much concern, “we’re gon’ turn into prunes…” 

Your lips turn up in a weak smile at his concern and you nod at him. Matt responds with a dumb grin before switching the water off. He steps out of the shower before you, quickly waddling over to the towel rack and holding the soft fabric open for you. 

As the warm towel wraps around you in Matt’s arms he leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple and whispering, 

“how 'bout a movie and back massage now? I’ll warm up your heat pack for ya’...”

Masterlist

[moonstruckme]

would you write a part two to whimsy!reader totally knowing remus’ secret? i feel like r would be so sweet and casual about it that remus would cry

Thanks for requesting!

cw: post-moon werewolf Remus, mention of blood and wounds (no description)

poly!marauders x whimsical!reader ♡ 1.4k words

The boys usually send you away this time of month. They try to be subtle about it, encouraging you to go visit your family or sleep over at a friend’s house, but you’re not one to let the full moon pass you by without notice. It didn’t take long for the pattern to reveal itself. 

Still, you don’t argue when James gifts you tickets for you and a friend to see a band you like out of town. You know they’re all most comfortable doing things the way they always have, and you worry that letting slip what you know would do more harm than good; Remus would be anxious and upset, and the other boys would only be doing more damage control than they’re used to with you around. So, you let the full moon pass you by without complaint. 

The next day, however, when you know James and Sirius will have gone to work and left Remus to rest and heal, you sneak into your apartment. 

The fact of Remus’ ailing is immediately obvious; the boys’ things are strewn all over the place, evidence of James’ and Sirius’ running about without Remus to pick up after them. There’s a pot of half-eaten stew that’s been left to cool and congeal on the stove, an abandoned roll of bandages on the coffee table, and the entire apartment smells like disinfectant and heartache. 

When you find Remus in the bedroom, your heart aches, too. He’s sleeping, but even in rest his face is pinched with discomfort, and there are several bandages visible above where the bedsheets rest halfway up his torso. It’s about what you expected, but it still makes your eyes burn. 

You try to let him sleep as long as possible, working with the environment first. You open a few windows to get out the smell and let in the new day, clean the common spaces, start your lavender incense burning in the bedroom. You’re brewing tea when Remus pads into the kitchen, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. 

“Oh.” He startles to see you. “You’re back.” 

You’re startled, too. “Hi, I’m sorry,” you say, hurrying over to the windows to shut them. “Did I wake you? Is it too cold in here?” 

“No.” Remus looks wary, watching you flit about the living room like he’s not sure he’s actually woken up. “It’s nice. When did you get home?” 

“Just this morning. I didn’t see the sense in staying another night, and anyway I wanted to be with you.” You make your way back around the room to him, taking his jaw gently in your hand. His skin is warm to the touch. “How are you feeling, lovely?” 

You feel more than see Remus’ face tighten. “I’m alright. How are you?” 

You let him go, giving him a small smile. “Better now that I’m back with you, thanks for asking.” You go back to the stove to stir your pot. “If you’re warm, you don’t need to keep that blanket on for me. I’ve already seen the bandages.” 

You hear his quiet intake of breath, and then a few moments later the sound of the blanket dropping to the floor. 

“Are you in the mood for some tea?” you ask without turning around. “If you want to get back in bed, I could bring it to you there. I don’t imagine standing is very kind to your legs right now.” 

You’ve been reading up on wolf versus human anatomy. If Remus’ transformations work the way you think they do, the bones in his heels and legs would have to either break or otherwise shorten and elongate to create the legs a wolf needs; you can’t imagine it’s a painless process, or that he’s not still feeling the effects of it now, so soon after the moon.

For a dense handful of moments, Remus lingers on the edge of the kitchen. But soon you hear his footsteps, heavier than usual in a way that makes your stomach hurt, go back towards the bedroom. You finish making his tea and bring it to him with a few pieces of his chocolate. 

He’s sitting up at the edge of the bed, propped up on pillows and watching the smoke curl up from your incense with a haunted look in his eyes. 

“Hi,” you say softly. He accepts the tea and chocolate with a quiet thanks. “Do you think it might help things if I opened the curtains? Some sunlight might be good for you.” 

Remus hums his assent. Everything becomes crisper once you let the light in. Remus’ dark circles and the blood visible through his bandages, but also the healthy flush to his cheeks and the strength of his body beneath the dressings. 

“What is this?” Remus asks you, sipping his tea. 

“Bay leaves. It’s for pain relief. It helps more if you put it directly on the wounds, but I didn’t think you’d want to mess with your dressings any more.” 

He nods. Sighs. “Come here, dove. Come sit.” 

You’re eager to comply. You round the bed to avoid crawling over him, settling against the pillows beside your boyfriend with your shoulder touching his. A support, if he needs it. 

“What’s the incense for?” he asks. 

“It’s lavender. It’s also good for pain, but I thought it might help you sleep as well.” 

Remus nods again. He turns to you, his eyes some mixture of distressed and resigned. “Why are you doing all of this?” he asks. “Why did you come home?” 

“Remus,” you say gently, “we don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to.” 

His brows hook in the middle, a small crumbling. “But you know already.” 

You cradle his face in your hand. Your voice is soft. “Yeah.” 

You pull Remus towards your chest when he starts weeping. He dampens your shirt while you comb your fingers through the hair at his nape, saying nothing. Steam wafts up from his tea until it doesn’t, but that’s okay; you’ll make him another cup when he’s ready. 

James and Sirius are surprised to find you when they come home. 

“Angel—” 

“Shh.” You cover one of Remus’ ears with your hand, his head in your lap. “He’s hardly slept all day.” 

James lowers his voice, setting his bag down on the floor. “When did you get here?” 

“This morning.” 

“But you were supposed to be away until tomorrow afternoon.” Sirius climbs up onto the bed. His expression goes tender as he looks down upon Remus’ sleeping face, and the kiss he presses to your lips is gentle.

You card your hand through Remus’ hair. “I didn’t want to be away from him,” you admit softly. “I understand why you want to do things without me on the night it happens, but I’d like to help before and afterwards at least.” 

Sirius’ brow pinches, his eyes narrowing cautiously. 

“When what happens?” James asks you. 

You speak softly, not wanting the words to potentially agitate Remus in his sleep. “The transformation.” 

There’s a thick pause. 

“Who told you?” Sirius asks. 

“No one had to tell me.” 

There’s a quiet chuckle from the end of the bed. James kicks his shoes off, crawling up the covers to meet you. “I told you she knew.” He gives you a kiss, soft and syrupy sweet. “Thanks for looking after him for us, sweetheart.” 

Remus grunts, coming awake. “James,” he groans. “Your knee is on my leg.” 

“Oh. Sorry, love.” James moves, then bends down to give Remus a kiss of his own. “Did our angel take good care of you today?” 

“Better than this.” 

“That’s the moon talking,” Sirius says flippantly, though the hand he uses to rub Remus’ shoulder is exceedingly gentle. “That’s something you’ll learn as we go along, gorgeous. He loves us, really.” 

You feel your brows pinch. “I thought he was as nice as always today.” 

“Wonder why,” Remus mutters, but the look he gives Sirius is teasing. 

James gives Remus another kiss, standing. “I’ll get you some of your soup.” 

“Oh, I…” You give him a sheepish look. “I washed that down the sink. It got left out, the meat was bad. There’s tea on the stove that should help him heal faster, though, if you want to get some of that.” 

James and Sirius stare at you. 

“Seems like we should’ve brought you in on this a lot sooner,” Sirius says after a moment. 

You shrug. Remus mumbles something that sounds like agreement.

[bucks-babe]

Be Mean To Me

Pairing: Bucky x f!reader

Summary: After a long day at work, you just want to lose all control and have your boyfriend fuck you into oblivion 

Warnings: Established relationship, slight angst, fluff, smut, mean!dom!bucky, reader asks for it, they are so in love, rough sex, dom/sub dynamics, oral (male receiving), ball sucking, slapping, spit kink?, degradation, humiliation, name calling (slut, whore, bitch, sugar, good girl), daddy kink, some praise, spanking, pussy slapping (like once), safe word (yellow), vaginal sex, no prep anal, Bucky has a huge dick, choking, aftercare, check-ins, crying during sex, crying after sex, soft!Bucky, no mention of Y/N, no description of reader other than being female

Word Count: 4.9k of mostly smut

A/N: This was very self indulgent. Work has been kicking my ass and I want to be taken care of. Any mistakes are my own. If I missed any warnings please let me know. @bucknastysbabe it's done! I think I should go back to therapy. But hey, smut

You feel your throat tighten as you walk up to the apartment you share with Bucky. It was one of those days that left you beaten down and wanting to curl up under your blankets and cry. You didn’t even want to go into work this morning, having to force yourself to get ready. Too many rude customers, incompetent coworkers giving you more work than you get paid to do, everything leaving you overstimulated and wanting your boyfriend.

It left a craving deep down inside of you, a want that you knew only he could quell. You just wanted to shut your brain off, have Bucky take care of you, ruin you, treat you like a whore, break you down, just to put you back together again.

You swallow the lump in your throat and unlock the front door, finding Bucky on the couch watching some random action movie that he claimed to hate. At the sight of him your body naturally relaxes and the urge to crawl onto his lap is too much to bear.

“Hey, sugar. I’ve been missing you all day. You’ll never fucking believe the video Sam sent me of Tony trying out his new thrusters! He flew rig- What’s wrong?” He perked up at the sound of the door opening, truly missing his girl. Whenever you’re around him his entire day gets better, a lightness filling his chest, but when he sees how run down you are, his heart literally hurts for you. Bucky wants to protect you from everything, from supervillains all the way to spiders in the house.

“Long day, baby. Just wanna be with you.” He opens his arms and you instantly crawl into his lap, eyes burning with tears you refuse to shed. He runs his metal hand up and down your back, pulling you as close to him as possible, while his flesh hand rests on your head, holding you to his neck, letting you breathe him in.

“What can I do for you, sugar? Want to talk about it? I can order from your favorite place. Can run you a bath. Whatever you want, sweet girl.” 

“Please, be mean to me, Bucky.” Bucky feels his heart clench in his chest. He wants to keep your heart safe from whatever it is that is plaguing you, but he knows he can’t. What he can do is follow your request and make you forget.

“How mean do you want me, sugar?” Bucky has done this for you a few times. He always asks how you want him to treat you. It’s in his nature to be sweet to you, fill you with praise, but that's not what you want right now. You want to be degraded and treated like a fucktoy.

“Mean.” You keep your eyes trained on him. This is the only part where you need to keep your head on, make sure that he knows you want this.

“Remember your colors, sugar?” You nob, excitement bubbling up inside of you. “Remember, daddy will only be upset with you if you don’t use them. If you need to say yellow or red, you will.” His tone is final. This is the only way he would ever agree to treating you like a slut.

“Yes, daddy.” And just like that, Bucky’s entire demeanor changes. He goes from your sweet, cuddly boyfriend to a cold and callous body of muscle. 

“Then take your clothes off, slut.” He pushes you off his lap, just hard enough to give the illusion of indifference. As you strip, Bucky keeps his eyes trained on the TV, not paying you any mind. Your core throbs at the fact that you are completely exposed while he is still fully dressed. 

“On your knees.” He’s still not looking at you, but you obey without thought, willing to do whatever he wants. Grabbing the back of your neck, he forces you in between his spread legs, and you whine at the fact that his cock is still soft inside his sweats. Any other day, Bucky would make sure that your knees were never on the hardwood floor without a pillow or something soft underneath, but not today.

On days like these, when you want to feel completely submissive, it takes Bucky a while to get aroused. It’s in his nature to love up on you, make you drunk with pleasure in the sweetest way possible. He feeds off of your energy. When he is sure that you are having fun, his body lets himself fall into his role.

“What? You think at the first signs of some tits I’m gonna get hard? I knew you were a dumb slut but I didn’t realize just how thick you were.” Your pussy was absolutely pulsing with need. With his hand still on the back of your neck, he rubs your face against his crotch, feeling his cock begin to harden at the smell of your arousal.

He pulls you back far enough to slide his pants down, foregoing boxers, and you immediately try to take his half hard length in your mouth. Before you can process it, Bucky’s right hand lands a slap to your cheek - hard enough to make a welt that will take a few hours to disappear. You gasp and your cunt pulses even harder than before at the sting left on your cheek. 

His metal hand wraps around your chin, much cooler than it’s supposed to be, and forces you to look him in the eye. In the back of your mind you realize that he turned on the cooling function in his arm to sooth your cheek; the arm was built to keep him cool in the Wakandan sun and heat. “Did daddy say you could suck his cock?” He uses his hand to shake your head from side to side, answering for you. “Then keep your slutty mouth shut.”

He spreads his legs wider and pulls your face closer to his heavy sack, already full of cum. “Hands behind your back, and suck on daddy’s balls.” You join your hands together behind your back without question and nuzzle his balls. Wasting no time, you take one into your mouth, sucking feverishly, enjoying the light dusting of hair tickling your face.

“Oh, fuck, come on, slut, I know you can do better than that. Take ‘em both in your dirty mouth.” He pushes you further into him, cutting off your oxygen, and you swear you hear your slick drip onto the floor. Your jaw aches as you try to get them both in your mouth, but you can't; his balls are too big. Bucky ruts against your face, squishing his balls, precum leaking from his tip, dripping onto his stomach after he takes his shirt off.

With your limited amount of movement, you alternate between each ball, licking at the seam. Every time you switch balls, you feel the other drag wetly across your face and you have to clench your legs in an attempt to quell the ache between them while fighting with your need for air. “Such a dirty bitch, lapping at your daddy’s nuts, shit.” He pulls you back just as your head starts to go fuzzy from the lack of oxygen, and you gasp for air, spit is covering the lower half of your face and is dripping down your neck and chest; Bucky feels his cock throb at the sight.

Reaching out, Bucky smears your spit around your face and leaves another, weaker smack to your cheek before he grabs his cock and uses his weeping tip to tease you, dragging it on your face. “What a nasty fucking bitch, drooling all over the place just from sucking some balls.” He slaps your cheeks with it a few times before forcing your head down all the way, making you gag and you immediately pull off, coughing.

He stares into your eyes, cold and calculating, waiting for you to speak. When your coughing subsides you manage to get out a hoarse ‘green,’ giving him the all clear. He takes your head and once again makes you take his cock, this time much slower and not as deep, the first time he wanted to fuck with you. “Such a perfect fucking mouth, shit.” He stops you from bobbing your head, “Stop being such a desperate whore and let daddy finish his movie.” You're sure you’re leaking onto the floor at this point.

You are able to see his face and he looks wrecked, mouth hanging open and head back; he’s not watching shit. Nonetheless, you rest your head on his thigh, getting comfortable, spreading your legs out to get closer to the floor so your head won't be bent at an awkward angle, ignoring the pain in your knees and the ache in your jaw. 

The only sounds filling the room are Bucky’s ragged breathing and the movie playing in the background. There is saliva everywhere, his cock, all over his balls, down to his ass and on the couch. His cock is constantly leaking precum into your mouth but you don’t swallow, letting his taste linger on your tongue. 

This isn’t what you wanted, you wanted him to demolish you. Sitting with his cock in your mouth is giving you too much time to think, so you do what any sane person would do - be a brat. At the first suckle, Bucky lets out a broken moan, at the second, he knows what you’re up to. Flicking your ear with his metal hand he hisses, “Don’t make me punish you, bitch.” At the third, he yanks you off of his dick, a trail of drool and precum keeping the two of you connected, as slaps you once again with his flesh hand, this time not soothing the marred flesh with his metal hand.

He stands and kicks the couch out of the way and pulls you with him by the neck. “You disobedient little-” he cuts himself short at the small puddle of slick that he finds from your previous position. “Is that what I think it is?” You only whine in response, his grip on your neck never faltering. 

With his free hand, he reaches down to your pussy to feel just how wet you are, confirming his suspicions. “What a dirty fucking slut, leaking all over my floor.” He pulls you in closer to him just to whisper, “Lick it the fuck up, bitch,” before pushing you to the ground. 

Your knees hit the wood hard and pain runs up your spine. You ignore the ache and brainlessly lap at your juices on the floor before Bucky smushes your cheek against the puddle and you moan. “Messy bitch, you are? Cunt is pulsing, waiting for my dick. Too bad I have to punish you, isn’t it, slut?” He leans down to the floor, eyes lined up with yours. “Daddy is going to give you ten spanks and I want you to count them.” You don’t respond immediately, stuck in a sort of limbo, drawn in further at the softness in his eyes.

No matter how hard he tries, Bucky can’t hide his devotion to you, that’s why he doesn’t let you look at him when he needs to play this role. His whole face softens at your silence, fearing he’s gone too far. “Color, sugar.” Stroking your cheek, he leans in closer, breathing you in.

“Green, daddy, so green.” The sigh Bucky lets out is audible and he feels ten times lighter.

“Good girl, you want to keep going the way we were?” Even though you said green, he wants to be certain.

“Yes please, daddy, want you to be mean.” You look so small and soft. Bucky struggles to put his facade back up, but he knows you need this.

Bucky positions himself behind you, staring at your ass and glistening pussy, and feels his cock bounce. The first slap isn’t soft by any means, you know there will be a handprint left. Your body jolts and Bucky groans at the jiggle of your ass. “One.” The second is on your other cheek and makes you clench around nothing. “Two.” He lands the next two much harder on the same cheek and you feel tears form in your eyes, yet continue to count, digging your nails into your palm.

He repeats the two spanks to your left cheek and takes a break to sooth your heated and raised skin with his metal hand after you’ve counted. The ground beneath your cheek is hard and unforgiving, leaving you neck bent at an odd angle. Spank seven lands on the back of your right thigh and somehow feels much stronger. “Shit! Seven, daddy.” Eight is on your left, and is just as hard. Your entire lower body aches: cunt pulsing and throbbing for his cock, thighs burning, and ass red and raw, sobbing with every impact.

“These last two are going to be harder, slut, since you forgot to count.” Even with his warning, you aren’t prepared. They are hard and fast, hearing them before you feel them, knocking the breath out of you, and you try to scramble up, but Bucky holds you down. “Don’t run away from me, you know better.” All of a sudden, the sharpest and most excruciating pain blooms from your cunt, and then you hear the wet smack of his metal hand hitting your core. 

You wail, body shooting up, legs fighting to close to soothe the sting left. Before you can, Bucky’s hand on the back of your head keeps you to the ground, while he slams his cock into your cunt, not stopping to let you adjust. “That’s it, fuck. Such a good pussy. Dirty fucking bitch.” You can’t breathe, his cock is knocking all of the air out of your lungs. The only sounds in the room are Bucky’s moans and the wet slapping of skin, his heavy balls banging against your sore clit. With each thrust you’re sure he’s hitting your cervix.

The hand on the back of your head leaves to grab your hip, letting him fuck you even faster, the both of you sliding further and further on the floor. You try to brace yourself with your hands, but the brutality of his fucking is no match. “Daddy, fuck, s-so g-good, please!” You don’t know what you’re begging for, but your cunt is pulling him in, barely letting him pull out.

Bucky is practically chasing you on the floor, hips never slowing down, eyes trained on your pussy, loving the creamy white mess on his dick. “Fuuuck, look at the ass bouncing on daddy’s cock, shit! Love the way this fat fucking ass looks when its all red and sore.” He’s in heaven, with the tight clench of your cunt wrapping around his cock, making him feel crazy.

“Daddy! I can’t, f-fuck, please, too much!” You’re fucking delirious with pleasure, feeling something twisting inside of you. You searched for something to hold on to, only finding smooth surface, legs locking, body seizing up.

“You can and you will take this dick, bitch. I don’t care if it makes you fucking bleed.” The pressure in your core builds tighter and tighter, all the while, Bucky’s hips never falter, sack still ramming against your clit.The breath is knocked out of you when you feel the most intense orgasm of your life pass through you.

Keening and wailing, you squirt on Bucky’s cock, the sounds of your fucking somehow getting even more wet until the force of your orgasm pushes his cock out. Your body is left twitching. There is a much larger puddle on the floor now - your cum. Bucky could fucking cum at the sight of your pathetic body laying on the ground, body wrought with pleasure. “Fuck, sugar! That was so fucking hot! You squirted all over, shit! I fucking love you so goddamn much.” 

The entire lower half of his body is covered with your cum and Bucky swears he can feel his heartbeat in his cock. Nonetheless, he wraps his arms around your waist and hulls you over to where he kicked the couch, placing your upper half on the cushions. “You’re so fucking wet now I bet I could slide right into that tight ass, what do you think, slut?” Your core pulses at the thought of his fat cock in your ass, the two of you don’t usually do anal, given how big he is, but you can’t think straight, especially after cumming so hard.

“Yes, daddy. I want your big cock in my ass, want you to fill me up.” Bucky groans at the thought of his excessive load running out of your ass. Leaning back, he ruts against your pussy, gathering more of your slick, before spreading your cheeks with his hands, staring at your puckered hole. He lines his cock up and watches as precum leaks from his tip.

His cock is huge, much longer and thicker than average, and he knows it. Grabbing himself near his tip, he pushes, grunting at the resistance, knowing that this would be much easier if he takes the time to prep you, but you want to be treated like a whore. “You gotta loosen the fuck up, bitch or else I’ll really fucking hurt you. Want this fucking ass so bad, better let daddy in. Cock is too big for this little ass, isn’t it, gonna split you in half, leave you leaking for days.” 

He pushes harder, tip finally popping in, causing searing pain to shoot through you. Crying out, you try to pull forward to escape the burning pain, wiggling further into the couch. Bucky leans over, careful not to push in any further, he knows you need a moment, any other time you would have been fully prepped and he would have slid right in, and wraps his metal hand around your neck, shushing you, “Shhhh, stop being so dramatic.” 

After a few minutes, the pain begins to subside and your breathing calms down. Keeping his hand around your throat, he pushes in, inch by inch, and the pain comes back. You whine into the cushion, every new inch burning more than the last until his hips are flush with your ass. “What the fuck?! Your ass is so fu-fucking tight, shit! Fucking milking my cock, wanna pound this little hole, wanna fucking ruin you.”

Burying his face in the back of your neck, Bucky was taking deep breaths, completely out of it. He wasn’t thinking straight, not when your tight hole was hugging every inch of his cock. You on the other hand, were struggling, it was too much too fast. It fucking hurt, there were tears in your eyes, but your pussy was aching like it wanted more. Your clit throbbed with need, even when your ass was stretched to the brim.

You didn’t want to stop, but you needed a break, before Bucky could move his hips you muttered, “Yellow, daddy, yellow.” The hand on your neck left and Bucky maneuvered his upper body so that he could look you in the eye without moving his cock. His entire demeanor was different, back was your sweet, caring boyfriend. 

“Good girl, daddy’s so proud of you for using your safe word. Shhh, it’s okay, sugar. Do you just need a second to breathe? Take your time, if you need to stop I will.” Bucky caresses your face as he soothes you, bringing you back down. His cock is still buried to the hilt in your ass, driving him insane. He wants to rail you so fucking bad, tip of his cock probably purple by now, but he would never do anything you didn’t want to, more than willing to sit with his cock inside of you until you’re ready or decide to stop.

You don’t know how much time passes, but eventually, you loosen up and your mind goes fuzzy once again, desperate for him to move. You wiggle your hips, rocking back and forth, instead of pain, blinding pleasure courses through you. “Green, daddy. I’m ready, just needed to get used to your fat cock, want you to pound into me.” Bucky lets out the most sinful groan and stills your hips with his hands.

He starts out slow, easing you into his motions, gradually gaining speed and force the louder your moans get. “Daddy, faster, please, harder, feels so good!” You were practically sobbing, loving the way he was splitting you open. His hips and thighs were wet from when you squirted on him, slapping against your ass, everytime he pulled back a vulgar shlick sound could be heard.

He fucked you faster and harder, staring at where you were connected. “This fucking ass feels incredible. Taking me so well, knew you could do it, fuck. Splitting your tiny ass in half. Oh God!” He could feel his orgasm building up, fighting it off everytime his cum filled sack slapped against your pussy. Letting go of your hips he snarled, “Show daddy how much of a fucking slut you are and bounce that fat ass on his cock.”

You whined, but complied anyway, digging your toes into the floor to get more leverage to keep slamming back on his cock. The sounds of skin slapping and both of your moans completely drowned out the ending of Bucky’s movie, not that either of you cared. Panting and moaning, you kept working yourself on him, feeling another orgasm bubbling up.

Meeting your thrusts, Bucky was rambling, not having one coherent thought in his head, “Look at that, give me that ass, yes! Don’t you dare fucking stop, bitch, want you to milk this cock. Love the way it fucking bounces, never seen anything like it, oh fuck!” He was getting whiny, high pitched moans falling from his lips. He couldn’t help it, his cock was too fucking sensitive and you felt too good. 

“M Gonna cum, daddy! Can I cum?” Bucky practically growls, getting up to his feet to squat, not missing a beat while still trusting in you. Every time his pelvis met your ass he whined and whimpered, loving the way it jiggled. He could feel you clenching around him, drawing his own orgasm closer.

“Not until I do. Fucking hold it, bitch.” It seemed impossible, but Bucky fucked you even faster, his hips moving at a ferocious speed. He wanted to cum so fucking bad and your high pitched moans were about to make him bust. “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit. I’m gonna fucking nut. You want daddy to fill your ass up, huh? God! Fuck, I’m splitting you in two. Uhhh. Balls are so heavy, so much cum. Fuuuuuuck. Daddy’s gonna fill you up, have you leaking.”

His hand wraps around your throat and chokes you, hips still smashing against yours, your orgasm barely being held in. You try to talk, get him to let you cum, but no words come out. Bucky felt his orgasm approach, balls pulling up, “Shiiit, daddy’s gonna cum, gonna flood your ass, you ready, cum with your daddy. Right. Fucking. Now.” Bucky cums with a long, drawn out moan. The feeling of his endless load pouring into your ass sends you over the edge and you cum so hard your vision goes black for a second. Waves upon waves of pleasure coursing through you. Bucky’s hips jerk involuntarily, prolonging both of your orgasms. 

As you both catch your breaths, you feel Bucky begin to soften inside of you, still plugging your hole, stopping his cum from leaking back out. “You were so good for me, sugar. I’m so proud of you.” At those words you feel your bottom lip begin to tremble. Burying your face into the cushions, a sob escapes your throat, all of your emotions finally bubbling over.

Running his hands up and down your back, Bucky soothes you. This was always his least favorite part, seeing you cry. He knows that you’re crying isn’t because of him, but there is always a twinge of fear that shoots through his body, scared that he went too far with you. Bucky pulls out as gently as he can, hissing when the air touches his spent dick, and moves to rest his back against the couch, pulling you into his lap.

Neither of you care that his cum is leaking all over. Bucky will clean the room later, after he takes care of his sweet girl. You cling to him as you sob into his neck, his hands massage your sore cheeks as he whispers in your ear, “Such a good girl for me, you made me feel so fucking good. Can’t even begin to explain how good you felt. There you go, let it out. I’m right here.”

Carefully, he picks you up and carries you to the bathroom. When he tries to set you down you just cling on harder to him, not wanting to leave his embrace. “I gotta draw us a bath, sugar. You know you have to pee, I’ll be right here when you’re done.” You hesitantly let him go while he draws the bath, putting in your favorite oils. After you pee and wipe, he helps you up so you can wash your hands before sitting you both in the tub.

Bucky sits against the wall of the tub and you curl further into his lap, not wanting any space in between you. Somehow you still aren’t close enough to him, wanting to be surrounded completely by him. Tears are still leaking down your face and even with Bucky’s consuming presence, you can’t seem to pull yourself up to the surface. Bucky’s arms are wrapped around you, making sure that you are as close as possible without him being inside of you.

“Sweets, can you look at me? Want to see those pretty eyes.” You can hear the concern in Bucky’s voice, but you can’t bring yourself to move away. He’s your safe space and you just want to bask in his warmth. “Sweets, please. Can you tell me how you feel? I need to know you’re okay.” You don’t know why that set you off, but all of a sudden more tears escape you, sobs fighting to make their way out.

Bucky’s entire world stops, fear shoots up his spine. He doesn’t know if he could live with himself if he hurt you, if he did something that you didn’t want. He knows that you asked him to treat you like a whore, but what if you didn’t want him to go as far as he did? You used your safe word when it got to be too much, but what if you really wanted to say red, not yellow, but wanted to please him, or felt like you had to please him. “Sweetheart, did I hurt you? Did I go too far? Please talk to me.”

Even though you didn’t want to talk, you could hear that he was about to cry. “I’m okay. Just love you so much.” You could feel Bucky relax under you.

“You sure, sweets? I’ve never seen you like this before.” While some of his fears subsided, Bucky was still worried about you.

Picking your head up so you could look him in the eye, you saw just how scared Bucky truly was. “I promise, Buck, I loved every second of it. You made me feel so good and cared for. No one has ever made me feel the way you do.” Bucky closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the wall. At that moment, Bucky understood why aftercare was so important. Of course he knew you needed to be taken care of so that you knew how much he loved you, but hearing those words come out of your mouth made him feel loved in a way he didn’t know was possible. 

Before the water gets cold you’ve stopped crying, making Bucky feel much better and he washes the sweat and spit off of your face and body, being extra careful with your sensitive pussy and ass. All the while whispering sweet nothings into your ear while you take turns kissing each other all over.

Bucky feels ten times lighter when he gets a giggle out of you. He knows that there will be days when you need him to treat you like a slut, but you know how much he loves and respects you. He lays you on the bed before grabbing your favorite lotion to put on, being extra careful when it comes to your sore ass, placing kisses in each spot after he's rubbed in the lotion.

 The marks on your face are gone by now, but Bucky still fusses over your skin care routine, knowing you don’t have the energy to complete it. After taking care of you, he climbs into bed and covers the both of you up, still naked but you don’t care. Bucky reaches into the bedside drawer and grabs some chocolate while you feed it to each other. Neither of you say much, but nothing needs said. 

You place kisses on his chest and arms, anywhere that you can reach, trying to let him know how much you appreciate him - Bucky knows. You fall asleep first, not being able to keep your eyes open any longer, Bucky moves you to his chest, cocooning you into him before he falls asleep, your head tucked carefully under his chin, legs tangled together, completely protected by him.